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oh-boleyn · 4 years

Text

catherine / infamy

words: 5733, one shot, language: english

anne / jane / katherine / catherine

this was posted on ao3 some days ago and I have been since debating to post it here or not. except for this series I will stop posting here probably, and just move to my ao3

TW: I think this one only has as tw Catherine's story (kidnapping, dying in childbirth, etc) plus self deprication... if anyone thinks this one needs more tw please tell me

the commentary between scenes are things I got from internet about Catherine Parr

Catherine Parr will always be known as the queen who got away.

(…)

Her breath is heavy, the air denser than it should be.

But it slowly gets better, to the point she opens her eyes and the light doesn’t hurt. Sitting, she can recognize Katherine Howard, the girl for who she was a lady-in-waiting. Anna of Cleves is also sitting, a lost expression on her face. A woman with blonde hair that makes her think of the various portraits she saw in the palace. Just by counting the people in the room, she can easily assume who the rest of them are.

After all, she was the last of them.

(…)

Catherine’s father died when she was five years old and so her education was left to her mother, who educated Catherine to a high standard.

(…)

Catherine never loved moving.

Usually she got too attached to a place, and changes were definitely not her favourite thing.

(Moving centuries felt like a torture – not that she would ever admit it out loud.)

Their new house was small, smaller than any castle she ever lived in. She had to share a bedroom with her godmother with whom she never had a relationship, and the third queen, mother of the kid she saw getting the crown.

Sometimes at night the house made her think of Snape Castle. Of nights fearing for her life. Being the survivor didn’t mean her life was any easier. Those nights she preferred to avoid sleeping in case the faces of John and Margaret might appear in her dreams.

Instead she would just scroll through articles and articles on her phone, trying to understand any actual device that was out to the public, or what did spot on meant. At least being productive made her feel less useless. After years of new information missed, she could really use new research.

(…)

Sometimes alternatively spelled Katherine, Katheryn, Kateryn or Katharine.

(…)

Catherine can’t help but feel powerless when thinking about Katherine Howard.

She was just a child. A teen, who Catherine couldn’t save. Her mind didn’t work fast enough to help the girl, who died such a tragic, grotesque death, leaving Parr her place as queen. Maybe if Parr was smart enough, she could’ve done something else.

But she wasn’t.

She loved to lie, to make everyone believe her, but deep down she knew nothing more than that, a lie. An elaborated act that took years to construct. A character, a fake line, an improvised scene that went day after day. Because Catherine didn’t think of herself as intelligent, just a very good actress, fooling everyone into thinking she was smart.

She wished it was true.

Instead she had to live with the guilt of knowing what she did. She was not the hero, not the survivor, not the scholar queen.

Catherine Parr was a fool who couldn’t save Howard, nor Margaret, nor Elizabeth, nor Lady Jane Grey. Her hands were filled with the blood and tears of all the girls at her care; she never had the chance to rescue, instead just assisting to their downfall. And her mind won’t stop her from repeating the names time and time again.

(…)

Catherine was known for her love of learning and for her fluency in languages such as Latin, French and Italian.

(…)

“What do you want to know?” The last queen questions.

Her godmother had been moving the whole night, buzzing around her. It was almost becoming annoying, except that there was a warmness, an incapability of getting mad knowing how close her mother and the woman once were.

“What makes you think I want to know something?” Aragon retorts.

“You seem nervous, if you want to know something just ask ahead. I won’t get mad.”

She internally prays for Aragon not to ask her something about Spanish, or worse, Latin or Italian. Languages felt more complicated and overwhelming in the twenty-first century, featuring strange mixes between them.

(Apparently, Spanglish was a thing.)

She is not sure if any other question would be good, at all. Catherine is supposed to know all the answers, to be educated, to distinguish, to be useful. Since arriving in this century her mind has been confused, mixing up languages and dates. Blocked, broken.

“Curiosity is not such a good trait.” The older woman speaks, almost robotically, just repeating words she probably heard time and time again.

Catherine would be lying if she said that was the first time she heard those words. Her curiosity was not exactly an attribute in her past life, but she maintained it through the end of her days, always looking forward to learning. A craving for intelligence heavier than the one for safety.

“It’s alright, really.”

“What happened when I died?”

The question comes out quickly, making Parr hold a breath.

“When you died…” She starts, trying to remember only important details. “Anne and Henry were still married, but she lost the pregnancy. She had three miscarriages. You can imagine how Henry reacted.”

Catherine nods, aware of Anne’s thick scar.

“Jane went next. I can’t remember a lot from her reign, for it was short and I wasn’t at court at the time,” she winces, trying not to show her stiffness when talking about it, “Henry asked for her to be painted in every family portrait, even after she died. He really tried to secure the line of succession for Edward, what a shame he died so young. In his attempts to have another son, Henry married Anna. She wasn’t bad, just probably a lot for him to handle.”

“She seems like a lot.” Catherine speaks, judging tone in her voice.

“Don’t say that, she is actually sweet. Henry couldn’t kill her, politics involved, so they settled for an annulment. Then Katherine came. She was naïve, a child. I was a lady-in-waiting for her, and it is true she might have been childish, but she was –is, I suppose– a good person.”

“I feel like all of them know more than me,” Aragon explains, “but I don’t want to read about them, it’s like invading their privacy.”

“I did. Most sources are from after we died, none of them completely true.” Catherine admits. “We should be able to tell our story.”

“We should.”

(…)

Catherine is known for reuniting Henry’s children with their father and bringing them back to court.

(…)

The opening night for the show is nerve-wracking to say the least.

Anna almost cursed at Catherine because, after all, it was her idea. Parr stays silent, knowing that the fourth queen is nervous to her very core. She also knows that the show has to be done.

They could only live off doing interviews for some time. She learnt that the internet worked in mysterious ways, and nothing stayed new for too long. People grew tired, and interviews were less and less often.

But after the play, it feels right. Even her godmother is smiling, her own reluctance to create the play long forgotten. People cheer around them, the band still firm on their spots but clapping their hands.

For a moment it feels good to be in the spotlight.

(…)

Catherine was an attractive and intelligent woman, who combined the intelligence and wit of Anne Boleyn with the prudence and diplomacy of Catherine of Aragon.

(…)

“Anne, wake up.”

Boleyn opens her eyes. Her hands were still holding her phone. That little technological device that holds so much information about everything. Catherine wonders what she was doing, what could have been so important that she didn’t go to bed.

“You should go to your room, Kat and Anna might be waiting for you.” She says with a soft voice, trying not to wake anyone else in the house.

The second queen has big, bright green eyes. There is a sparkle of wit that Catherine can’t shake her head off. She looks like Elizabeth, the same curiosity shining through. The way she carries herself, as if she still was the queen. The secrecy, how every word holds another meaning.

Anne stood up, going to her bedroom.

“Goodnight Anne.”

“Night, Parr.”

Elizabeth is dead, and they aren’t. Catherine never had a chance to amend their problems, instead she died. Never getting to see Elizabeth as queen was going to be something she would always regret.

The internet said she was a great queen, and it didn’t surprise Parr at all.

(…)

Elizabeth was won over by Catherine’s warmth and intelligence.

(…)

Catherine Parr was never a protagonist, and she prided herself on it. Being a writer was more important to her. Narrators lived long enough to tell the heroes stories. She was observant. Silent, but good at knowing all the gossip. Being invisible was an advantage, it could keep you alive.

(That is if you didn’t die because of childbirth, obviously.)

Even in the play, she made it known. Her make-up in earthly tones, and she wears a blue costume. Blue was serene, trying not to be noticed. She didn’t talk as much as the other queens, relegating her story just to her last verses.

Catherine Parr was a narrator, not a protagonist, and she was aware of it.

That was why, when watching the queens, she felt so inclined to give them as much attention as she could. Catherine wouldn’t write their stories, that would be not okay if she tried to keep the fake peace that reigned the house, but she could surely find striking inspiration at any moment.

She discovered that none of them were having the best time in their new lives. They didn’t treat it as a brand-new chance to be happy, instead they were bonded to the past, to their own time. It felt like whatever brought them back just did it so they could act as robots half of the time, not trusting each other to talk seriously for more than a couple of minutes.

Catherine wonders if the other queens also notice how much she is struggling.

(…)

However, the quick-thinking Catherine Parr managed to save her head by pleading with Henry and persuading him that she had only argued with him in an attempt to help him forget about the pain caused by his leg ulcer and to learn from him.

Henry forgave her.

(…)

They move. Again. She knows it’s for the better, but she can’t help feeling weirded out by the new house. At least it allows them each to have a room of their own, a privacy she certainly craved.

She takes the basement, which is the colder room in the house. It feels comfortable, after all the years of living in palaces makes you feel that way about cold, big rooms. Her bed, even if it is double size, doesn’t fill more than a quarter of the room, leaving her space for a big desk and a bookshelf.

Catherine counts all the books once before starting packing, twice after saving them and another time as soon as she arrives. The feeling that she probably lost one doesn’t disappear, even if she doesn’t know what book she lost.

(Maybe because most of her books are destroyed after five hundred years of not caring for them.

Not like those books are useful anymore.)

(…)

According to Foxe, she began “frankly to debate with the king touching religion, and therein flatly to discover herself; oftentimes wishing, exhorting, and persuading the king.”

(…)

Doing research is exhausting to say the least.

The bright white screen makes her eyes ache after watching it for a while, and her hands don’t work quickly on the keyboard. She can’t even write as fast as she could in her old life, her letters clumsy and often having problems with gripping the new pens.

What makes it the worst, is that she feels so stupid when trying to do it. Languages vary when time progresses, that much she always knew, but trying to read an article sometimes becomes impossible, with words such as quantum entanglement or Newtonian physics. It infuriates her, not being able to understand.

Once upon a time she knew it all, about God, history, languages. But now it felt as if her brain just stopped working. Everything went faster than she could, leaving her behind, useless to a new world into which she never asked to be brought.

Sometimes she hates modernism and its complexity.

Still, Catherine puts on an act every day, talking about penicillin and ibuprofen, explaining history to Anna and focusing on appearing smart. Because, after all, that was all she ever knew. All she ever had was owned for being smart, to know how to play a King’s game, and getting away with it.

If she wasn’t smart, she was nothing.

(…)

Catherine certainly believed herself to be in danger and, had she not acted decisively, it is likely that Henry would have allowed her to be arrested and, perhaps, executed.

(…)

“Cathy, por favor, ayúdame con esto.” Her godmother asks, while going through some files. “I know you were good at Spanish.”

Parr holds a breath. She once could speak it fluently, but lately it’s pained her into having problems with it.

“I was reading this book, and wondered if della and del were still being used? Or is it old Spanish?”

Catherine didn’t know the answer at all. How was she supposed to? If she could barely understand it. She wanted to scream, to explain that she had no actual clue. She wanted to pull away her façade of being smart and just admitting that it was too hard for her.

“I think it’s safer to use de la instead of a contracción.” Cathy says, praying to be right.

“Gracias querida.” Aragon winks at her.

Parr was really hoping she was right.

(…)

Catherine Parr - The Scholar Queen.

(…)

Catherine was a writer, she even went as far as publishing books under her name, the name of a queen, in a patriarchal society.

Catherine Parr was a writer because it was all she had ever done. Every reason why she wanted to be remembered was because she was a writer. She didn’t care about her husbands, not even Thomas who she truly thought she loved. She didn’t want to be remembered as a queen, only as a writer.

(She sometimes thought that if being a writer was enough for her, in that case, she would’ve lived longer, but of course she needed to have a man in her life.)

Talking about her past as a writer gave her the peace of mind she didn’t have for standing behind men her whole life.

Behind a great man, there is always a great woman.

Except that she was behind John Neville, a distant catholic cousin who’s actions ended up with her being kidnapped; Henry the VIII, an egomaniac poor excuse of king who got as far as killing two of his wives (almost her killed too); and last but not least, Thomas Seymour, a power starved moron.

Was she just like them? Was she the only one guilty of her past life? An egomaniac who couldn’t save Katherine Howard? A power-starved former queen who let harm come to her most loved stepdaughter? Or just a moron who couldn’t protect anyone, not even herself?

Catherine was a writer, because thinking about her own mistakes was harder than just doing what she always did, telling other people’s ones.

(…)

Catherine Parr was in fact the cleverest and most passionate of Henry VIII's six wives, says Derek Wilson.

(…)

Catherine wasn’t a big fan of the rain.

She didn’t mind it, and enjoyed the sounds of the water drops when she was writing, but being in closed spaces sometimes became too much, too claustrophobic. She loved walking just a little every day, going to the theatre in the afternoon or to the grocery shop, but with the weather it wasn’t possible.

Usually on days like that she would just get herself isolated from the queens, her anxiety building up as she tried to behave and not explode. Try to pass as if she doesn’t even exist, guarding her feelings and nerves to herself.

She told the queens she would be writing in her room, and to just call her when it was time to eat. No one checked up on her. No one gave her tea, or coffee. Even when the clock hit the time for dinner –she had been staring at it for the last five minutes, hyper aware of the time being–, they called her up three minutes and fifty-two seconds later than what she would have liked.

(…)

In her will, dated 23 March 1545, Margaret stated that she was unable to render Catherine sufficient thanks 'for the godly education and tender love and bountiful goodness which I have evermore found in her Highness'.

(…)

It feels harder on her than the rest of the queens. The feeling of not belonging, of not understanding. Even with Jane their relationship is not close — not that it can be, the third queen always storming off or barely talking.

She feels like an outsider, not knowing where she is standing.

Catherine has always been cordial, but there’s a thought in the back of her mind that says that it is only out of duty. Of an old debt to her mother, and not real love. Even after long talks over tea, and trips to the mall, Cathy feels that their relationship is still empty. Out of place, fake.

Parr can’t help but dream about feeling loved again, truly loved, something that she has not known for a long time. But it scares her, Margaret ended up dying young, Elizabeth had to suffer, Jane Grey had a horrible death.

Maybe she didn’t need their love, because each time someone loved her, they ended up dead.

(…)

Catherine enjoyed a close relationship with Henry's three children and was personally involved in the education of Elizabeth I and Edward VI.

(…)

She enters the kitchen, just to see Anne and Anna with an apple pie in the middle of the table.

“I want pie.” She states.

“Magic word?” Anne teases her, a smirk on her lips.

“Je t'aime beau cul.”

Boleyn laughs, in a way that it makes her stomach turn. It’s mocking, clearly not laughing with Catherine, but rather at her.

“What? What did I say wrong?”

“You pronounced the last part wrong, it’s beaucoup, no beau cul.”

Catherine can feel her face turning red, almost burning. Of course, she was going to mess up pronunciation after years without trying. Now Anne was mocking her, and she felt ridiculed, uncomfortable.

“Why is it so funny?” Anna interrupts, maybe picking up the humiliating situation, “she just messed up pronunciation, it’s not that bad.”

“Instead of saying ‘I love you so much’ she said “I love you, nice ass’.”

Parr chuckles painfully, dreading Anna’s giggling.

“Don’t worry, mon petit chou.” Anne grabs a plate and settles a slice of the pie. “A sweet, for a sweetheart.”

She winks an eye to Parr, easing the air around the writer.

(…)

The dowager queen promised to provide education for her.

(…)

Catherine tries to get it out, to calm herself down after a nightmare.

She takes some paper and a pen, even though it feels uncomfortable in her hand, and tries to write about it. Catherine forces the memories on her brain. Attempts to remember every detail, the face of fear Margaret held, frustrating not to confuse it with the face of the girl dying. Parr thinks of John, of the aggressive men he became.

And she writes messy and clumsy letters, focusing only on what she has to say and not how she says it. Working hard distracts her for almost the whole night, finishing with a good amount of paper in possession, and her hand smeared with ink.

Catherine considers reading it, but ultimately decides against it, walking to the kitchen as fast as she can.

She lets it burn, page by page, word by word. Parr lets it burn as if she never cared for it, something so personal that it won’t be good for even her to read. She knows that the queens will ask the next day, but she can’t help herself to care. She lets it burn.

(…)

She loved fine clothes, jewels and intelligent company.

(…)

Catherine wishes she had a real idea of when to stop, but apparently, she wasn’t born with it.

Most of the time, the queens won’t shush her, instead acting as if they hear what she has to say. Acting being the key word. Once Cathy was so into her monologue, she would discover how uninterested her eyes looked, wandering around the room and just humming in response instead of talking actual real words. In that moment she would try to cut herself short, wrap the idea quicker than expected.

Anna would try to keep up, being amicable enough, but the inadequacy was something the survivor couldn’t shake off. Even when the fourth queen tries to talk, Cathy will already anticipate the truth. She pitied her, knowing how her life was and ended, and it was just a way to show it. She pushed Anna away, not telling her any weird facts. She didn’t want to be a poor fool.

(…)

In 1543, she published her first book, Psalms or Prayers, anonymously.

(…)

“I’m just… so afraid to talk sometimes.”

Catherine thought that, but the words didn’t come out of her mouth, but rather from Boleyn’s.

“I got killed for that, and I can’t help it. I feel like I need to control everything.”

“But you don’t.” Parr confirms. “Also, you can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can control yourself, with whom you hang out, you can control things such as the tone of your words, but if someone wants to hate you, they will. You can’t control nature, not yours, nor from others.” Catherine ponders.

She wishes that she could follow her own advice, but it’s hard. That doesn’t mean that Catherine is not hoping for Anne to do so, to be happier than she is. Maybe that if she can help the woman, Parr can redeem herself.

“Thank you, I think I needed to hear it.” The green-eyed talks.

“Don’t worry, I’m here for you.”

She brushes off the guilt of being egoistic that tries to settle on her mind.

(…)

According to biographer Linda Porter, the story that as a child, Catherine could not tolerate sewing and often said to her mother "my hands are ordained to touch crowns and sceptres, not spindles and needles" is almost certainly apocryphal.

(…)

Catherine wants to give up writing, knowing that it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Everything is too personal, too old, too weird. Old languages long forgotten mixing with new ones, words that haven’t existed before now complicated to use.

Apparently, Shakespeare by himself invented around a thousand seven hundred words. Just by one person.

The idea of the new vocabulary overwhelms her mind. So much she doesn’t know and is not sure if she ever will. But a part of her longs for it, for the feeling of release that writing could sometimes bring. Catherine has faith about being able to be valuable, to tell stories, to do good, to give something to the world.

Parr decides to just take her time, to write as best as she can. She can’t do more than her best.

(…)

Between October 1536 and April 1537, Catherine lived alone in fear with her step-children, struggling to survive.

(…)

“Are you okay, Catherine?” Kat asks.

It was her third attempt at it. Nothing she wrote felt right. There was just so much missed, so much to do. She couldn’t focus on the paragraphs.

“Yes, just can’t seem to get this done.” She straightens her spine.

Did always sitting hurt as much?

“What is it about?” The teenager wonders.

“Just about Spain history, and the colonies.”

“Can I read?”

“Yes. I will make tea.” Parr handles the computer to the girl.

She stretches her spine and goes around preparing the drink.

Catherine is not sure if she would let any other queen read what she wrote. Katherine is different, had always been. Even in her time as queen, even when it all happened. She was smart, but not outspoken. Polite yet truthful.

“It is good, really.” Howard says.

“I can sense a “but”.” Catherine laughs anxiously, dreading the critic.

“You are only taking one side; you should know how Spain sent a lot of people from the church on missions to re-educate the natives. Las misiones Jesuitas. Politics and religion were more connected than what this made it look like.”

“That’s… Very true.” She feels bad about not emphasising it as much but brushes it off for the sake of the conversation. “I didn’t know you were interested in history. It’s great,” she insists when Katherine looks at her with big eyes, “if you ever want to work together, you know where to find me.”

(…)

Her second book was a success and widely praised.

(…)

Organizing was never her favourite thing to do. She loved to be messy, scattered paper all around her. Pens out, in the most unexpected places, just in case creativity strikes unexpectedly. The way her manuscripts could look so good, better now that she gave herself time to practice her letters surprised when people saw the chaos in the one she wrote.

Jane was the opposite, neat, having high expectations of finding whatever she left in the place she left it. She was exigent, hard on herself to be organized, in places where Catherine couldn’t care less. That was until everything became way too much and she had to just clean a little. Parr admired Jane, appreciated how much she did, how smart and balanced she had learned to become.

With her papers settled, her pens saved, she gives a look at her room. It feels quiet, harmonized.

(…)

The popular myth that Catherine Parr acted more as her husband's nurse than his wife was born in the 19th century from the work of Victorian moralist and proto-feminist, Agnes Strickland.

(…)

Someone knocks the door to her room twice, and Catherine gets surprised. Almost nobody came to her room, it being almost the farthest one from the rest of the queens. She also never gave any indication of having nightmares like Katherine, so no one would check on her.

“Come in!” She says, despite her wonder.

“Hey there.” Aragon greets. “I just got Kat to sleep.”

“Another nightmare?”

“Yes, but those are getting better, I think. Therapy is helping.” She explains. “But I wanted to check on you.”

Catherine makes room for her in the bed, which she quickly understands. The divorcee sits in the bed, and the survivor wraps herself, getting comfortable in the hug. It’s familiar, an old memory from court in a past life, but a good one. A peaceful, tranquil moment before knowing better.

“Oh, hermosa.” The first queen squeezes her goddaughter. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just… so tired.” She confesses.

She doesn’t precisely know of what she is tired. The intrusive thoughts of hundreds of years, Thomas and how she was a fool. Of hiding her silliness, trying to be better, always better, but never reaching an end. She is tired of feeling bad, of feeling locked into her own expectations. She feels tired of trying to be happier, to be smarter, to be liked.

And there are so many feelings that she just breaks, sobbing into her namesake’s arms.

“Even geniuses need sleep, amor.”

“Don’t call me that.” Cathy bickers.

“Call you what?”

“A genius. I’m not.” She cries. “I want to be dumb; I want to stop overthinking for a second. I’m not smart, I promise you I’m not but please stop expecting things from me I can’t be a disappointment.”

“Mi vida.”

Aragon makes a pattern on her back, trying to soothe her. It doesn’t precisely work, instead she just continues sobbing, letting lots of tears that she has saved for such a long time flow freely. She sniffles out of pure frustration, of having so many thoughts that she can’t even process them.

“I love you, so much.” She affirms. “You have literally blown me away. I know I might not say a lot, but you were always special, since you were little.”

“Don’t say that, I don’t want to be.”

“But you are, and you have surpassed all my expectations, always. You can breathe now; you get to take a break.” She kisses her forehead. “I love you, and would still love you if you are the smartest person in the world or the stupidest. You are so smart, you don’t have to always stick out, or be good at everything. You deserve to just fool around sometimes, and that won’t change who you are.”

When Cathy collects the courage to look her in the eyes, she can swear that there’s a sparkle of pure love and affection in the eyes of her godmother. A sparkle directed at her.

(…)

Biographers have described her as strong-willed and outspoken, physically desirable, susceptible (like Queen Elizabeth) to roguish charm and even willing to resort to obscene language if the occasion suited.

(…)

She doesn’t know how, but something in the air feels lighter, it feels better. Life becomes easier, the house now slowly becoming a home, with the six queens slowly getting better. Catherine can notice how much cooler it turns out to be once they started learning more about each other, understanding something no one else would.

(After all, nobody else was a five hundred years old reincarnated Tudor queen.)

Parr wishes for it to mean that she could live her life relaxed, joyful. But instead she cries every time she notices how lucky she was, the guilt of knowing that she hurt so many people she cared for. A heavy backpack she won’t ever be able to get out.

She doesn’t think that she deserves forgiveness for her acts. And it pains her, hoping for a reality where she was good, for one where she was just the survivor, to one not full with the tragedy her life was.

Each time she says gold star for Cathy Parr, she feels numb. With a bit of luck, she convinced the audience she merits it.

(…)

Catherine's good sense, moral rectitude, compassion, firm religious commitment and strong sense of loyalty and devotion have earned her many admirers among historians.

(…)

There is a silence, and for a moment they stay like that. But the survivor speaks up: “Did you love him?”

“Yes.” Anne states easily. “Or no. I probably didn’t, and he most certainly didn’t either, but I think we both believed we did.”

“Do you love him?”

“No, do you?”

“Never did.”

“Be careful, your neck is quite delicate… I don’t think it would be hard to cut with a sword.”

Catherine tries to mask her thoughts, releasing a faint “Funny.”

Anne probably doesn’t know; she is aware of it. With all the fake comments about the second queen that were a lie, she had decided to not look for much information about her fellow queens, and Catherine was not willing to tell her about how her life nearly ended. It felt selfish, it was just a close call, not a real one like Anne’s or Katherine’s. Still, the idea of her head being amputated from her body followed her, like the ghost of a broken promise. The thought of her life in danger of ending still at the back of her mind.

“Did she love me?” Anne asks, surprising Parr.

“I think she did.” Catherine waits for a moment, before continuing. “I’m sorry for what I did to her.”

With those words she breaks down, trying to hide her tears. She has no right to cry for her own wicked acts, to be comforted by Anne, but that’s what is happening now.

“It’s fine.” Boleyn says, her voice just above a whisper. “I forgive you. She forgave you. We were different people back then.”

“But I did it. No matter what you say, I did it.”

“And I wasn’t an angel either. I acted the wrong way because of my fears. To gain and maintain power. I’m not proud of it,” her eyes, that until that moment were lost, now staring intensely Catherine, “but if you keep living in the past you can’t become a better person in the future.”

(…)

Parr is usually portrayed in cinema and television by actresses who are much older than the queen, who was in her early 30s when she was Henry's wife and was about 36 years old at the time of her death.

(…)

Catherine wished her story was better, for it to have a happy ending. To say that she married Thomas after Henry, and that it was like a dream, that they had children and grandchildren, grew old together and she was loved until the end of her days. She longed to say that she could remember her baby's face, or her first steps or words. Desires to tell everyone that she taught her everything she knew. But in reality, it was not true.

Catherine Parr never had her happily ever after like a queen from a children’s book.

The survivor indeed never had her happy ending, not even when coming back to the modern times. She still put more pressure on herself than what she should've. Tried to always be trusted, to always be useful and to help her everyone. Pushed herself to the edge, trying to be the best version of herself. Got more stressed than necessary, stayed up sometimes too late for her liking, drank more tea and coffee than she should’ve.

Her life became a bittersweet one, a balance found between her tragic story, the guilt she would always feel, and the chance of a new beginning.

Some days were happier than others, some talks were lighter. Freedom and restriction battling over, but giving her enough cheerfulness to go back when things got harder. Working with Katherine over the history they both knew and missed, discussing the newest scientific discoveries with Anna and Jane, grabbing lunch with Anne and tea with Aragon.

Her life was not happy, but it was relaxed. It gave her the chance to just let herself feel emotions, the good, the bad. To write without deadlines. To be calm, to live this new opportunity fully. To learn about herself, to be the protagonist of her own story.

To be loved.

#six the musical #six fanfic #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #catherine parr

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agileo-101 · 4 years

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A nightmare has ended today. I would like to share that with you guys to celebrate! This will be a long post so honker down guys.

At the beginning of November, my account was hacked. My PayPal and my Google pay account were abridged.

On my PayPal, $1,236.50 was spent on 2 different power tools (what the hell am i gonna do with power tools??? this stuff is for house owners and i live in a freaking apartment!)

On my Google pay, a total of $ 3,057.12 was spent on freaking pixel 4

Now, I am going to assume this was done by two different hackers because their address is different, plus one guy's at Virginia.

I blurred out my name and my mom's name but those two are definitely not my address.

I even have one of the guy's name (or a fake name idk)

This was my major wtf moment. I was barely getting by paying my tuition and this happened. What little remaining money I had saved for Christmas gift was ripped away from me. The biggest irony of it all was that both of my Google pay account and PayPal had less than 100 dollars in it. Why the heck did those 2 companies allowed huge amount of money pulled out like that???? It was beyond me!!!

So the PayPal thing happened First.

At first everything was super frustrating every company was pushing off responsibility at each other. Acemetool claimed i need to talk to PayPal, PayPal claimed I need to talk to the merchant and this went on for a while.

I had to contact my bank first to cancel my card for security reasons and they issued me a new one (the front desk lady and consultant lady were so helpful and friendly.... Bless your hearts!!!). Then I had to call acemetool website to inform that the tools were a fraudulent order. They had to contact FedEx in order to intercept the packages. Thankfully I had contacted them early and the packages were returning to the warehouse. The staffs at the call center was amazing and they helped every step of the way.

Now this took me at least more than 2 weeks to resolve. I thought, yay! Surely I can get something for my parents and sister for this Christmas!

By end of November.... My Google pay was hacked....

Now, the Google pay was tricky one. The hacker went as far as to put the shipping notice email into the trash to prevent me from noticing that an order was placed. Now, I learned that contacting Google was as hard as finding regular shonen anime that featured man's nipple.

I had submitted a dispute regarding the ridiculous fraudulent order. Within two days my dispute was rejected. Because apparently, the hacker used my mother's name and the guy happened to live in same district as me (it took a lot out of me not to hunt down the bastard) so, they thought that my RELATIVE has placed an order and closed the case. I was devastated.i spent a week or so dejected and rolling my head to figure out this issue (this is why when my commissioned plushie, Little Ghiaccio Nya came in, that was a big cheer for me).

anyway, How do I prove myself when I could barely find contact?!

So this is my tip to you guys if you EVER get hacked and need to contact Google. Your laptop does not hold the answer. Your phone does. Google had it set up that if you don't have Google pay app on your phone, it is virtually impossible to contact anyone. When you download the app, it gives you two options. Call or chat. I would recommend chat over the call because for call you will have to wait FOR HOURS! But in chat all you have to wait is couple of seconds. The investigating team/security team had temporarily frozen my account for safety reasons. I easily provided that I did not order the items. With my id, my mother's id and our home address on our drivers' licenses, the invoice from the bank vs the address that was on the shipping address (and the guy’s name when he signed for the package release). plus, on my Google store history, my purchase never exceeded $20 so the sudden crazy amount of spending was tad alarming. The agent from Google play support was very helpful, she answered all my questions and got back to me as soon as she could (which again, was so kind of her. She went on extra miles to assist me)

And today I was informed that the agent who was helping me

THANK GOD!!!!!

It is finally over! And this took about a little over two weeks to solve with google.

So yeah, I had been living under stress for good two months. It was such a wild rollercoaster ride. I was depressed because while I worked my butt off everyday to provide for family (I am also full time student, so I am sacrificing my social life, sleep and time to do my homework. I wake up 5 I the morning go to class, get to work at 4:30, clock out at 9:30, do homework until 2 in the morning. And repeat) and some jackass who doesn't want to do earnest earnings decided to steal what little I had. I experienced cruelty, greed and major frustration.

But at same time, I saw kindness from staff members at the bank, acemetool, and Google

Can't say same for you PayPal, got abridged first place, put me on hold for 40 min, barely answered my questions and the best thing you told me to do was "change my password" You did not offer me explanation as in why the hell you allowed more then $ 1,000 dollars to be pulled out of my account when I barely had $100 in there! grow some balls, have respect and Tighten your security for f**k sake

Then my friends from University who prayed for me, professors who encouraged me and. @dratinimartini @processormalfunction @x-01-king @lyxine you guys were my moral and emotional support. You guys are gem!

I sigh with relief and happy that it was over with. i am little paranoid every time i check my account, i tripped my security and changed all my passwords to all of the currently existing accounts. that is to be expected.

i’m still mad that those hackers are out there, invading ppl’s privacy and stealing their hard earn monies.i hope that whoever hacked my account, karma has something stored for them >:(

for now, i sleep with my legs stretched out. for christmas, i had commission money that came to my way (thanks for the $50 K-Bro!) and i will use that to buy something for my family :D so happy merry Christmas eve everyone.

stay safe

#me babbling #personal stuff

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

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The Not-So-Amazing Mary Jane Part 28: AMJ #3.2

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As with issue #2 (and all future posts) I advise you to read the prior instalment as I’m not going to recap the first half of the issue again here.

Moving on, we finally get to meet these new crewmembers. They consist of:

H.E.R.B.I.E. 1.05, a version of the F4’s robot buddy

Screwball, a “… self-styled as a performance artist and the world's first live-blogging super-villain. She was an Internet personality and social-media attention monger to such an extent that she committed crimes on camera.”

And Master Matrix. He's a whole mess. Basically he is the world’s most powerful LMD, and a highly dangerous weapon. He views Spider-Man and Deadpool as his ‘fathers’ in a weird way.

Beck starts to justify the hires, but MJ says that if they believe in the project as she does and have earnest intentions then she’ll reserve judgement.

Screwball tells McKnight that she’s leaked some fake photos to mislead the Savage Six and buy them some time. With that McKnight is eager to get to work.

Let me be upfront about this, I know little about HERBIE or Master Matrix. I’m not an F4 expert and I never bothered with the Spidey/Deadpool ongoing. So I will admit that maybe I’m missing some important context here. My research on the Marvel.wiki didn’t yield any results on who HERBIE 1.05 is beyond him maybe being the regular version of HERBIE. And last I checked the regular HERBIE wasn’t a bad guy. Master Matrix in contrast seems to have been a morally ambiguous character initially but grew to be a good guy. He has a kill switch he willingly handed over to SHIELD just in case he ever went rogue.

So 2/3 of them are perfectly fine. I don’t even know how much MJ would know about HERBIE or Master Matrix. However, Screwball?

Screwball is a straight up criminal. Not an especially dangerous one granted, perhaps not even a D-lister. But a criminal nonetheless. MJ has seen her before, as she witnessed Superior Spider-Man assaulting her on TV in Superior Spider-Man v1 #6.

Realistically, given how horrified MJ was by the incident you’d imagine it’d stick in her mind. Additionally, given how Screwball is an attention monger and very into social media I’d imagine MJ would have some awareness of who she is. MJ herself is very up-to-date with the latest trends and would be plugged into modern pop culture and social media.

However, for the sake of argument let’s say MJ doesn’t remember Screwball at all. Let’s say she’s never heard of HERBIE or Master Matrix. Given how in the first issue she was taking note of the criminal and super powered crewmembers, wouldn’t she at least suspect these people might be shady? Wouldn’t she double-check somehow that they are legit? It all leads back to the same complaints I made between my coverage of issues #1-2. She’s not even checked that Beck is out and about legally for God’s sake!

What’s so much worse is that the story acknowledges that these hires might be shady. Beck is concerned MJ will have reservations. MJ decides to reserve judgement.

This means she doesn’t fully trust them, that she acknowledges they might be sketchy.

And her conditions for reserving judgment depend upon even shakier criteria.

How the Hell can she tell in this singular moment, when she’s barely spoken to any of them, that any of these people:

a) ‘Believe’ in the movie like she does?

b) Have earnest intentions?

She’s not verified any of them are reformed or on probation. She’s got no idea what they are fully capable of or if they are on the run.

Once more she is engaging in blind faith. She is trusting the word of a super villain who’s entire skillset revolves around lying.

The final thing to take note of is the fact that the crew are actively avoiding the Savage Six; hence the new shithole location.

Um…why aren’t they just contacting the authorities or organizing protection for themselves?

SIX super villains just attacked them and want to do so again. That’s surely grounds to bring in the police or the West Coast Avengers or somebody.

Surely, MJ herself could arrange that.

Alright, maybe you could argue they want to avoid arousing suspicion because of their criminal crewmembers. But this leads back to the fact that MJ wouldn’t stand for criminals working on the movie and Beck wanted press attention for the movie anyway. In fact if a civilian like Diperna knows about the movie how do the press not? How could no one have noticed that there are super powered people and criminals working on the set?

Everyone should know that about the movie anyway, so why not bring in help from superheroes or the authorities for protection?

The answer lies in the fact that this story is incredibly half-baked and inconsistent.

I will also add that on a purely personal note I dislike 616 Screwball so just seeing her annoys me.

The next day filming has been delayed again because of bad weather. Mysterio decides they should shoot in the caves.

Filming inside some caves nearby an abandoned zoo whilst it’s raining. Seems like a health and safety nightmare doesn’t it?

If so then it’s yet more evidence of how vain and selfish Mysterio is.

Days later, we see some crewmembers intimidated by Screwball. Their conversation with her reveals she hacked someone’s private information and threatened them to deliver food to them.

MJ overhears this conversation and learns that, in order to evade the Savage Six, Screwball arranged an unmarked truck. MJ decides to solve the problem by contacting Peter and asking if he knows any teleporters in L.A.

Later, Cloak and Dagger show up and deliver food to the cast and crew.

*pinches bridge of nose again*

God, where to start with this?

So, Screwball has definitely committed a crime in the course of her role as production manager. Hacking someone’s cloud server is very much illegal and an invasion of their privacy.* Depending upon whether you believe her or the truck driver she might also have threatened the driver’s life.

Screwball admits to having done this and MJ over hears it. And yet MJ is still ‘reserving her judgment’?

I guess earnest intentions+believing in a movie>>>>>>>>>>>harming people in Mj’s book right?...

...what the fuck Williams seriously…

But the stupidity goes another level when MJ contacts Peter so she can get super powered assistance.

Let me get this straight, MJ and Beck are on board with using superheroes to deliver food to them, but not as protection for actual super villains who want to hurt them?

And MJ in particular doesn’t feel she should let Peter or other heroes know about Mysterio or his criminal crewmembers. BUT she will still contact them for a far less serious reason?

Anyone still arguing that for MJ to ask for help would be reductive to her/female characters no longer has a leg to stand on. MJ just used super heroes to solve a problem for herself. Scratch that, she asked her super hero boyfriend to solve a problem for her. And by bringing in characters like Cloak, Dagger, HERBIE and Master Matrix AMJ has arguably invited the wider Marvel universe into the story too. At which point MJ has no end of options available to her to ensure Mysterio isn’t a danger. She just isn’t using them because Leah Williams Mary Jane is not the Mary Jane we’ve known and loved. She’s this weird facsimile with all her social skills and charm but none of her deeper moral convictions.

Finally, if Beck and MJ (hypothetically) aren’t getting protection because they have crooks on staff then why bring in super heroes at all? I admit we never see what crewmembers are in Cloak and Dagger’s line of sight, so arguably MJ asked the criminal crewmembers to scram. But a hint of that would’ve been nice.

As filming inside the cave proceeds we see the Spidey actor struggling with his lines. The scene depicts ‘Spidey’ saying ‘You’ve gone too far this time, Mysterio. Now it’s personal.’ Amidst a street full of injured/dead people.

Mallorie is playing one of the injured people.

First of all, Mallorie wasn’t an actor or extra earlier in the story. But I suppose it’s not uncommon for crewmembers to have small roles in movies and with a reduced cast it’s likely she was just filling in.

More problematically, the scene is clearly depicting the fact that Mysterio has hurt (even murdered) people in his past. He’s done stuff so bad that Spider-Man, a hero, has been personally enraged by his evil acts.

This is in the movie. It’s in the script. MJ read this. MJ is seeing this recreated.

This eviscerates even the slightest remnant of deniability on MJ’s part. As I’ve argued in prior instalments, MJ SHOULD know Beck is a killer and a violent person. There was no denying that. But even if you were being wilfully ignorant or belligerently insisting only the events of this mini-series ‘counted’, the mini-series just spelled out for you that beck has seriously hurt people and that MJ knows that.

But she is still allowing him to make his vanity project. She’s still letting him walk free. She’s still chummy with him. She’s still showing no sign at all that she’s going to make Beck face justice.

On the last pages the actor playing Spider-Man quits after a light falls nearby. This leaves Beck and MJ sad, wondering how they can finish the film without Spider-Man.

I have nothing to say about this beyond a heavy light falling inside a wet cave should’ve been an obvious health and safety concern.

So, that was Amazing Mary Jane #3, quite possibly the single worst issue of the entire series thus far.

Honestly, I’m going to soldier on through this series, but I’ve made my points.

There is no hope of fixing this series now.

Not because there couldn’t be a justifiable explanation (or several) that could address all the problems. But because it’s become plain to me that Williams will not provide them to us.

Williams frankly seems like someone who understands aspects of MJ as a character. She knows how to make those aspects shine.

But there are other aspects she so fundamentally doesn’t get that it debilitates any good she might’ve done.

And more poignantly, even within the context of the story she is telling she has been incredibly inconsistent and at times downright baffling.

She either needs a better editor or she might be someone who ultimately wasn’t a good fit for this character/story.

*It’s extra bad considering several years ago in real life there was a major news story about the private photos of celebrities being hacked, perhaps the most notorious example being Jennifer Lawrence. I’m like 99% sure Leah Williams heard about that because I heard about that just from tumblr and I’m not someone who used to work in Hollywood nor do I work in the entertainment industry in any capacity.

P.S. How does Peter not know about the Savage Six?

Super villain attacks aren’t that common outside of New York city and the villains in question are predominantly associated with operating in NYC.

Three of them are very recurring enemies of his, one of which committed some very violent crimes during a traumatic recent event; the ‘Hunted’ storyline.

They attacked the set of another of his very recurrent enemies that his lover is working on.

None of this happened in a secluded location, it was all perfectly public.

So how on Earth does he not know about this? Why hasn’t he contacted MJ to ensure she’s okay? Why isn’t he riding down there to see if he can help her or trying to arrange his Avengers buddies to provide some protection?

The only answers are that MJ has lied about that again, Williams is mischaracterizing Peter indirectly or this story is badly written.

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#Leah Williams #Amazing Mary Jane #mjwatsonedit #mary jane watson #Mary Jane Watson Parker #MJ Watson #Spider-Man #Peter Parker #Mysterio #Quentin Beck #Carlos Gomez #Vulture #The Vulture #Adrian Toomes

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accio-victuuri · 1 year

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ybo sdc rehearsal vlog sweets 🍬🧁

first of all, it’s so cute that ybo acknowledged the people who did dance covers @ douyin. i wish someday yibo himself will be a stereotypical tiktok boy and do a dance routine lol.

this post is mainly to point out the fact that xzs and ybo are dating. hahahahaha! atleast their social media manager of sorts or video editors are. or maybe their bosses. who knows.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Most turtles were probably thinking yesterday when xzs released their vlog if the 24 hour rule will apply. It doesn’t have to be a long video too, it can just be a photo set because ybo does post stock photos too. But no, it was more than we expected. ybo responded with a long form rehearsal vlog of their own. Not really a kadian but look at how close the posting time is. Lol. It’s okay it they both did it at 16:00 but YBO had to post earlier so it won’t be too obvious 😏

The start of both videos showed a supercut of what you will see for the rest of the vlog and both starts at around 0:03 🤍

What are the chances that they have the same style in starting a long form vlog that was published a day apart?

we also have Web showing off his apple watch. Yes dude we know. XZ was also doing the same in his vlog even if we know you’re both endorsing other watches. Also as we CPNd yesterday, XZS was probably hiding GG’s bottled joy container. Compared to Bobo, it’s in there. Lol. Of course, he is their endorser so that’s okay.

+ both using drawings to give more effect to the video.

i see some comments that say if one of them was a girl and with all these coincidences, most blogs will probably be saying they are real. het couples can have the barest similar things months and years apart and people will hold that as more credible. anyway, at least, this kind of thinking keeps them safe because it’s only turtles who pay attention and see this unless it is too obvious and so/os notice too. lol.

and oh! spotted that lone yellow light ⭐️

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Now let’s talk about more sensitive matters, because as much as I wanna scream and shout when things like this happen we also gotta be careful. You may be seeing posts that say they are both in Shanghai. allegedly. Treat it as a fake rumor. Bobo is, but we don’t know about GG. Again, what is important is their privacy and safety. If they don’t wanna be found then we shouldn’t make it hard for them. I saw some comments that a “fan” tried to take a photo of Web and yanyan warned them off. We already know how yibo absolutely hates it when fans follow him around. Airport is probably fine like outside which is a public space and as long as people don’t delay flights and crowd. But he doesn’t like it when fans go to his hotel or whatever. They are real people and deserve to have their own time. The things we pick up and possibly future same events together should be enough.

To those who are going to the BJYX ST, you also might see “burn after reading” comments. The gist of what is going around is this:

GG got picked up from Hangzhou by a vehicle with a Shanghai license plate. His hotel stay in HZ was also refunded. There are also allegedly 4 photos but you can’t find it now.

I cannot confirm who this is from or how reliable. even if they were, it’s pretty dodgy how someone can have this information even if it feeds the CPN machine. Imagine someone stalking GG or Yibo at their hotel and looking at where they go. It’s a clear invasion of privacy even if you just see it in passing is still 50-50 to me. So i’m just putting it here to archive this incident. Again, this is going around BXG circles in weibo. There is no “insider”, especially in international platforms that can confirm this as 100% true. I am labeling this as fake rumor and fan fiction. 👀

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #all of this is cpn #there is no science here folks im just clowning like i always do

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crqstalite · 4 years

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SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 11

i have no excuse for not posting this earlier other than being lazy and trying to fine-tune it. _

KHAAK._DROMOUND_KAAS.

Kaas City was the place to be. Really, it was.

Well, with a certain someone in it.

Mrs. Khaak Beniko would be the first person to admit that over Coruscant, she enjoyed it more. Raining constantly, yes, but it has a certain elegance that can't be found anywhere else. The sleek silver buildings, the gorgeous evenings on the balcony, just the entire style of the place...she was a lucky woman to even live here among the blue bloods of Sith society. Had Lana not invited her to accompany her to such a home three years ago, she'd surely still be living on the Clarity, eating gutter trash and chasing it down with cheap whiskey, watching unsavory videos in the privacy of her bedroom. Half dressed and waiting for death to claim her.

And the Clarity most definitely didn't have silk sheets. Up until five or so years ago, it also didn't have the woman of her dreams next to her in bed. Wasn't nearly as clean either, so Khaak counts it as a win. She didn't think it could ever escape it's perpetual junky state after she'd built it from scraps as a child, but her wife had managed it some how. Lifting her hand into her vision, the glint of a silver band against her deep pink skin makes her warm on the inside. Really, how had she gone from meeting pirates every other day to bumping elbows with some of most influential Sith in the history of Sith, she supposed?

Hell, how'd she even go from getting herself off on her own hand to sleeping with and subsequently marrying one of the most powerful in the Sith hierarchy? It really was a miracle, some star had shined down upon her that fateful night and had gotten her to meet one of the most extraordinary women in the galaxy.

One she probably didn't deserve, and had only happened on accident the first time they'd met anyways.

Figuring she has to get up at some time or the other today instead of internalizing the jump in hierarchy status, she groans and stretches her arms over her head, smacking the back of her hands against the headboard of the bed. Hissing out a quiet curse as not to wake her wife, she blinks a few times and pushes herself up into a sitting position. She yawns, taking note that it's still raining, just as it was the night before. Though, it has lightened up a bit compared to how it had been, which means she might actually be able to go out today and not catch a debilitating cold. She tended to run warmer than the Sith she shared the apartment with, which was the only downside of living on the cursed jungle turned city planet. It meant Lana would pay some extra attention to her nearly freezing lekku though, which also stole her away from any important work for a few hours. Wasn't all bad, in that matter.

Rubbing the offending hand over her eyes, she uses the other to gently nudge the woman awake. It takes a few tries, but eventually the Sith groans and rolls over to face her. Khaak cheekily grins as one eye opens, and then the other. Another offended grunt once she realizes who it is, and she pulls a sheet back up around her shoulders, promptly rolling back over. Snickering, Khaak gently brushes a strand of blonde hair from the woman's face. One golden iris looks back up at her, a grimace on her face. Noting the dark circles under her eyes, she lays a hand against her cool cheek, "Lana, babe, we gotta get up at some time or another."

"Surely the Emperor will wait another few hours for us to deal with him." Lana whispers almost incoherently, finally deciding to move onto her back and look at her properly with a tired look in her eyes. It'd been this way for a while, she'd been less and less easily awoken from her sleep, and was more sluggish than usual. Odd, but Khaak tries not to dwell on the behavior, "What was it you said, you ran on Rishi time?"

"Rishi time only applies to times when you're not needed elsewhere, 'ana." Khaak responds, laying back down against her will. Gently pushing Lana back onto her side and then flush against her, she kisses her softly. An almost pained grin crosses the pale woman's face, leaning into the welcome touch, "Haven't you got places to be?"

"I suppose." She answers, still not exactly either awake or responsive. A visible shiver runs through her body, and she buries her head into the crook of Khaak's neck. Inconspicously, she lifts the strap of her tank top, feeling the brushes of exhaustion against her consciouness. Lana was not going to lull her to sleep again, but there were other things that they could get up to in bed if that's where she wanted to stay. Khaak didn't have anywhere important to be, and the way she was acting, nor did her wife, "They can be taken care of another day."

But after a few moments, when Lana still doesn't elaborate upon her answer, Khaak is actually rather curious -- and concerned. Yes, she was typically quiet anyways (she preferred actions over words, something that took Khaak a while to get used to) but her long undercover mission to Rishi and subsequently to Yavin left Khaak nervous about the Sith's mental state right then. Yes, she was jittery person by nature, but she'd deeply missed her wife and the anxiety that went along with never knowing if she was alive until a few months prior. The Kaasian apartment was too empty without her presence, and there'd been at least three times officials had come to the door asking where her 'Master' was.

She'd shot one of them in the leg for that comment alone. Another almost kicked her out of her own home for being a slave without a Master in one of the most expensive apartments in the City. The next, nearly lost an eye for assuming she had broken in and entered. As soon as he'd drawn his pitiful holdout blaster, Khaak had shot him in the arm and sent him crying back to his mother, surely.

Damn Imperials were stupid and weak. At least the meager, civilian police force in the Black Sun sector had more backbone than the Captains in the force here. Lana hadn't been happy about it when someone at the fucking Sith Sanctum had told her about the infractions shortly before Khaak had managed to skirt the issue for a week or two. It wasn't the first time people had commented on her race, but it was the first time without Lana that she wouldn't hold her tongue.

Spending every moment she had with her now meant everything to her, yet she'd been so withdrawn since she'd returned. Khaak had been filled in about the high profile allies that their little coalition had acquired while watching her do her dark magic healing routine, though she was still absolutely pissed that to 'keep her out of harm's way' Lana had decided to keep her in the dark until they landed on Yavin, and then kept her off the mission entirely by her request. (She'd even attempted to land at the space station, and had been denied access by an esteemed 'Lord Beniko'. She considered shooting the operator through the holo, but resigned to sit at home like a child in timeout as not to 'bother' Lana any further) She most literally could not help being terrified for Lana's safety the entire time without a word for so long (two damn years), and even if they both went down (stars help her if someone killed the love of her life) one, Khaak would want to go down in a blaze of glory against some ancient evil, and two, with her Sith Lord by her side. Not waiting in atmo to hear whether she was dead from some stupid SIS agent, or worse, a pansy of a Jedi.

Stupid Theron Shan got to be by her side for two years, but as soon as Khaak offered to go anywhere it was 'too dangerous' and 'a horribly stupid decision to make' and 'self-destructive'. When Theron did it, it 'brave' and 'self-sacrificing'. All said through gritted teeth, as if considering if he even really deserved the compliment, but it was apparently well-deserved and earned from the tone of voice. Khaak did pout about it for a long while, yes, but Lana made a good argument about not pitting herself against an agent. A Republic one at that.

Khaak didn't have anyone on Dromound Kaas other than Lana.

Khaak didn't have anyone in her immediate life other than Lana.

Her life was Lana.

What she would do without her, she isn't sure. Drift aimlessly back into the cosmos, surely. Probably drink herself into a coma within the first three years, tops. Where the Clarity would go after she was gone, she's unsure. The Sith was her anchor, as much as she didn't want to believe it. As much as she was Miss Independent, she was Mrs. Beniko first. She'd gotten attached, and she'd though this was finally it. Finally where she sat down somewhere. Somewhere she at least felt safe, felt she could let her guard down for good this time.

Why couldn't she have come back sooner?

Why couldn't she have brought her along?

Why was a blasted mission more important than her?

"Lana..." Khaak fake whines, pushing down her growing apprehension in favor of admiring the other woman, "I've got upgrades to do on the Clarity today. It'd be a lot more fun to do with you by my side." That was only a partial lie, her small freighter ship didn't need any fixing up at the time being, but having Lana on the ship to lift the things she wasn't able to was always a good help, and at times, a fun distraction. It was never just 'a few upgrades' or 'a few things' to fix. It was their way of indiscreetly letting the other know they wanted time alone to bond with each other, "We could be on Nar Shaddaa within the hour, be back by the week starts. Get up to things I haven't done since I got off that slimeball."

"No thank you, love. Maybe another day." Lana answers darkly, rolling back over. It's an attempt to get Khaak off her case (she should know the tone, she's done it to quite a few other handsy Imperials in her day), and Khaak tries not to make her distaste at the decision known rather unsuccessfully. The other woman is apologetic at the very least once she sees her wife's reaction, a regretful smile on her face, "I apologize if I come off as lethargic or apathetic, I promise I'll make up for it sometime or the other."

"You've been over working yourself since you got back, 'ana. We don't even have to land on any planet, we could just fly around for a few hours." Khaak responds, gently rubbing a hand over the small of her back as Lana looks up at her with mild annoyance. Ignoring it, she continues on anyway, "You like flying with me, don't you? It'd get your mind off this mess for a while, you'll feel better that way."

"I have work to get done later. I just need a few hours more and we can go over to the Sanctum together later if you wish." Lana answers. Khaak shivers at the thought, she had a special hatred for the Sith headquarters. An indescribable cold was always invading her bones, and no matter how many layers she threw on it would always be there. At least on the Clarity she and Lana would be alone, talking about sweet nothings, nowhere to be and no one to bother them. In her office there was always the chance they'd be interrupted by someone, a well-hidden disgusted look if they were holding hands. Khaak stopped the little touches here and there within the year she'd arrived on Dromound Kaas, it made her self-conscious. Typically from the Council, trying to figure what to do with Arkous' old affairs, but often these little trips turned into little more than excursions where Khaak would have to entertain herself as if she were Lana's child instead of a partner. No one treated her as much more than a decorative object, some would ask her name if they were so curious. One of the Amarillis' (there were six of them, the Wrath, her parents and then her three siblings of varying ages), she thinks the oldest brother often came by and worked extensively on reports based upon Yavin.

She was continually shoved to a corner for hours at a time, and even the fanciful dates out on the City didn't ever fix that. Lana was trying, she knew that. Before her, she wasn't sure Lana had even dated anyone before, so it was a learning process for both of them. Khaak had to slow down the progression of their relationship, and that was okay. But after so long, she would've thought Lana would've caught on she didn't enjoy being treated like this, "We could eat at that restaurant you like afterwards if you're so inclined."

"Right." It comes off colder than it should as a recoil, and Lana's concern is written all over her face after she says it. She knows that she shouldn't be angry, Lana came back in one piece. It's more than she could've ever asked for, especially with the odd details of the mission. But it's been this way for months since she came back from Yavin, and her heart feels emptier than it did when she was gone. Yes, now she saw her everyday physically instead of over the holo, but it felt like she wanted to be even less known that she was while she was undercover. Working long hours at the Sanctum, rarely ever interested in running off anywhere like she was when they were first married. Khaak doesn't even bother going up to her office on her own anymore. She can accept that she's Sith and he's busy, but she did at least think Lana would leave time for them. To keep them as an us, not just a Lana and a Khaak.

It was impossible to know what she was walking into on the best of days. A Lana who needed her, or a Lana who could get by without her.

Khaak hated there was even an option.

Hated there was even a chance Lana might say she didn't need her anymore. Yes, she was gutter trash, alien trash by Kaasian standards, but she could always rely on Lana being by her side and never giving into the stereotypes.

But here she was, trusting someone she'd known for maybe two years over Khaak. Willing to go into hiding for years with him. She regrets even the thought, but she can't help but wonder if more happened between Shan and her. Wondered if there was some stupid fling between them that Lana was willing to throw everything away for.

She wishes these thoughts would just stop for two seconds. That she could be like every other Sith spouse and just accept things the way they happened. But that wasn't how Khaak was no matter how much she wished it. Neither of them blindly just trusted people, and she's afraid that it might put a real wrench into things.

Sliding off the bed, she yanks the tank top off with more force than is really necessary. It pulls up on her lekku painfully, and she grits her teeth in pain, a growl building in her throat, "I can do it all on my own."

A moment passes, Lana sighs frustratedly from behind her, maybe observing her actions. This wasn't going to end well, but Khaak doesn't care now. She's just as frustrated, maybe more, and Khaak deserves to be able to go through her own emotions without being yelled at for it-- right? If Lana doesn't care, then why should she?

"Now you're beginning to sound like Theron." The bed shifts and creaks under Lana's weight as she says it, chastisting her for her out of place actions. Khaak moves further away to the dresser that held most of her clothes. She roughly pulls it open at the mention of the name. Khaak doesn't even want to be compared to the stupid agent, and then slides an undershirt on, yanking her lekku out from under the shirt. A light, tight leatheris flight shirt over it, "There's no reason to be sarcastic or withdrawn."

"No reason at all." Khaak mirrors her, though she says it as a growl without even realizing it. Why is she even getting this upset about all of it? Most of this wasn't her situation anyways, she wasn't Sith, she didn't know Marr and had only known Arkous in passing. She was just a free trader from a dirty sector on Nar Shaddaa who'd gotten unbelievably lucky by marrying into a powerful society. She'd always struggled, never having enough credits, never being pretty enough or smart enough or strong enough. Now she was struggling to keep her own wife from self-destructive actions, and trying to keep her marriage firmly out of the hands of her self-doubt.

She almost has her trousers on, moving over to the bedroom door to slide on her boots when she can hear Lana moving towards her. Khaak tries to calm her racing heart, tries to convince herself that Lana's ineptness at even concerning herself with the possible fact that someone did care, that someone was at home waiting for her, that someone wanted her back as soon as possible, that someone did need her, hadn't flown out the viewport.

There are too many parallels to her own family. Too many parallels to the people that tried to take the Clarity from her. They tried to keep her safe, tried to keep her locked in a poorly built cell of security, tried to keep her a child forever. Now it's someone trying to make her independent in the worst way possible. Forcing her to come to terms with her demons, that have unfortunately learned how to swim through the worst of storms.

She's understandably pissed.

Right?

"Khaak...please. There are things I simply can not do for you right now, there are things beyond your understanding I can't even decipher myself." Lana pauses, leaning against her back for support, "I know I've been gone for a long time, and I apologize for that."

"Do you?" It comes out as a rough whisper, Khaak turns her head over her shoulder, still careful enough that she doesn't accidentally hit her with her lekku, "Are you really sorry, Lana? For putting me through all of that?"

"I-" She starts, but Khaak doesn't let her finish. Won't let her finish. Can't let her finish. If she just bows down and rolls over again, this conversation will be closed off again. And if it's closed off, she can forget about ever getting her wife back.

"Lana I waited for two years for even a word from you. I trusted your life in the hands of a man from the opposite faction, trusted that you'd come back to me whole, and you brushed me off as soon as I wanted to come down and help you! Those two years were a living hell for me, it was like being all alone on the Clarity again, but instead all I had were memories of you. All I had were old holos, your clothes, everywhere you used to be! All in favor of what, some stupid fucking SIS agent?!" Khaak whips around fast, a grimace on her lips as her lekku smack the blast door anyways. If she did have hair, she would've been yanking on it by now, "Now you're back and trying to act like nothing has changed, but you were the one who changed!"

"You don't need to yell, Khaak." Lana answers, her gaze darkening as her tone hardens. She's still terribly intimidating in her dark colored sleep clothing, and her hair mussed. But for now Khaak doesn't have a reign on her emotions, she couldn't care less if she was magically the damned Emperor staring her down with lightning at her fingertips, she would not be quieted again. It's all tumbling out, and screw if Lana wanted to hear it or not, "If you had an issue-"

"'I should've just told you'. Do you know just how well that worked out on this front, Lana? Do you know how many times you told me to go home and wait? How many times I did? How many times I had to chase away people who wanted to take me away because I was an alien in one of the most expensive apartments in Kaas City?" She balls a fist, not entirely sure she even wants to hear the rest of Lana's argument. Khaak doesn't want to hurt Lana, and she's not going to, but it would be a firm lie if she said she wasn't going to punch something once she got out of here. She's already heard most of it time and time again, and she isn't going to be shut down again, no matter how childish she seems, "How many times I was terrified you were dead, or worse?!"

"Don't throw yourself into a tantrum, Khaak. I had a mission to complete, and at the risk of seeming apathetic, you had my approval to stay here through my absence. Whatever they did was illegal." She answers, raising her voice to meet Khaak's tone. It wasn't unusual, but she flinches at the change in volume anyways, possibly instinctively, "The Empire was under attack, and I was going to fight for it. I had access to Arkous' files long before they did, I had to fight Revan before he killed us all."

"What about us!? Were you going to fight for us too? Or was this mission and your damned faction more important than what we have?!" She barked. Khaak wasn't stupid, she knew the Empire always came first because Lana was Sith first and foremost. She had grown up a drifter, never tied to one faction or the other. She traded with the highest bidder, not the most morally close to her own actions. She always tried her best to understand the nationalism that most on Dromound Kaas and Lana felt. But she can't help feeling hurt because of it, fuck her original faction and what they asked of her. She couldn't just dedicate her life to her and then turn away as soon as a mission got tough, "Your damned Empire was worth keeping me away from you when you knew I needed you?"

"I wasn't going to let you run out there and risk your life like you always do! That's what I was aiming to do before you tried to shove yourself into a literal conspiracy!" Lana contended back, "This wasn't your war to fight, it was mine!"

"I wanted to fight! I wanted to fight by your side, I wanted to be with you and you denied me at every turn! Your so-called protection was going to get you killed. Sure you came back alive, but that doesn't mean you can just forget about the fact that you left me here! You left me alone, knowing I needed you, knowing that I love you, and yet you turned your back on me, just like you do everyone else!" Khaak can feel herself cracking again, can feel her true colors shining through again. There were many Lana often turned her back on, and while Khaak felt bad about it most of time, she could understand. This, she couldn't and wouldn't. "Lana, what the hell do I mean to you, if not a partner next to you in battle, and in life?"

"You're blowing this out of proportion, Khaak." Lana claims stoically, crossing her arms, "It was one mission. And I'm back now. I'm here for you."

"You're more distracted than you've ever been. You work and work and work and you throw credits at me as if that'll fix the problem! You look at me as if I'm an inconvience, as if I'm nothing but a friend rather than your wife!" Her voice cracks on the last word, and if she didn't know better, she'd say she were about to start crying. But she's not, she's about to fight someone, and thank the stars she didn't have the Force or something would've broken as she tries not to scream in frustration, "I'm not throwing a tantrum, Lord Beniko, I'm letting you know how I feel about the shit you've pulled with me and I'm not standing for it anymore!" Khaak snaps, a shrill yell escaping her.

Lana's dumbfounded for a moment, taken completely aback as her eyes widen. She's visibly surprised, shocked with her reaction. But her fixed gaze doesn't waver, and she sets her lips in a thin line before responding, "Please. Continue berating me for protecting you. Continue telling me I didn't have your best interests in mind. Continue blaming me for putting your life first. As if I didn't want you alive to come home to, because apparently I don't know any better, Captain." Lana exaggerated, clearly frustrated. Khaak winces at the title, Lana hadn't called her Captain in that connotation in years.

"I-Lana I wanted to help! I wanted to be there for you, and you shoved me away. You let the Wrath and Nox fight by your side, but not me. Not the one who knows you best, but instead your fuckin' Sith friends. Is that how much I mean to you?!" Nox, Marr and the Wrath got to fight by her side, and what for? Why did they get that privelege, and not her? There were always going to be lingering thoughts of self-doubt when she compared herself to the force-sensitives that were around her, but this was just beginning to prove the worst of her fears. She wasn't good enough for a lot of things for a multitude of reasons, but not being some eternally powerful warrior wasn't one of them, "Sorry I can't lift a box two times my own weight with some power I'm not pre-disposed to, but it doesn't mean I can't protect you!"

"Khaak, I couldn't care less if you wielded the Force as I did. I didn't give myself up to you because you were force blind, I gave myself up to you because I care for you! If Revan took you from me, if the Emperor took you from me, I don't know what I would do without you." Lana quiets, unable to meet her eyes.

"What was I supposed to do without you?!" Khaak finishes, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "If we go down, we go down together Lana. It's in sickness and in health and 'till death does us part. It's not until you get tired of working with me, it's not until you decide you're too good to be working with me, and it's sure as hell not until you find some Sith partner that's better than me!"

"There isn't anyone better than you! Revan nearly killed the Wrath, one of the strongest Sith amongst us, and left us all with scars we'll never get rid of. If you'd been the one lying in a medbay bed, I don't know what I would've done. If I'd see you sprawled out in the jungle, eyes lolled back into your head and your own blood pooling out around you, you don't even understand the lengths I would go to enact revenge on your death!" Khaak doesn't think she's ever moved Lana to tears in the years that they've known each other, but the way her voice is wavering she's afraid she may have finally done it. And not in a good way either, "I could not risk your life for something I signed up for, Khaak, and I never will. Be angry if you will, but Theron had nothing to do with this! I doubt he even knows you exist!"

For a moment, she's offended. Heavily. By the fact Lana hadn't even bothered telling her apparent confidant she was married. That she hadn't seen her as important enough to tell him about her, that she was happy with her wife. But then, she stops, pausing to look at her broken form. Her wife is exhausted, and she hasn't slept properly since she's been back, tossing and turning and mumbling in her sleep. Lana has just been through maybe the two worst years of her life, hiding her true identity and living on Rishi of all places. Most of what she'd encountered was still a mystery to Khaak, lots of things simply hadn't been disclosed just yet. That worries her, maybe there was something Lana had seen that she wasn't able to get out of her head. Something the Emperor had done to her that Khaak wouldn't ever even begin to imagine.Maybe Khaak is being unfair, maybe her emotions have been invalidated again. Maybe she's overreacting unnecessarily. Something about Theron still bothers her, but he did his job and didn't get her wife killed while she was with him. That was all she could've asked for, especially for someone related to two higher-ups in the Republic.

"You're not invulnerable, Lana. I know that against all the odds, Sith can die just as much as us force blind can." Khaak whispers, staring at a fixed point in the distance. Their lived-in bedroom, that has seen many quiet nights with soft holos playing, loud nights where neither of them want to do anything even close to sleeping, bad days where they can't be bothered to get out of bed, good days where they stay in each other's embrace as long as their responsibilities allow them, stormy days where they yell at each other and can barely look at the other person.

Like today.

The rain is always in the background, the pittering and pattering of the raindrops against the transparisteel as she tries to formulate words to describe how she's feeling, "Maybe it isn't as easy to understand from your point of view, strong as hell, but some wild blaster shot could take any of us, including you. Someday your fancy force healing isn't going to be able to bring you back like it did now. No one is taking you from me again, not even Marr himself."

Lana is quiet, possibly pondering upon her response, and Khaak takes it as a pass to continue, "Yeah, I am sorry for yelling at you. That wasn't fair of me. But I'm not just going to roll over and--I don't know just let you keep risking your life like this and say nothing, pretend everything is okay." Khaak lifts her head again, but closes the distance between them and gently lifts Lana's head to look at her, "I'm not asking for you to give all of this up, I know the promotion to Minister wasn't given lightly. I'm proud of you for it, and I hope you continue earning what you deserve. But I'm asking you to never forget about me like this again. You'll always have me, and I don't want you to forget that."

"I'd never forget you." Lana whispers, eyes rimmed a light pink, "I thought I was protecting you by keeping you here. There were forces at work that I barely understood, much less wanted to put you through. It was never any ploy to rid myself of you, love. For that, I am sorry. Everything with the Emperor, and then the Revanites...I suppose I was trying to do it all myself again. I thought I could do it all myself."

"You tend to do that." Khaak softly chuckles, scratching the back of her neck. In a way, she isn't wrong, Lana tended to take everything on by herself even when it wasn't necessary. That was just how she was, and no argument would get her to stand down immediately, "Lana, I'd go to the ends of the galaxy and back for you, hell I'd stare the Emperor down and flip him off if that's what it took to keep you alive."

Lana raises an eyebrow, possibly amused with the image and thought, before a gentle smile takes the place of the small frown that had been on her lips, "I do hope it never comes to that, because I would never doubt that you would do such a thing."

"For you? Nothing is impossible." She hugs the shorter woman, laying her head on her shoulder. Possibly it's a little tighter than it needs to be, but Khaak needs her, needs to know she's here, that she's back again. "I'm sorry I was angry, I said things I shouldn't have said. It wasn't fair of me to get frustrated like that, especially at you. Everything you do to keep me here, I appreciate more than you know."

"It was partially my own fault. I left you in the dark for so long without considering how you'd feel about it. I shouldn't have assumed everything was okay here," Lana answers, hugging her back, "It wasn't fair of me to think you'd simply be okay with me being gone for so long."

"I'm not asking to be part of every little Sith thing you do, but maybe let me in on some things? I want to help as much as I can, even if I don't entirely understand. Hell, I'd make a shitty Imperial agent, but I'm sure I could learn." Khaak pulls away from her, still with an arm wrapped around her waist, "I don't want you as stressed as you are now. It isn't all work and no play, 'ana."

"I-" Lana pauses, seeming as if she wants to continue but can't figure how to, "The Emperor isn't dead. Not like how we assumed he was. He's alive, and surely planning something horrid for the rest of the galaxy. The Sith are on high alert, the higher-ups in Council are getting antsy and much too quiet. That includes me. We don't know what's coming next, so we have to stay on top of it all. Especially with me as Minister of Intelligence now, taking a day off isn't exactly something I can do, love. Not with the current state of the galaxy."

Shit, Khaak didn't know that part. She's beginning to think any happiness she had before was all a cover up for what was really happening behind the scenes with this new job of her's.

"Yeah...um, can't Lord Amarillis help you with that?" Khaak questions, pulling a few memories out. She wants this fixed, and now, "He screws around with Intelligence from time to time, right? Couldn't he take the mantle for a few days?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. I could surely use his help, but he has his own problems to deal with, especially with his estate the way it is." Lana looks thoughtful for a moment, considering before flickering her glance back up to Khaak, "I have a few other assets I could acquire for this investigation, surely it will get solved soon enough." With a raise of her eyebrow, Lana smiles gently, "And I promise that this time, you can help, love."

"Good, no running off to fight ancient evils without me again, okay?" Khaak asks, pressing a kiss to her lips that Lana leans into, "Two heads are always better than one."

Possibly unnecessarily, both women are still uneasy after this argument. It isn't obvious at first glance, even they've convinced themselves that all is well again. As if nothing has happened. Lana remains at their small apartment more often than not, Khaak is less ready to immediately run off and fight for something she doesn't fully understand. But Lana still hides quite a bit from Khaak, she can tell. Khaak continues to try and push down her true emotions, if only to conform to the mold she's accidentally made for herself to keep Lana around. It has only been the eye of the storm passing overhead, and another is brewing just off the coast. Neither wants to admit they've simply put a bandage over something that has been bleeding for years.

When they do eventually get the call that something horrible is going down on Ziost early one morning, there's a look in Lana's eyes that Khaak won't ever forget. There's another moment when they're flying back over the Sith Intelligence headquarters that Khaak considers that Lana may throw herself back into this and forget about her for real this time. That is mission may be the end all be all if Khaak doesn't do something about it. Firmly, she argues with the 'Keeper' (there isn't a single person in Intelligence who answers to a real name, and that's annoying as it is) and her wife to at least fly her down to the surface and stay on the space station in case she needs her. If Lana doesn't want her on-planet, then at the very least she will stay where her wife can always reach her.

Where her wife can't forget about her.

KHAAK._ZIOST.

"So your name is just Cipher Nine?" Khaak questions, turning away from the viewport of the shuttle for a moment. The woman that was accompanying them down to the surface was a piece of work that they'd met at Intelligence at Lana and Keeper's request. Blonde and deep brown skinned with hair in a tight ponytail and in a clean, crisp Imperial uniform. There are a few cybernetics here and there, and Khaak is undoubtedly impressed with just how high-tech they are. She can make a few assumptions on what each one does, but figures she might be wrong. She would've considered her pretty, should she not have been so horribly uptight. Not even a laugh at a few of jokes she cracked, simply standing at a perpetual attention nearby. Any question about Intelligence, answered indirectly, effectively skirting the entire question and returning to absolute silence. Even the little that Lana had told her about the agent was confusing and lead her around in circles. The fact she'd withstood being brainwashed and going undercover for months at a time, it was impressive but also made Khaak very happy that she never went into Sith Intelligence to follow after Lana. The addition of the modded rifle made her a bit nervous, according to Lana she was one of the most talented Cipher agents of her generation (Khaak didn't know what that meant, nor did she really care), though she posed no immediate danger to either of them. Khaak would buy that as soon as she stopped catching her golden-tinged glare every time she turned around. She felt like she was being analyzed from head to toe, or their was a file being made on her, "No nickname like...I don't know, Cara?"

Not even a snicker or a chuckle at the joke, "My designation is Cipher Nine. That is who I am, Captain." She answers, the Imperial accent thick and her expression unwavering from pissed off or possibly apathy. Nine it was then. Maybe Snips if she was feeling particularily annoyed with her.

"I have a name, y'know." Khaak deadpans back, clicking a few buttons to get them ready to land on-planet, then swiveling around in the chair and crossing one leg over the other, "You could address me that way if you're so inclined."

"Don't tease her, Khaak. That's how all Intelligence agents are." Lana responds, stepping closer to the nav controls and adjusting the belt on her armor. She holds back a low whistle in their current company, even going into battle her wife was a certain type of gorgeous that she couldn't put a name on, "I'm sure she has a name that she doesn't wish to disclose with us." Turning from her, she hands Nine a datapad, "Things are getting desperate on the surface, and while we're far from where I'd like us to be, we're safest further from the population centers."

"What about this Wrath of yours? Didn't you contact her before we got down here? Why can't she just slash a path through here for us?" Khaak asks, skirting the fact about the population centers (she'd been on Kaon during the outbreak and had just barely made it out by the skin of her teeth -- insane infections like this terrified her). When she thought of this Sith and her apparently galaxy-shattering abilities, she figured a few Emperor-controlled soldiers wouldn't be too much of a problem for her. Gritting her teeth, she makes the mental note that if the Wrath comes out of here alive but not her Sith, she might just commit an unsolicited murder.

"The Wrath is powerful, but I'm afraid the Emperor might target her first due to her inclusion in the mission on Yavin and relation to him as his currently designated Wrath. He may see her as a adversary. Her landing out here is the safest place for us to meet her and regroup our efforts to push through and finish Vitiate for good." Lana answers, as Khaak turns back around to land them properly. A look out the viewport, and Khaak hisses in a breath through her teeth at what she sees.

Khaak had been to Ziost before, had even lived here for a period of time with her old crew in tow, but it had never been destroyed like this before. Never. The buildings were crumbling, and there were so many people running about, some stationary though. No ships were taking off, no speeders that she could see. The People's Tower loomed in the distance, New Adasta was dark from what she could see. The Landing Zone was in terrible shape, speeders and transports alike crashed. As they grew closer, Khaak was surprised no one had begun shooting. It was eerie, as if they didn't belong here. As if there was always something waiting in the shadows, and something is beginning to grow the pit in her stomach. Flickering her gaze to Lana, she isn't so sure she wants to leave her alone down here with only two agents and the Wrath behind her, prior fears be damned.

"I will scout the surrounding areas, Minister. Should I run into trouble or find the Wrath, I will alert you immediately," Nine says as they land, pulling the rifle off her back and clicking the safety off. For some reason, Khaak is quick to believe that the trouble will not be Emperor-made, instead the trouble with be Nine herself. Any help would be good help, she supposes and resigns to trust Lana's life in her hands, "Agent Kovach should meet us soon, yes?"

Khaak quietly grumbles under her breath about having an actual name, and Lana lightly slaps her arm in a mock punishment that Khaak pouts at, "Yes, Cipher. You know the coordinates."

A solitary nod from the agent as the door slides open, and she's gone in the cool air, falling into nothingness with only the buzz of a stealth generator ever letting them know she was here. Pushing yet another button to close it again behind her to wait for her return, Lana lets out a shaky sigh once the blastdoors have closed, and Khaak puts a hand on her shoulder that Lana leans into, "Already I've received more reports from concerned officials and worried civillians than I can count. The Emperor is causing chaos left and right, and I'm not even entirely sure why yet. Everyone needs me all at once, as if I haven't been putting out fires as soon as they're set. Evacuation shuttles are being delayed because of attacks, more and more civillians are being turned faster than we can contain those who haven't. Stars, this really is the end of a world, and no one knows what to do about it."

"Hey, we're going to save as many as we can." She says, trying to reassure the other woman and pulling Lana closer to her and pressing a kiss to her lips, knowing that this might just be the last time she sees Lana again. Lowering her voice, she leans her forehead against her wife's, her eyes going cross-eyed for just a moment before focusing again. She's warm, and with the way her eyes narrow in thought, Khaak has got to get this off her chest before Lana does something stupid. Not that she would, Lana remains one of smartest people she knows, but self-sacrificing actions were considered stupid in her book. Any action that could lead to unnecessary injury on her part was stupid, "It sounds bad, but just this once, put your life first."

"Khaak..." Lana says warningly, a skeptical look in her eyes as she leans her weight against her, "I have a job to do. Whether you like it or not,being the Minister means I protect all the Imperial lives that I can."

"That includes yours, 'ana." Khaak answers firmly, leaving no room for any more discussion on the topic, "Protect whoever the hell we're here to protect, but your's still matters most. Don't forget that, got it?"

They kiss again, and Khaak tries to imprint her taste, her smell back onto her. This mission wouldn't drag out nearly as long as Yavin did, but it doesn't mean her concern will wane. It could be as short as a few moments if as soon as she steps out of the shuttle that the Emperor takes aim for her, "I love you, Lana."

"I love you too, Khaak." Her holocom rings, breaking their eye contact as Lana pulls it off her belt, though her hand lingers in Khaak's for a moment longer, "That's Nine. I'm assuming the Wrath has made her presence known once more. I should collect her before the Emperor decides to first."

"If she's the reason you die, she'll have a lot more than just the Emperor to worry about." Khaak is less that ecstatic to see her go, and is beginning to consider that offer to go and scout for Theron herself, if not to have an excuse to still be on planet against Lana's will, "Look, I'll scout around for Theron's ship best I can, and I'll circle back for you if you need me, okay?"

"Are you sure? I know how you are with these situations, love." Lana says, stepping outside the shuttle, lightsaber hilt in hand. A concerned look fills her features instead of one of stress, possibly considering this offer. But, she resigns herself to a nervous smile, "Do not do anything that will jeopardize your survival, love."

"Huh, feel like I just had this conversation with someone I know very well. She didn't listen at first, but thankfully because I love her, I'll listen to her concerns." Lana rolls her eyes good-naturedly at the sarcastic comment, but the incessant ringing of her holocom again spurs her on to kiss her for a final time before igniting her lightsaber and disappearing into the landing zone in a flash of red, black and green. A certain sense of dread fills Khaak to the brim as she closes the blast doors and lifts off again. Essentially, she's leaving Lana on her own, to fend for herself amongst those who have already been controlled. Hell, she couldn't care less if Nine died (Khaak had half a mind to think all her responses were automated or taken straight out of some agent handbook or the other), Kovach could get himself killed and she wouldn't bat an eye. If the Emperor even touched a hair on Lana's head though, Khaak would find someway to fight the ancient Imperial entity. And shoot him.

Switching gears, she refocuses on the mission at hand. Intelligence doesn't exactly have exact information on where Theron is, but he was still on-planet, and would serve as a good distraction from the current situation. She can't stop giving lingering glances to to the landing zone where she'd left Lana, but turns away anyways. The additional Sixth Line was his idea apparently, according to the file Lana had given her, and she rolls her eyes at the mere idea of the action. If Saresh had approved it, it was no wonder the entire mission was going to shit.

Khaak hated Leontyne Saresh. She hated a lot of people, but Saresh topped that list time and time again. Restriction after restriction on trading outside of Republic entities, and even within it once Khaak had applied for Republic citizenship. She very quickly didn't end up renewing it, and probably lost out on hundreds of thousands of credits because of the Chancellor. She didn't do trade in the core worlds that were under her jurisdiction anymore, at least not legally. At the very least with this fascist government, she could trade as she saw fit. Hell, she was pretty sure the Republic was suffering at her hands, but unlike Imperial worlds, they didn't rebel for some reason.

Considering this, she finds that it's smooth sailing for the time being over the rest of the Landing Zone and into the city district of Ziost, much too quiet, which is an an oddity in itself, typically she'd have to dodge speeder after speeder at this time of day. It isn't as if the Imperial shuttle handles oddly either. She considers what she'd even say to Theron should she see him, or even find him. A small part of her hopes he's dead or gone, just so they all can go home and let the Empire deal with it all, like they always do.

She's beginning to near New Adasta when she can feel the pit in her stomach only growing. A glance around what she can see in front of the viewport leads her to believe she's only being paranoid, and takes a shaky breath in to continue on her mission. But a look into the holocamera recording from behind her is too slow to see the aerial guns slowly turning to take aim for the small shuttle. There isn't enough time for her to speed up or even use any defensive manuevers, because the first shot hits one of the main thrusters, thrusting her in the opposite direction, and the next takes out the other. Spiraling into a free fall and losing control over the shuttle entirely, alarms are blaring, red lights are filling her vision and Khaak is panicking. The safeties weren't exactly explained before they took off, and if there is anything to protect her from dying at the hands of a blasted transport shuttle, she doesn't know. Wide-eyed and nearly ready to jump from the ship anyways, she holds onto the straps tightly. It isn't the first time she's ever crashed a ship, hell the Clarity wouldn't fly properly the first few times and she gathered quite a few infractions the first few flights it had. But, this might end up being the last if she can't get out of this. The shuttle hits something hard, probably a building, throwing her off course and smacking her head against the nav dash.

Seeing stars, all she can do now is pray that the steering still works. Flicking her hands back to it, she finds that it does, but she isn't able to pull up properly to avoid a nosedive into the ground, that much is obvious. Lights flash by the viewport in a dizzying array, screaming is growing louder and louder and louder outside the shuttle as the ground grows closer. So this was how it ended, not in a blaze of glory with her wife at her side, but instead alone, in a shuttle she couldn't even figure out how to pilot in the end, trying to find the one person she hoped to never see in person.

A throw of the controls to the left just as she's about to hit the ground allows her two seconds more of consciousness, watching through wide eyes as she and the shuttle roll and the duracrete beneath her spinning before her. Her lekku are yanked painfully different directions as the safety straps snap entirely, throwing her forwar and another hit to the ground breaks the transparisteel, shattering it into pieces and sending her through the viewport onto the ground. Something snaps in her arm as she falls and skids to a stop on the snow covered ground.

She cries out in pain as it registers that her arm has broken in quite a few places after she tries to move. Her ankle is twisted at a despicable angle, and her head is buzzing like the static in a holcom. A string of obscenities escape her as she tries to push herself up into a sitting position, and she falls back to the ground, laying in one of the most painful positions she's ever been in. A quick stock check leaves her knowing she hasn't lost any of the offending limbs just yet. The shuttle is in horrible shape, looming over her and pieces of it scattered about nearby. With her uninjured arm, she fishes her holocom out of one of her pockets (not before biting back an animalistic scream of pain). Flicking one of the switches on the bottom, it begins to beep quietly as she slides it back to sit next to her head. Not even fifteen minutes after leaving Lana, she would need to call upon her for assistance. Chuckling, she wheezes out a laugh, oh the irony.

Glancing about, she can see why Ziost was in such desperate need of Imperial assistance. Alarms sounded everywhere, though she couldn't see anyone in her immediate vincinity. Khaak didn't know what exactly the Emperor was doing, or why, other than that he was controlling average citizens. A bout of panic fills her as her breathing quickens, wondering if he would try to control her. She hadn't seen much evidence of it just yet, but she's worried he's already in her head, trying to take her over. Trying to get her killed. Trying to kill her.

Where does she go from here, until Lana can send assistance or someone to help her? She can't move, she's essentially paralyzed. The ship is clearly non-functional, electricity dangerously close to swinging at her should she grow any closer to the now death trap. Even if she were able to get up on her own, there'd be quite a while before anyone would come for her.

Apparently, she doesn't have to wait long for her saving grace.

"Oi! This ain't a time to die." A voice shouts from somewhere nearby, clearly feminine in tone. Scrambling up from her prone position, her ankle snaps and she slides right back down to the ground, this time smacking the back of her head against the duracrete. Pain shoots up in every direction, and if she wasn't unmovable before, she is now.

Great going, Khaak.

At least she can clearly see who it is now, a woman bundled up in clothing that she would easily mistake for a pirate. A black market electrostaff is on her back, and is quickly sliding down from a line hooked many levels above them. Landing delicately on one boot and then the other, through her fuzzy vision Khaak can see that she's rather short, but blonde curls tumbling down her head. Her jaw and mouth are covered by a tan scarf that is the same color as the rest of her light armor, and she slowly walks up to Khaak. Using her uninjured arm to point one of her blasters at the woman as she tries to pick up the holocom that she had just dropped, the woman stops for a moment, holding her hands up in the universal 'don't shoot' position, "Hey, I don't mean any harm."

An Imperial citizen then, the accent isn't pristine Kaasian, but instead very much one of the Imperial conquered worlds, as Khaak had learned, "Step away...from the holocom."

"Gotcha there." The woman answers, whistling at the ship, "You definitely had one hell of ride into Adasta, huh?"

"You could say that." Khaak coughs, shaking her entire body as she tries to wheeze in another gasp of air. Great, she might've punctured a lung, or broken a rib. With how today was going, she wouldn't put it past fate to be doing so.

"Ships have been crashing for the last couple of days. Don't know what jurisdiction is up to, maybe trying to keep us all contained down here." The woman pulls out a kolto patch, but quirks an eyebrow up, maybe considering even what to do with it, "Jedi and Sith alike milling about everywhere. Wouldn't recommend the scenic tour if you're new here."

"Wonderful, just wonderful." Khaak rolls her eyes, as the woman grows closer.

"I could try to get you back to my apartment. I've been locked up tight since this whole mess started, it'd be nice to have someone else around 'till I die or everything else goes to shit. Or it blows over, who knows?" The woman bend down a knee to be at eye level with Khaak, showing her a grappling gun and then snapping it back to her belt, "How's that sound?"

Khaak considers for a moment, her vision flickering back to the beeping holocom, her only connection to Lana right now, before considering the woman before her. She's an older woman, crinkles around her silver eyes and scars galore marring what she can see. Sighing, she nods solemnly, "You got a name?"

"Do you?" The woman asks back, making a move to help her up. Khaak bites her bottom lip as her ankle drags on the ground and the woman presses down a bit too hard on the injured arm. But she's up, and that's better than she had been a few moments ago. The world spins for a few minutes as she tries to get her bearings back, and nausea is beginning to creep into her senses. A concussion, probably.

"Asked you first." Khaak responds, as they experimentally try a few steps in one direction, and then the other. The woman is much smaller than she is, so it takes a bit to get used to the weight difference, but they are able to walk a few feet to where the woman had just landed only a few minutes ago.

"Asked you second." The woman says teasingly, sliding the grappling gun back out from her belt and taking aim for much higher than they are now. Odd, but Khaak doesn't immediately question their destination. Taking a bit more of her armor in, she can see that the woman isn't underprepared for this excursions, because other than the electrostaff she also has two Czerka blasters on her hips, plus a blaster rifle alongside the staff. She was packing some insane firepower.

"Fine then. Captain Beniko." She answers, knowing this kind of woman, and that chances are she wouldn't be getting the free ride up and promise of rest if she didn't disclose her title at the very least. The woman readjusts her grip on her waist at the answer, the line shooting upwards and clanging to the side of a building. The woman gently tugs on the gun, testing the strength of the line. When it doesn't snap under their weight immediately, Khaak realizes that her apartment must've been higher up in the tiers of New Adasta. Clever, very cleve, "You, mysterious stranger?"

The woman laughs loud and long as they begin their slow ascent upwards, "Mysterious Stranger? Might add that to my list of titles, put that on my gravestone when I die." Her eyes are smiling, the silver turning a sterling grey in the changing lighting. She looks back down at her, "Call me Cadera."

"Alright then, Cadera." Khaak answers, playing with the syllables for a moment before looking out over the horizon. The view from up here would be beautiful if she didn't have to keep blinking her vision back as it swam before her. Ziost was being destroyed, and Adasta was going with it. So many people would lose their homes in this senseless destruction. Cadera is quiet the rest of the way up, maybe considering what to do next. This must've been her home, considering how well-adjusted she seemed to the chaos and her accent. Poor woman.

Once they reach the top, Khaak is pushed up first onto a balcony of sorts, slipping through a doorway and crashing to the ground. Thankfully, nothing of value is broken, and Cadera climbs over the balcony railing and closes the door behind her. Deadbolts are put back into place, and she closes the meager curtains. The low lights of the room come on, and they're in some sort of lounge.

"Nice place you've got here." Khaak comments, taking in the slightly junky room. Cadera chuckles darkly, removing the scarf from around her face. Scars mar her lips in every which of way, and she smirks.

"Welcome to the end of a world, kid."

#swtor #star wars the old republic #swtor oc #oc #original character #fanfiction #khaak beniko #khaak sayare #captain khaak beniko #lana beniko #female smuggler #female smuggler/lana beniko #swtor fanfiction #ziost

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Anaticula Pt 45

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“Cho. What's going on?”

“It's Professor Trelawney.” Joining the others in the break after lunch grouped around the main courtyard where Umbridge was guiding Filch out, who was dragging another trunk to the pile in the courtyard already.

Trelawney exited the castle with Umbridge behind her clutching her purse at her side with a smug grin, “Sixteen years I've lived and taught here. Hogwarts is my home. You can't do this.”

Umbridge, “Actually, I can.”

Minerva rushed out hugging Trelawney who was on the cusp of tears, “Something you'd like to say?”

Minerva looked to her and fired back, “Oh, there are several things I would like to say.”

Umbridge, “There...”

Her words died at Dumbledore stepping out behind her, “Professor McGonagall, might I ask you to escort Sybil back inside?”

Minerva, “Sybil, dear. This way.”

Trelawney smiled at him patting his extended hands earning a comforting pat on her shoulder in return, “Thank you.”

Umbridge, “Dumbledore, may I remind you that under the terms of Educational Decree Number 23, as enacted by the Minister...”

Dumbledore, “You have the right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to banish them from the grounds. That power remains with the headmaster.”

Her eyes narrowed and she grit out, “For now.” Turning sharply on her heel to return to her office.

Dumbledore turned towards you saying, “Miss Black, a word if you please?” Nodding you joined him in strolling down the path while the trunks were floated back up to Trelawney’s quarters. Quietly you walked with him out across the field towards the forest until you nearly got to Hagrid’s hut where he stated, “Normally I would consult Hagrid with this matter, however, before she has the ability to recruit another, what was the term you used so eloquently, flying monkey.” A smirk eased across your lips, “I believe we might be able to come to a much more agreeable replacement for the time being.”

“Repl-, ah, one of the Centaurs?”

He nodded, “Exactly.” In a glance forward he eyed the path and stated, “I understand through Hagrid you have quite a bond with the herd.”

“Well, Mum knew them and was good friends with them. Like a lot of others they seem to have big expectations for me.”

Dumbledore, “Well, you managed to convince them to let you house the Unicorn herds, they should take weight into my request if you are there.”

“We can’t guarantee they will be respected.”

Dumbledore, “And they will not guarantee to treat her kindly in return either.”

Again you were circled by the herd, and with the understanding that Umbridge was a foe with plans on dismantling the school the protective ire rose and Firenze volunteered for the role being the one with the greatest patience and the greatest desire to learn more about the students within those stone walls.

At your side he carried he bagged belongings across his back for the stroll back to the castle, just in time for the next class an abandoned classroom on the first floor was bewitched with tall grass surrounded by the night sky bewitched onto the ceiling and walls with another spare room nearby he would call his own. Notes were passed to each student now under his tutelage and he readied himself for his first lesson after promising to honor your place in his class at four on weekends.

By the time her letter had been completed and sent off slack jawed she saw the new blue furred Professor Firenze being given a tour of the halls ignoring the teenage girls wafting around him at his alluring musk to head into and out of his class. His fiery gaze never breaking on his assumed rival though hers did as Dumbledore arrived smirking and ready to explain that he had been hoping to employ a Centaur for their Divining prowess for decades and she merely granted him the excuse to. His explanation seemed sound, though in her plan she never imagined that he would be able to find a replacement so soon if at all for the imagined ridiculous course.

With her bubbling rage Umbridge was off, and her next target being Professor Grubbly-Plank. The inspection did little to sate her rage as the teaching methods were impeccable and left little to argue with, in which Harry managed to get another detention. An additional day that on the way to dinner Minerva had little choice but to dock five points from Angelina for yelling at Harry for getting another detention keeping him from quidditch practice.

The reprieve of the students in their extra curricular activities seemed to be limited even more at the posting of the newest decree, ‘All Hogwarts student organizations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs are disbanded, and are only allowed to reform with permission in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four.’

With a sigh on your way to breakfast folding the letter you had gotten from Percy with the others grouping around you and Hermione asked, “Something wrong?”

“New intel on Fudge. Apparently Fudge is banning anything that might be cover for training for combat.”

Ron, “Combat? What, he thinks we’re building an army or something?” His grin dropped at your stoic expression, “Wait, he does? Who for?”

Hermione placed her hand on your arm whispering, “For Dumbledore, right?”

You nodded then glanced at Umbridge in her stroll down the steps looking over you all making you glance forward saying lowly in latin, “Apparently he’s growing more unhinged by the day with all these disappearances.”

Hermione, “Did that happen before?”

You nodded, “Riddle’s growing an army, and some might believe that a certain Headmaster is planning on overthrowing the Ministry.”

Hermione, “Well if things are going to worst then we’ll need someone to teach us. Especially if they might try to take over here. We need to be able to defend ourselves.”

You glanced at her, “What, me?”

Ginny behind you said, “You’re the most skilled of us in dueling. You helped all the guys train for the NEWTS your first and second year.”

Ron, “You run RoR, even with Dumbledore there.”

Harry tapped your arm, “We need someone to teach us.”

You sighed, “If you haven’t noticed my place here isn’t exactly secure either.”

Ron, “Like that would ever stop you from dropping by.” Making you smirk as you split up in the Great Hall, the twins grinned making room for you holding a letter from your relative about the shop the lawyer had sent them they opened at your arrival.

…

Dumbledore’s Army, the words were scrawled across a list of official members of the elder students while the younger students under your request found out the muggle borns they brought along to start learning basic defense in case they had to protect their families. Subtly you broached the subject and the young teens lapped up the chance to learn some real defensive magic for a change with a few even bringing up the uncertainty they felt for their safety when they returned home while still being under the underage magic ban.

Even in the mix of students the still teetering believers joined by Seamus continued returning to the new club, and with how Umbridge had been behaving the disbelief had been fading by the day. Leading up to the big question from him, “So, what was it like, facing up to You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters? I mean you’ve dueled so often, but it must have been a challenge to get free. Slit throat and all.”

Harry, “We’re not going to talk about that, so if that’s why you’re here you can just clear out now.” Turning around he mumbled to you, “As if we’re some sort of freaks or something to be gawked at.”

The students in the class all started naming off your achievements only making the first years more in awe of you and Harry who said, “Wait. Look, it all sounds great when you say it like that but the truth is, most of that was just luck. I didn't know what I was doing half the time. I nearly always had help.”

Ron, “You’re just being modest.”

“Facing this stuff in real life is not like school. In school, if you make a mistake, you can just try again tomorrow. But out there... when you're a second away from being murdered, or watching a friend die right before your eyes. You don't know what that's like.”

Hermione, “You're right, Jaqi, we don't. That's why we need your help. Because if we're going to have any chance at beating, Voldemort...”

You sighed catching her timid pause after first saying his chosen title, “If we’re going to beat him we’re going to have to start banding together. All the houses.”

One of the boy in the back scoffed, “What about Slytherin? They won’t-,”

“They won’t what? I’ll be honest with you, I have relatives that are Death Eaters. You know what terrifies me, having to know that I might have to face one of them. Because they won’t hesitate to kill me or any of you. ‘There’s no bad Witch or Wizard that wasn’t in Slytherin’ that’s the phrase. Think about that, teenagers finding out that war is coming and that their family is pulling them into it.”

Your gaze shifted over Alberforth in the back with cloth in hand straightening up some of the decorations on the wall pretending he wasn’t listening into your meeting in his tavern while he provided cover outside by means of a faked image of himself repairing some damage on the outside of it to keep others at bay from trying to enter. Over the years you had tucked yourselves away here when you needed privacy from others to focus and had gotten to know the more reclusive Dumbledore who in your first couple years was amused in aiding you with another more secure pathway back to Hogwarts when you were stuck hiding post sneak to Hogsmeade for treats or goods posing as older students.

Their faces began to drop, “Those teens being torn on choosing sides, possibly breaking with tradition bringing them up against their parents or aunts and uncles, cousins, friends. Some people have harder times crossing over, because they have to drop everything they know, everyone they love to do the right thing, to tell the people darkening the world ‘no’. War is coming, and we’re all afraid, and we all have a choice to make. If the Ministry takes over Hogwarts the Death Eaters will have no trouble getting in. A lot of bad people have morals, no women, no children, but there are a great deal of them that simply don’t care. So yes, even if it takes promising them a place to stay if they’re kicked out, we need to let them know they have a choice same as us.”

Luna nodded, “It does make sense. No doubt they would accept knowing the club is run by you, your being sorted to Slytherin and all.”

Seamus, “She’s a Puff. Clear as day.”

Your eyes locked with his, “I was sorted to Slytherin, my first night my cousins jumped me for being a blood traitor, I got resorted to Puff.”

Dean, “Then why offer them help?”

“Because it’s one thing to be vicious with words, but when the traditions and actions behind the force fed beliefs are near being demanded people panic, show their true colors, they show fear. Very few people want to be cruel, they only want to be protected from harm, when you are cold and callous people tend to give you a wide berth.”

Hermione, “A defense mechanism?”

“Take any bully there are layers behind their actions.”

Ron, “So, how are we supposed to do this? Build an army? We’re just kids.”

You smirked saying, “Because every great Wizard in History, both good and bad has started out where we are now. Students. Nothing more. They weren’t great from birth, it took years of dedication. They did it, so can we. An army is just numbers, but he won’t be training his, and they won’t be expecting us.”

…

‘Boys and girls are not permitted to be within eight inches of each other.’

Across the wall outside the Great Hall more and more plaques were added with the new rules from Umbridge.

‘Those wishing to join the Inquisitorial Squad for extra credit... Students will be submitted to questioning about suspected illicit activities. Any student in noncompliance will be expelled.’

Fear was running rampant and with herbs on full supply doubling as mints to counter the effects of the truth serum Snape alerted you to her slipping to the students your evenings were busy baking them up by the hundred to pass them out between notices of those the Death Eaters had been after.

Three Draconic enchanted books were made by you, one to list every crime the Death Eaters and those aligning themselves with Riddle, including yourself.

Another listing their victims and intended targets you would send notices to the Order for copies of those people to possibly be made. Some were only known moments before they were hunted, but for the mass majority they could be saved and hidden away. The muggles especially, the random targets for no more than effect were saved and relocated as possible.

The final book being for you, a list of all muggleborn or half blood students and their locations with warning signals alerting you if they were in danger or not, including a section of students related to Death Eaters and other criminals possibly needing aid in the future.

With these plans came another conversation with your father, there might be a day when they would need to be taken, when they would need to hide, and your whole family had fully agreed to your volunteering that. You would be leaving school soon but you would make certain none of them ever felt they didn’t have a place to go. And with one small act of random kindness the Slytherins began to notice a shift in the other students around them bringing them all against the common enemy, anyone coming after the school they loved.

…

More and more students began to complain that their owls were being tampered with, their mail opened along with parcels and packages from home, more than once items taken and a few occasions sampled by the one behind it. A fresh batch of mints brought with them a velvet pouch for each student you convinced the house elves to leave by each of their beds with a note on how to use them. Writing out each owl post number for all those they contacted, who would all receive one by simply slipping the slips into the pouch thus summoning one there as well with a note for them to understand what it is.

“That foul, evil, old gargoyle. We're not learning how to defend ourselves. We're not learning how to pass our OWLs. She's taking over the entire school. Now she’s even tampering with mail, isn’t that a crime? It is for Muggles.”

The sheer lack of explanation for the mail tampering followed only at the staggering drop in mail to be inspected.

‘Security has been and will remain the Ministry's top priority. Furthermore, we have convincing evidence that these disappearances are the work of notorious mass murderer Sirius Black.’

Straight across the front page of the Prophet those words read and to the shock of the other students the missed swirl of fingers across the front page with a mental draconic phrase you changed the title story to:

‘High Inquisitor of Hogwarts unleashes Dementors on Muggle town.’

Gasps rippled through the Hall and Dolores’ face dropped seeing the memory you burned into the story of her ordering the Dementors to attack Harry Potter. 2000 words and every inch dedicated to insulting your father was traded for a much more titillating truth everyone in the Wizarding world scoured for each detail.

Day by day the stories would change anytime they would print about your father, one day having just Fudge’s face with the word ‘coward’ over and over again. Being put in detention and fed more truth serum did nothing to calm the storm as no proof came about that you were behind it. Just rumor, and the most interesting piece was one aimed at you blaming you for the misprints that shifted into a 6000 love poem supposedly from Fudge to Nifflers sending laughter through the school and Ministry.

Where she assumed to possibly find an ally Snape assisted her plans, to her face, though those plans always seemed to fall through leading to the long put off inspection of Snape’s fifth year Slytherin and Gryffindor course.

“You applied first for the Defense Against, the Dark Arts post, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you were unsuccessful?”

“Obviously.”

Snarky comments were abound and in the end the retaliation she hoped to get never came about as Snape was strict but also effective as an instructor. Though a bit of revenge came with the request to reform the Gryffindor Quidditch team. A strong no was them turned to a yes a few days later when Angelina went to Minerva who righted the matter.

Hogsmeade came and was a much needed break from Umbridge’s watch and the day following came the first Quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor vs Slytherin, Gryffindor won though an unexplained tussle from Crabbe meant for you but got George and Harry put into Detention with Minerva. Weight of the person responsible for his father’s death and the attack on his mother leaving her in St Mungo’s mentally broken had gotten to him, though the boys refused to let him so much as touch you. The reason was sound but still fighting was not allowed, something Umbridge used to her advantage.

Educational Decree Number Twenty-Five giving her the right to strip students of all privileges, and give Harry, Jaqi, George, and Fred a lifetime ban on playing Quidditch.

The news ripped through the school and following that all the teams refused to play and convinced their classmates to refuse as well with a full on shunning of Umbridge. None would look at her or even speak to her, pretending she was invisible leaving her days silent and awkward, full hallways would go silent around her and at her departure they would grow louder again as conversations picked up again.

On the heels of this a much needed bit of news came up, a familiar figure had shown up on the edge of the forest unlocking and entering his long since abandoned hut.

Back at the Professor’s table Hagrid took his seat and grinned at you through his bruised face that healed almost fully leaving olive green bruising around his eye and cheek at the Phoenix Phable you sent him. Notes from Hermione were sent his way warning of Umbridge’s beliefs and treatment of the other Professors and students, including Trelawney who gladly accepted the room at your home to move into when Umbridge kept bothering her.

…

In a class on Thestrals the following day Umbridge trudged along and kept interrupting the course irritating the newly returned Professor.

Umbridge, “I will say this one last time. I'm ordering you to tell me where you've been.”

Hagrid, “I told you. I've been away for me health.”

Umbridge, “Your health?”

Hagrid, “Yeah. Bit of fresh air, you know.”

Umbridge, “Oh, yes. As gamekeeper, fresh air must be difficult to come by. If I were you, I shouldn't get too used to being back. In fact, I mightn't bother unpacking at all.”

After trudging off and the other students wandered to their free period the trio joined him for tea inside his hut.

Hagrid, “This is top-secret, right? Dumbledore sent me to parley with the giants.”

Hermione, “Giants?”

Ron, “You found them?”

Hagrid, “Well, they're not that hard to find, to be perfectly honest. They're so big, see? I tried to convince them to join the cause. But I wasn't the only one that was trying to win them over.”

Harry, “Death Eaters?”

Hagrid, “Yes. Trying to persuade them to join You-Know-Who.”

Hermione, “Did they?”

Hagrid, “I gave them Dumbledore's message. Suppose some of them remember he was friendly to them. I suppose.”

Hermione, “And they did this to you?”

Hagrid, “Not exactly, no.” At Fang’s grumble for the steak he had up against his cheek Hagrid tossed it to him, “Oh, go on, you have it, then, you dozy dog.” Looking out the window he said, “It's changing out there. Just like last time. There's a storm coming.”

…

A note from Hagrid upon his return had you all gathering up after dark. The trio under Harry’s cloak passed through the halls down to meet you near a statue you had told them about. From the shape of a mouse you shifted and showed them the path behind it winding out to the edge of the forest where you shifted again for the rest of the walk up to Hagrid in the shadow of a massive tree.

Hermione, “Pst, Hagrid.”

His eyes scanned over the empty space, “Triplets not come with you?”

In the shadow of the big tree you shifted as the twins in their Phoenix form landed from their flight out of your dorm room window. “Ah, good.”

Ron, “Any idea where he's taking us?”

Hermione, “Hagrid, why can't you just tell us?”

Pausing in place at the thunderous hoof beats of the Centaur herd racing past you with brief nods to you and Hagrid, “I've never seen the centaurs so riled. And they're dangerous at the best of times. The Ministry restricts their territory much more they'll have a full uprising on their hands.”

Harry, “Hagrid, what's going on?”

Hagrid, “I'm sorry to be so mysterious, you guys. I wouldn't be bothering you at all with it, but with Dumbledore under attack...I'll likely be getting the sack any day now. And I just couldn't leave without telling someone about him.” Turning around he showed them around the tree revealing a giant shed with a chain stretching off to a band of trees with a giant facing away from you watching a group of birds in their nests.

Hagrid, “Grawpy. Down here, you great buffoon. Grawpy.” He turned around and looked over you all, “Brought you some company. I couldn't just leave him, because... Because he's my brother.”

Ron, “Blimey.”

Hagrid, “Well, half brother, really. He's completely harmless, just like I said. Little high-spirited, is all.” Grawp swiped his hand at you that you avoided, “Grawpy, that is not polite.”

Hermione squeaked in Grawp picking her up and Harry said, “Hagrid, do something.”

Hagrid, “We talked about this. You do not grab, do you? That's your new friend, Hermione. Grawpy.”

Hermione firmly stated, “Grawp.” Grawp tuned his head to look at her, “Put me down. Now.” Grawp grumbled and set her down.

Straightening her jacket you asked, “You all right?”

She nodded flashing you a quick grin, “Fine. Just needs a firm hand, is all.”

You smirked and Ron glanced up at Grawp passing her the handlebars to a bike she chimed the bell on making him grin, “I think you've got an admirer.”

Hagrid, “He gets his own food and all. It's company he'll be needing when I'm gone. You will look after him, won't you? I'm the only family he's got..”

His eyes scanned over to you, “Well of course we’ll look after him.”

George, “If he’s your family,”

Fred, “He’s our family.”

His grin doubled and you added, “And you know if you need to leave we have a room for you, and we can make one for Grawp too.”

Hermione smiled up at him, “He is kind of sweet.”

“Besides, it would give us time to work on our rough giantish. With a name like ‘Dreamer’ he’s going to need people who understand him.”

Hagrid, “You speak giantish too?”

Fred and George held up their fingers almost fully pressed together saying with you, “Little bit.”

A week of sleeplessness finally caught up to you as halfway through your fourth paragraph of an obnoxiously thick leather bound book librarian Pince seemed to let only you look at in your whole time at school your eyes drooped. With your head in your propped up palm and legs on her rounds her eyes shifted to you noticing your drift off, a wave of her wand silently closed the book and returned it to its home in the restricted section on a stand by itself.

A secret door in a black tiled hall appeared before you, in a slow slither you passed through the halls until Arthur came into view. Writhing on the floor in pain from your attacks.

Instantly your eyes snapped open and empty slips of paper tore flying off to the Weasleys to group up as you shot up darting through your enchanted doorway. Just like an old glove you slid into your Chuck Lupin appearance, maroon to the shoulder wavy hair with squared jaw broad nose and bright blue eyes. Hall after hall you sprinted until Arthur came into view, and the frothing wingback snake coiled above Arthur in his pained pile on the floor. A sudden curse from you turned the snake to bones and you rushed to Arthur’s side cupping his cheek, “I’m right here.”

His eyes locked on yours only to tear up in a bloodshot gaze at the veins in his neck darkening as you summoned your venoms from the Chamber, grabbing the right one you uncorked it and tilted his head back, “No,” he whimpered in pain wanting to coil up at his muscles tightening.

“Drink this.” Using your thumb to separate his jaws you poured the antivenom between his lips then you held his mouth shut and clamped his nose forcing him to drink it before you would release his nose again for him to breathe. Zapping the venom rack back again you called a wound bag you opened before sliding down to his legs after tugging off your jacket you bunched up under his head, “Just lay back, it’ll stop soon.”

Still trembling in pain he tried to do just that. Listening as you tore his pant leg open seeing the growing acidic pus pocket, carefully using your wand you spread a small bubble around the pocket and you sliced it open summoning fresh water to clean the wound out.

Through his cries of pain you heard racing steps in the distance and when the pus was washed out you carefully poured in a wound cleaner that meshed with the antivenom diluting what was left of it easing his pain. Removing the bubble you heard another Auror rush up, turning your head you spotted Helmsley, a friend of your father’s from work and you called out, “Call for transport to St Mungo’s.”

Nodding his head he turned and sent off a charm with his wand as you coated the wound with a cream as Arthur’s breathing relaxed. In a slide up higher by his head you caught a weak grin from him and he said, “I know that face.”

“Hey Pop.”

“You know, I could really use a vacation.”

You chuckled as he started to doze off, “Well you just got one.” Sniffling as quietly as possible you watched him stretch out as more racing steps neared calling out as St Mungo’s staff, “You just relax.” Sitting back on your knees you watched them run up as you calmed yourself then helped them to gather his things that had fallen form his pockets and followed him through the larger St Mungo’s Floo fireplace used for multiple people for cases like this. Straight through the bustling halls you waited by his bedside while they gave him an iv drip and added more creams to his leg after a full body check to ensure he wasn’t bitten anywhere else.

Word seemed to have traveled too fast for your planning, it had barely been half an hour when Molly appeared in the Critical Care Unit making you stand dropping her jaw. Hurrying over to you she hugged you tightly, “I hoped it was you that found him!” With a sniffle she looked to Arthur, who was sound asleep then looked to you again, “Dumbledore wrote and they found all the kids, but you were just gone.”

“Dumbledore wrote you?”

She nodded, “Harry had a dream, I take it the same one you had. Said Arthur was in danger, but by the time he’d written the Ministry they said he was here.” Her hand cupped your cheek, “You look tired.”

“Well,” you let out a wry chuckle, “Seems I’m even more useful in my sleep. In the dream he was bitten seven times. I got to him after the first. Though no doubt this will be buried as I broke in to attack him.”

Molly nodded, “Hence the disguise.” You nodded, “Well I’ve got him now, the Doctor says he can go home in an hour when he wakes up.”

You nodded and said with a grin, “Well, one thing, he said he could really use a vacation.” Making Molly chuckle, “No doubt they should give him one now.” After another hug you strolled through the halls finding a bathroom in which you used one of the stalls to link to your door heading back to your dorm where Cedric shot up.

On his feet as the door closed and you shifted back “Jaqi! There you are! You have to get to the Headmaster’s office they’ve been looking for you.”

You nodded, “I bet.”

He wet his lips, “Everything ok?”

“Had a dream Arthur got attacked in the Ministry, snake.”

“Ah, he ok?”

“Ya, got him to St Mungo’s after I gave him the antivenom and cleared the wound. Did you want to come?”

He shook his head, “No, best I stay, there was a mandatory bed call.”

“Ah,” you nodded and turned calling your door you opened to the hall outside Dumbledore’s office, “Back in a bit.” He nodded and moved back to his desk to a paper wile you stepped through the door that closed behind you.

A few steps later you gave the cracked door a gentle knock bringing up Minerva’s voice, “That must be her, come in, come in.”

Opening it you passed through seeing the blotchy cheeked Weasleys you strolled to while Ginny hurried over crashing into your chest for a tight hug mumbling, “Dad-,”

Looking to Ron and the Twins you said, “I managed to get the antivenom and clean his wound then got him to St Mungo’s Mum’s with him now.”

They all exhaled and Ginny sniffled again hugging you tighter, George moved closer to join the hug while Fred hugged Ron asking, “Bad bite? Harry said it was seven bites.”

You shook your head, “No, I got there first, just the one on his leg.”

George folded around you and Ginny mumbled, “They couldn’t find you, we were so worried.” Making you hug her tighter.

“I’m sorry.”

Minerva asked, “Will he be in Mungo’s long?”

You shook your head, “No, said he’ll be out in an hour or so, Molly sent me off. Where’d Dumbledore go?”

Ron, “Harry’s nightmare, Dumbledore got worried about it. Kept saying something about a weapon Riddle wants, needs to block his mind or something.”

Looking at Minerva you asked, “Occlumency lessons?” She nodded, “That can only end well.”

Pt 46

#Umbridge #Order of the Phoenix

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