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novaursa · 1 month ago

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Of Gods and Men (god killer)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

- Summary: House Targaryen survives their ancient exile after being overthrown by House Corrino and the Bene Gesserit. Fleeing to the unknown planet Albiron, the Targaryens build a hidden civilization powered by drakaon crystals, reviving their dragons and creating advanced technology. Millennia later, whispers of their survival begin to surface as the Bene Gesserit confront a mysterious Red Woman on Arrakis, who warns of a coming Prince That Was Promised destined to challenge their control. The Targaryens secretly prepare to return, ready to reclaim their legacy.

- Paring: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

- Note: For more details about House Targaryen and their technology, please check out the masterlist.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: coventat

- Next part: the path

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sky over Arrakeen was a deep orange, dust from the desert swirling in the air as the winds picked up. The entourage from House Corrino descended from their ships with all the pomp and arrogance expected from the Imperial family. Behind them, the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam and several other members of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood followed closely, their expressions masked but sharp. Key members of The Guild walked with a purposeful step, their faces unreadable beneath the shadows of their hoods.

Standing at the forefront, Leto, you, Aenys, Hawat, Gurney, Paul, and Jessica stood with a mixed delegation from House Atreides and Targaryen, their posture tense as they awaited the visitors. The air was thick with animosity, and it took only moments for the strained atmosphere to become palpable.

The Emperor Shaddam IV approached first, his eyes sweeping over the gathered assembly with a practiced air of indifference. But the weight of his arrival wasn’t lost on anyone. This was no casual visit; this was an attempt to salvage his slipping grip on the universe.

With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Shaddam spoke, his voice ringing out over the wind. "Duke Leto, your continued presence on Arrakis has not gone unnoticed. I believe it's time to ensure the future of the Empire... with an alliance." His gaze flickered to Paul, then back to Leto. "I offer you the hand of my daughter, Irulan, in marriage to your son, Paul. Together, we can secure stability, and your position here on Arrakis will be... acknowledged."

Leto’s expression didn’t change, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his irritation. Before he could respond, Paul spoke up, his voice clear and resolute. "I refuse."

A ripple of surprise passed through the assembled crowd, though the Reverend Mother’s expression remained unreadable. Shaddam’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. "Refuse? You would reject an Imperial marriage? This is an opportunity to—"

"I said no," Paul cut in, his voice unwavering. "I have no interest in your daughter or your offers."

Leto nodded, stepping forward to back his son. "My son’s decision is final. We will not be part of your schemes, Shaddam. Not now, not ever."

The air grew colder as the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen took a step forward, her piercing gaze landing on Jessica. "You’ve allowed this, Jessica? You’ve let your son and the Duke to ally with... dragonspawn from across the universe, and now you sit idly while another great House is removed from our plans?"

Her words were a thinly veiled insult, but the true jab came when her eyes flickered briefly toward you, who stood quietly beside Leto, visibly pregnant. The weight of the Reverend Mother's disdain was clear, and her implication stung even more sharply.

Leto’s irritation flared into anger. He moved, standing protectively in front of you, his expression dark and filled with warning. "You will not speak to my wife or her family like that ever again. Do you understand?"

The Guild representative, sensing the mounting tension, stepped forward next, his voice calm but filled with an undercurrent of menace. "Duke Leto, your involvement with the Targaryens threatens the flow of spice across the universe. Without it, the Guild cannot operate. The Empire will collapse."

Leto narrowed his eyes at the man. "On the contrary," he said evenly, "the spice has never flowed in such capacity as it does now. Thanks to our combined efforts, production is higher than ever. The Targaryens have helped ensure that. So if your concerns lie with the spice... they are unfounded."

The representative stiffened, but before the conversation could continue, Aenys stepped forward. His presence was commanding, even without the dragons looming in the distance. His cold, calculating gaze landed on Shaddam, and for the first time, the Emperor seemed unsettled.

"You will leave Arrakis," Aenys said, his voice as sharp as the blade of a sword. "You and your lapdogs," he glanced at the Reverend Mother and the Guild representative, "will vacate this planet. And if I see an Imperial frigate inside my space again, it will be shot down on sight."

The silence that followed was deafening. Shaddam’s face flushed with barely concealed fury, but he said nothing. He knew better than to challenge the Dragonlord outright, not when so much power hung in the balance.

The Emperor straightened, turning on his heel without another word, and his entourage followed suit. The air was still thick with unspoken threats as they left, but for now, the battle had been won.

As they walked away, Leto exhaled, turning to look at you, his hand finding yours. The silent solidarity between you both was enough.

The caverns echoed with the rhythmic clink of armor and boots as Feyde-Rautha Harkonnen led his men deeper into the labyrinth beneath the sands of Arrakis. These dark, twisting tunnels had become familiar to him over the past weeks, each incursion pushing further into Targaryen territory. His troops moved with caution, their eyes constantly scanning the shadows, ever wary of a sudden dragon's breath or a Targaryen ambush.

But Feyde had learned something important during their operations: the Targaryens, despite their might and dragons, weren’t invincible. Every push into these caverns yielded more valuable intel. Every hidden nook and cranny they uncovered revealed a little more about the enemy. His men had grown bolder, emboldened by the small victories that came with each excursion.

In the dim glow of their torches, one of his lieutenants approached, his helmet tucked under his arm, eyes sharp with anticipation. "We’ve gathered enough information to draw her out," he said, his voice low but steady. "Daenys. If we push the right buttons, we might just get her on dragonback."

Feyde barely glanced at the man, his eyes focused on the walls of the cavern as though considering every possibility, every outcome. "And the brothers?" he asked, his tone almost disinterested. He was fixated on one target alone—you.

"They’ve been busy consolidating their forces, especially after the failed attack on the Atreides stronghold. But they’re spread thin, focused on the desert infrastructure and maintaining alliances. If we strike at the right moment, we can cut off their support before they realize what’s happening."

Feyde finally turned his head, a smile playing on his lips. "Good. We need to be patient, though." He moved further into the cave, the dark rock reflecting his calm confidence. "Daenys... she’s been reported to be giving birth, hasn't she?"

The lieutenant nodded. "Yes, as we speak. It’s unlikely she’ll engage us anytime soon."

Feyde’s smile grew, dark and calculating. "Then we wait. We’ve been patient this long. What are a few more months?"

His words sent a wave of quiet murmurs through the ranks of his men. The Harkonnens were not known for their patience, but Feyde had always been different. He enjoyed the chase, the slow unraveling of his enemies' weaknesses. And now, with you vulnerable, he felt the thrill of victory closer than ever before.

"Her brothers will be busy handling the Targaryen forces, and she’ll be occupied with the birth." Feyde’s voice dripped with cold certainty. "Which leaves her dragon. Without their full strength behind them, we’ll have our opportunity. But we must strike carefully. If we push too soon, we risk tipping our hand."

The lieutenant nodded, understanding the subtlety of the plan. "So we’ll keep observing. Wait for the perfect moment."

Feyde’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming in the low light of the cavern. "Exactly. Let them think they’re safe. Let them enjoy their moments of triumph. Because when we strike, it’ll be from the shadows, and they’ll never see it coming."

The cavern grew quiet again, save for the faint sounds of Feyde’s men continuing their quiet work. Each step they took, each hidden chamber they mapped, brought them closer to their goal: to draw you out, to capture or kill you, and to send a message to your House that even dragons could be hunted.

Feyde turned back to the darkness ahead, his mind already calculating the next move. "Let her rest," he muttered to himself, more amused than concerned. "We’ll take care of her when the time is right."

For now, patience was their greatest weapon. And Feyde intended to wield it with the precision of a dagger.

The walls of the Arrakeen stronghold hummed with a strange sense of anticipation. Inside, the combined forces of House Atreides and House Targaryen moved with an unspoken purpose, the air thick with the knowledge that something monumental was happening. It wasn’t just another political maneuver or military strategy; this was personal. Deep within the stronghold, you were giving birth.

The room where you lay was a blend of tradition and innovation—Targaryen banners fluttered alongside the Atreides colors, while advanced medical technology hummed alongside ancient Targaryen remedies. Leto stood by your side, his face pale but his grip on your hand steady, as if holding you could anchor him through the storm of emotion that surged within him. The birth of his children—your children—was imminent.

Through the haze of pain, you felt the world narrowing, every breath drawing you closer to the moment that would change everything. It felt both surreal and inevitable, a moment foretold in both your visions and Paul's dreams. Even now, through the intensity of it all, you could sense the connection that bound your House to this moment, to this new life.

The midwives moved around you, their voices calm and steady, guiding you through every wave of pain. Leto whispered words of encouragement, though his voice cracked with the strain of watching you in pain, helpless except for his presence. His fingers brushed your hair from your face, his gaze never leaving yours.

Hours passed, but time lost meaning in the blur of effort and anticipation. And then, at last, the cry. A piercing wail that broke through the tension in the room.

“A boy,” one of the midwives announced, her voice filled with awe.

And then, moments later, another cry—softer, yet no less powerful.

“A girl.”

You leaned back, your body spent but your heart full, as the midwives moved to place the newborns in your arms. Leto, standing by your side, gazed down at them with a look that was equal parts disbelief and pure joy.

“They’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a deep, unspoken love. “What should we name them?”

You watched him, seeing the pride and awe in his expression, and you knew that these names would carry more than just family legacy—they would be the beginning of a new era.

“The boy,” Leto said softly, looking at his son, “Aenor, after both our families.”

He then turned his gaze to your daughter, her tiny fists clenched as she wriggled in your arms. “And for the girl... Rhaelys.”

The names settled over the room like a benediction, their weight both ancient and new. The children squirmed in your arms, already carrying the legacy of two Houses—one born of fire and blood, the other born of dignity and honor.

Suddenly, the doors to the chamber burst open with an energy that could only belong to one person. Aenys, your father, strode in, his usually composed face uncharacteristically lit with excitement. He took in the scene, his gaze immediately finding you and the twins in your arms. His eyes softened in a way that few had ever seen.

“Grandchildren,” he breathed, his voice carrying the awe of a man who had seen much but never this. “My first.”

You watched as the great Dragonlord, the warrior who had led your House through exile and war, approached with a reverence you had never seen from him before. He knelt beside the bed, his fingers brushing the soft heads of Aenor and Rhaelys with a gentleness that was almost startling.

“You’ve given me the future of our House,” Aenys said, his voice low, meant for your ears and Leto’s. “And they will carry both the blood of the dragon and the strength of House Atreides.”

Leto smiled at your father, though he still looked slightly stunned by everything happening so quickly. “They will be raised to honor both our legacies.”

Aenys met Leto’s gaze, and for a brief moment, the two men—once strangers from different worlds—shared an unspoken understanding. They were bound now, not just by an alliance, but by blood, by family.

For a moment, all the political intrigue, all the looming threats from Harkonnen and the Empire, faded into the background. In this room, in this moment, there was only joy.

As the door to the chamber opened again softly, Paul stepped inside, his movements hesitant at first, as if unsure he was ready to confront the reality of his dreams. He had seen them—your children—in countless dreams and visions, both as siblings and as something entirely different in other paths that might have been. This moment, though, felt like a convergence of everything he had seen and everything he hadn’t yet understood.

He approached slowly, his eyes drawn immediately to the newborns resting in your arms, their small forms swaddled in the deep silks of both House Targaryen and House Atreides. Leto, still at your side, noticed Paul and gave him a quiet nod of acknowledgment. Aenys, standing tall but calm beside you, watched Paul with a knowing look, recognizing the deeper forces at play.

“They are perfect,” Paul said, his voice barely a whisper, though it carried the weight of his vision. He stepped closer to you, his eyes scanning the tiny faces of his brother and sister. The boy, Aenor, had a shock of silver hair, pale like the moon over Arrakis, and his lilac eyes already opened, gazing with a strange awareness that mirrored your own. The girl, Rhaelys, had a softer expression, her own eyes closed but her features delicate, bearing a gentleness beneath the strength of her bloodline.

Paul couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu. He had dreamed of them long before now, but in some dreams, they weren’t just his siblings. They were... something more. A different path. A different destiny. In those visions, they had worn the marks of power, rulers in their own right, shaping the course of history in ways he could barely comprehend. But here and now, they were simply his family. And yet, the weight of what they might become lingered in the air, as if the future was still waiting to unfold in ways none of them could fully grasp.

Paul crouched slightly, meeting Aenor’s steady gaze. The boy blinked, as if studying him in return, and Paul felt a chill run through him. “I saw you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “In a future that never came.”

You tilted your head, watching Paul carefully. “What did you see?”

Paul swallowed, unsure how to explain the tangled web of visions that had haunted him for so long. “I saw them as something else. Rulers... or maybe warriors. They were powerful in ways I didn’t understand. And in those dreams, I wasn’t their brother. I was something else. An ally, maybe. Or a rival. It was unclear.”

You nodded, a soft understanding passing between you both. You, too, had seen pieces of those possible futures in your own dragon dreams, fleeting images that seemed to tug at the edges of your consciousness. But here, in this moment, the reality felt far more grounded.

“They are our future now,” you said quietly, shifting slightly to adjust the swaddle around Rhaelys, whose tiny fist had poked out, waving gently in the air. “Whatever paths were before, this is the one we’ve chosen.”

Paul glanced at you, his expression softening. “I hope you’re right.”

Aenys, standing behind you, cleared his throat, his booming voice breaking the quiet moment. “You were meant to be here, Paul,” he said, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “To witness this. To know that your dreams may show many paths, but the choice is always yours.”

Paul straightened, his eyes lingering on the twins a moment longer before he looked to his father, Leto, and then back at you. “I hope they find strength in the legacy we’re building,” he said finally, stepping back slightly to give you space.

Leto’s hand brushed yours again, the gesture gentle, as if grounding you both in the present. Whatever the future held, whatever dreams or visions haunted them all, this was a moment of peace. A new generation had been born, and for now, that was enough.

In the stronghold’s bustling halls, preparations were well underway for a modest celebration in honor of the birth of Leto and your twins. It had been decided that the gathering would be small but significant—just enough to mark the occasion without overwhelming the household. Gurney Halleck had taken it upon himself to lighten the Duke's load, and alongside Vaegor and Duncan Idaho, he moved through the stronghold like a man on a mission. There was laughter, hurried work, and Gurney’s gruff voice could be heard giving orders, his own way of making sure everything was perfect for Leto and you.

“C’mon, Duncan, a bit more care with those banners. We’re not Harkonnens throwing some slapdash party,” Gurney said, shaking his head as Duncan adjusted a hanging cloth bearing the colors of House Atreides.

Duncan chuckled, always enjoying Gurney’s particular brand of leadership. “And here I thought we were aiming for subtle, not grand.”

“Subtle, yes,” Vaegor muttered as he checked the seating arrangements, his sharp eyes scanning every corner of the hall. “But we are still Targaryens, and nothing is done without purpose.”

As they continued preparing, Thufir Hawat stood a short distance away, overseeing the security measures with his usual hawk-like intensity. His focus shifted, however, when he spotted Jessica standing in the corner of the room, her face tight, watching the preparations with an unreadable expression. He hesitated only a moment before making his way over to her.

"Lady Jessica," Hawat greeted, his tone respectful but firm. "This birth... it changes things, doesn’t it?"

Jessica’s gaze didn’t shift from the preparations. “Changes? It solidifies things, Hawat. The twins are a sign that the path Leto has chosen is... complete.” Her voice carried a heavy weight of resignation.

Hawat’s eyes narrowed. "A path forever severed from the Sisterhood’s grip. The blood of the dragon now runs through House Atreides, and there will be no turning back. No more Bene Gesserit manipulations, no more whispered futures for next Atredies Dukes to follow.”

Jessica turned toward him, her face calm, but her eyes betrayed the storm within. “You think I don’t know that? The Sisterhood will make me suffer for my failure, Hawat. They will see it as a betrayal of the highest order. I was supposed to be their instrument, their key to controlling this House and securing their plans for the future. And I failed.”

Hawat’s face softened, though only slightly. “The Duke made his choice, Jessica. And you know, deep down, it was his to make. The Sisterhood tried to guide him, but they didn’t account for the will of the Targaryens. Or for your son.”

Jessica’s lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. “It’s not just me who will suffer. The Duke... Leto, he will pay a price too. One that may come from forces even he doesn’t see coming. The Emperor is watching. The Guild is waiting. And the Sisterhood... they will not forget.”

Hawat glanced back toward the preparations for the celebration, the laughter and lightness of the moment starkly contrasting the conversation. "Leto is prepared for the consequences of his actions. He knows the stakes. And if the Targaryens have taught us anything, it’s that survival sometimes means cutting ties with old masters."

Jessica gave a small, bitter laugh. “You speak as if survival is something guaranteed. But the Sisterhood... they have long memories. And they’ll find a way to make sure the Atreides pay for defying them.”

Hawat turned his sharp gaze on her. "That’s where you’re wrong. The Atreides are no longer under their control. Leto has forged a new alliance, one with blood as strong as the Bene Gesserit’s... perhaps even stronger. Whatever retribution the Sisterhood plans, it’ll be met with the strength of two Houses. The Atreides will survive."

Jessica didn’t respond, but her silence was telling. Hawat could see the resignation in her posture, the realization that her place in this House, in Leto’s life, was slipping further away. As the preparations continued around them, it was clear that the twins’ birth wasn’t just a celebration of new life—it was a sign of a new era. One where the influence of the Sisterhood had no place.

And as Hawat turned back to the gathering, a quiet determination settled in him. The Duke had made his choice, and it was one that would shape the future of House Atreides. Whether the Bene Gesserit liked it or not.

The nursery within Arrakeen’s stronghold was quiet, a rare moment of peace after the whirlwind of the past few weeks. The soft coos of the newborn twins filled the room as you sat by their cribs, watching over them with a serene expression. The sunlight filtered in through the windows, casting a gentle glow over the scene.

The twins, Aenor and Rhaelys, lay bundled in silks, their small bodies nestled comfortably. You had been there for hours, unwilling to leave their side. There was something calming about their presence, a reminder that even amidst the chaos of politics and war, life went on.

The door creaked open softly, and Leto stepped into the room, his presence both comforting and curious. He paused for a moment, taking in the scene before him. There you were, sitting with your children, the embodiment of the union that had changed the course of his life—and his House—forever.

But it wasn’t just the sight of you and the twins that caught his attention. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed something unusual in the cribs.

Two large, smooth dragon eggs rested beside the children, their surfaces shimmering with a faint inner glow. These were not like the egg you had gifted him on Arctis—no, these were different. They pulsed with a quiet energy, a warmth that radiated from within. They were alive.

Leto moved closer, his gaze locked on the eggs. "These... they’re not stones," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "They’re viable."

You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips as you nodded. "Yes, they are."

Leto crouched beside the cribs, reaching out hesitantly to touch one of the eggs. It was warm to the touch, a steady pulse of life beneath the surface. The realization hit him slowly, the weight of the moment sinking in. These were no mere ornaments—these were the future. Dragons, like the ones of old Valyria.

"Your father left these, didn’t he?" Leto asked, though he already knew the answer.

You nodded again, your gaze soft as you watched the twins sleep beside their eggs. "It’s the custom of our House. A gift to the next generation. My father... he wanted them to have something of our legacy."

Leto exhaled, the magnitude of it all washing over him. "Your father... never does anything without purpose."

A chuckle escaped your lips. "No, he doesn’t. But this—this is tradition. It’s how we ensure our bloodline remains tied to the dragons. And now, Aenor and Rhaelys will have a connection to them, too."

Leto rose to his feet, his eyes not leaving the eggs. The implications were staggering. He had known that by marrying into your House, his children would carry the blood of the dragon. But this—this was something more tangible. More real. The prospect of dragons flying once more, born from his own offspring, filled him with a strange mix of pride and awe.

"It’s incredible," he said softly, turning to look at you. "I never thought... that I’d see dragons reborn, let alone through my own children."

You smiled, a warmth in your eyes that mirrored the life within the eggs. "They are part of both of us now, Leto. Both Atreides and Targaryen. And they will shape the future of our Houses."

He reached out, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. "I wonder if they’ll ever know the weight of the legacy they carry."

"They will," you said quietly. "But for now, they are just children. Let them be that for a little while longer."

Leto nodded, though the gravity of the future still lingered in his mind. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hand never leaving yours. "You’re right. Let them be children."

As the two of you stood together, watching over your sleeping twins and the dragon eggs beside them, there was a sense of peace in the room. A quiet understanding that, whatever came next, your children would inherit something far greater than titles or power. They would inherit the fire and blood of two great Houses.

And with that, the future—though uncertain—felt a little more secure.

Four months had passed since the birth of your twins, and though you had spent much of that time in relative peace with them and Leto, the call of duty had never fully left your mind. Now, as you stood overlooking the expanse of the deep desert, your thoughts shifted to more pressing matters. The Harkonnen forces had been a constant thorn in your side, their antagonistic movements near the borders of the Targaryen base growing bolder by the day.

Your brother, Maelor, stood beside you, his face drawn in concentration as he debriefed you on the current situation. “They’ve been probing our defenses for weeks now,” he said, his tone sharp with frustration. “It’s clear they’re trying to find a weakness, and with the Atreides dealing with their own skirmishes, it’s become harder to hold them off.”

You frowned, your eyes narrowing as you looked out at the horizon, where the enemy forces gathered just beyond sight. It was time to act. “We’ll engage them head-on,” you said, your voice steady with resolve. “I’ll take Vexiae and lead a strike from the air on one front. You and the Atreides can take them from the other.”

Maelor nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “You’re sure you’re ready? It’s only been a few months since…”

“I’m ready,” you interrupted, your gaze hardening. “Our enemies won’t wait for us to be prepared, and neither will I. It’s time to remind them who they’re dealing with.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel, making your way toward the hangar where Vexiae was being prepared. Your dragon had been restless in the past months, sensing your absence from battle, and now it was time to unleash her once more. The attendants were already busy armoring the great beast, her deep red scales gleaming under the desert sun, and the black battle plating fitted perfectly over her wings and chest.

You donned your own battle attire, each piece of armor clicking into place with a precision that felt like second nature. The weight of your sword at your hip was a familiar comfort, and the feeling of purpose settled into your bones as the wind whipped through the base.

As you approached Vexiae, the dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, her fiery eyes locking onto yours. There was a shared understanding between you and the creature—this was what you were meant for. Battle. Leadership. Victory.

Mounting Vexiae, you took a moment to adjust the reins, feeling the powerful muscles beneath you coil in anticipation. Your dragon was ready, and so were you.

“Maelor,” you called down to your brother, who was giving final orders to his troops. “Once we start the assault, I expect you to crush them from the ground. We’ll meet in the center.”

He looked up, giving you a firm nod. “Don’t get too far ahead of us.”

With a final glance back at the base, you clicked your heels against Vexiae’s sides, and with a mighty roar, the dragon leaped into the sky, her wings spreading wide as you soared into the air. The wind whipped against your face, but you felt nothing but focus. The Harkonnens wouldn’t know what hit them.

As you flew over the expanse of the desert, the enemy forces came into view, their encampments scattered across the sand like dark blots against the endless dunes. Vexiae let out a roar that echoed across the landscape, her breath steaming in the cold desert air. The Harkonnen soldiers below turned their heads skyward, panic already beginning to spread as they saw the dragon descending upon them.

Good. Let them fear.

You pulled on the reins, guiding Vexiae into a sharp dive, her armored form cutting through the air like a blade. The moment before impact, you pulled up, sending a torrent of dragonfire down onto the soldiers below. The screams of the Harkonnens filled the air as their front lines were consumed in flames, and the chaos of battle began in earnest.

With Vexiae circling above, you directed her strikes with precision, setting fire to their weapons caches and burning through their defenses. On the horizon, you saw Maelor’s forces advancing, the Atreides banners flying high as they charged the enemy from the opposite side.

This was only the beginning. Today, you would remind the Harkonnens and the entire universe that House Targaryen was not to be trifled with.

And they would burn.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood at the edge of the battle, watching with cruel satisfaction as his forces engaged in a desperate clash against the Targaryen and Atreides troops. His eyes, however, were fixed on the sky, where your dragon, Vexiae, soared through the air with deadly grace, scorching the ground beneath with fire.

Ever since Arctis, since that cold, humiliating day when you had bested him, Feyd had been waiting for this moment. The moment he could bring you and your dragon down, erase the memory of that defeat, and claim the ultimate prize. And today, he had the means to do it.

The Harkonnen weapon—heavy artillery tanks outfitted with specialized targeting systems—were ready. These machines were designed for one purpose: to take down a dragon, even one cloaked from typical radar systems. The technology had cost more than a few lives in experimentation, but now, in this moment, it was all worth it.

“Prepare the artillery,” Feyd ordered, his voice laced with anticipation. He could barely contain the excitement that thrummed through him. “And fire when ready. Let’s clip that beast’s wings.”

His men rushed to follow his command, the whirr of machinery filling the air as the massive artillery guns locked onto Vexiae. It was a weapon designed to track through the Targaryen radar cloaking—a rare find, one they had kept hidden for this very moment. A cruel smile spread across Feyd’s face as he watched the targeting system lock onto you and your dragon.

“Fire!” he commanded, and the ground beneath him shook with the force of the artillery shell being launched.

You were in the midst of a turn, guiding Vexiae for another strike when the first shell hit. It slammed into the dragon’s side with terrifying force, sending you both spinning through the sky. The impact jarred you violently, and you struggled to regain control, but the second shell followed just seconds later, this time hitting one of Vexiae’s wings.

The dragon let out a piercing roar of pain as her wings folded beneath her, and together, you plummeted toward the ground. The wind whipped past your face, and the world spun in a dizzying blur of sand and sky.

Feyd’s laughter echoed across the battlefield as he watched you and Vexiae crash into the sand below. The impact sent a cloud of dust and debris rising into the air, and for a moment, everything was silent.

Slowly, the cloud of sand began to settle, revealing the scene below. Vexiae lay crumpled on the ground, one wing broken and twisted, her body barely moving as she struggled for breath. You were beside her, motionless at first, before a pained groan escaped your lips. You were alive, but barely.

Feyd moved forward, his steps deliberate and slow, savoring every moment as he approached. He had waited for this. Every night since Arctis, he had dreamed of this.

He stood over you now, his shadow falling across your broken form, and for a moment, he simply looked down at you, his expression a mix of glee and triumph.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “The great Targaryen dragonrider, brought down at last. How poetic.”

You groaned again, trying to move, to reach for something—anything—but your body was weak, your strength nearly spent. Vexiae stirred beside you, her fiery eyes still glowing with the embers of life, but she, too, was gravely wounded.

Feyd crouched down, close enough that you could see the twisted smile on his face. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time,” he said softly, his voice filled with malice. “Ever since you humiliated me on Arctis. But now, you’ll pay for that.”

His hand reached for the blade at his belt, and as he drew it, the sunlight gleamed off the cold steel. He held it up, admiring it for a moment before turning his gaze back to you.

“I think I’ll take my time,” he whispered, his voice low and venomous. “Make sure you feel every bit of what’s coming.”

His men gathered behind him, watching with eager anticipation as their leader prepared to finish what he had started. The Harkonnen forces had triumphed here today, and now, they would claim their victory by ending you and your dragon.

But even in your weakened state, something inside you stirred—a flicker of defiance, a refusal to give in. This wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. Not yet.

Feyd’s blade hovered above you, and he smiled once more, savoring the moment.

“Goodbye, Targaryen.”

Hawat stood silently before Duke Leto in the war room, his face unusually grim. The atmosphere was heavy, and Leto could sense that whatever news Hawat had brought was nothing short of catastrophic. Without waiting for the formalities, the old Mentat spoke.

“Your Grace,” he said, his voice low, “we’ve just received word from our scouts. The Lady Daenys… she and Vexiae were struck down. The Harkonnens... they had a weapon. A heavy artillery tank designed to target her dragon.”

The words hit Leto like a blow to the chest. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. His vision blurred with a mix of rage and fear, his heart pounding in his ears. Daenys. His wife. The mother of his children. The one he had sworn to protect. Gone? No. Not gone. She couldn’t be.

“How bad is it?” Leto forced out, gripping the edge of the table to steady himself.

“Maelor’s forces are already en route,” Hawat replied. “The last we heard, Lady Daenys and the dragon were alive, but barely. The Harkonnens captured them. If we move now, we may still reach them before... before anything worse happens.”

Leto didn’t need to hear anything else. He straightened, all trace of the emotional blow vanishing from his face as the cold, calculating commander in him took over. He turned to his men, already gathering in response to the shift in his demeanor.

“Prepare the Ornithopters,” he ordered, his voice sharp. “We leave immediately.”

Gurney and Duncan exchanged quick glances before nodding and moving to carry out the Duke’s orders. Leto turned back to Hawat, who was already plotting their course. Every second felt like a dagger twisting in his gut. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not to the Harkonnens.

“Gather all available troops,” Leto continued. “I want a full strike force. We will retrieve her. And if the Harkonnens have done anything... anything...”

His voice trailed off, but the meaning was clear. The air in the room was charged with tension as everyone moved with purpose. Leto’s mind raced, filled with images of Daenys—her laughter, her strength, the way she had looked at him the last time they spoke. He couldn’t let that be their final moment together.

Soon enough, the Ornithopters were ready, engines humming and wings twitching as they prepared to take flight. Leto climbed into the pilot’s seat of his own craft, the familiar feel of the controls in his hands grounding him, giving him a focus amidst the storm of emotions threatening to engulf him.

“Ornithopters ready,” Hawat said from his seat beside Leto. “Maelor and his forces have already engaged Harkonnen forces on the ground. We’ll arrive in time to support them.”

Leto nodded, his jaw tight. He refused to acknowledge the worst possibilities that lurked at the edges of his mind. All that mattered now was reaching you. Saving you. Bringing you back.

The Ornithopters lifted into the sky, slicing through the night air. The wind whipped around them, but Leto’s focus was unshakable. His eyes were locked on the horizon, where you were. Where the battle raged.

And where he would bring you back, no matter the cost.

Leto’s Ornithopter descended swiftly, the dust and sand swirling around the landing zone. His heart raced, each beat a dull thud in his chest. As the craft touched down, Leto was out of his seat before it fully settled, his boots hitting the ground hard. The scene before him was chaotic, and the signs of battle were all too clear—charred earth, shattered machinery, and the remnants of fierce combat. But there was one thing missing.

You.

Maelor approached him quickly, his face grim but composed. His Targaryen troops were scattered, securing the perimeter, while others sifted through the debris. Leto could see it in his eyes before the words even came.

“She’s not here,” Maelor said, his voice tense. “We’ve searched the area. There are signs of the fall, signs of her dragon, but they’re gone.”

Leto felt his chest tighten, as if the very air had been pulled from his lungs. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

Maelor glanced around the battlefield, his frustration barely masked. “There was a fight. Vexiae landed hard—there are scorch marks from her breath, the Harkonnens were retreating... but they took her, Leto. They took my sister.”

The Duke’s heart sank deeper. His gaze swept over the battlefield, hoping, praying for something—anything—to tell him you were still near. But all he saw were the remnants of the battle. The scorch marks, the disturbed sand, even the faint impressions where Vexiae had struggled to stand. But no you. No dragon.

“Where’s Aelor?” Leto asked, his voice strained, trying to keep his focus.

“Busy on another front,” Maelor replied, his own frustration palpable. “He’s dealing with a Harkonnen push near the southern ridge. I was sent here... but I never expected this.”

Leto clenched his fists, trying to fight off the rising tide of anger and panic. “So they took her. Alive.”

Maelor nodded, his jaw tight. “They must have. There’s no sign of her body, and they wouldn’t leave something like that behind. They want her alive, for now.”

The weight of those words settled over Leto like a crushing force. He stepped forward, his eyes scanning the area once more, looking for any sign, any clue that could lead them to you.

“The Harkonnens... they’ll pay for this,” Leto said, his voice low and deadly. “But first, we need to find her. We need to get her back.”

Maelor’s expression softened slightly, a rare moment of shared determination. “We will,” he said quietly. “I’ll not rest until she’s safe.”

The Duke’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with a thousand questions, none of which could be answered here. He had to think clearly, to strategize. You were out there somewhere, and he couldn’t let his fear paralyze him.

“We’ll split our forces,” Leto ordered, his voice steadying. “You continue the search on the ground. I’ll cover the skies. We’ll find her, Maelor. We have to.”

Maelor nodded, already moving to rally his troops. Leto turned back toward his Ornithopter, his jaw set with determination. His mind was filled with the image of you—your fierce spirit, your warmth, the way you’d looked at him just days ago.

He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t.

As he climbed back into the pilot’s seat, Leto cast one last glance at the battlefield, at the place where you’d fallen. There were no answers here. But he would find them. He would find you.

...

Feyd's blade hung in the air, poised for the final strike, but then he hesitated, his twisted smile morphing into something more calculating. He took a step back, lowering the blade as an idea flickered in his mind, sharper and more sinister than any weapon.

“No,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with malice. "Killing you would be far too easy."

You were barely conscious, the world spinning in and out of focus as pain throbbed through your body. Vexiae groaned beside you, her labored breaths heavy in the silence. But even through the haze, you could feel the shift in Feyd’s demeanor, the sudden decision that had stayed his hand.

He turned to his men, who had gathered nearby, watching their leader with eager anticipation. "Secure them both," he ordered, gesturing at you and the dragon with a flick of his wrist. "We’ll transport them back to base. I want them alive."

A murmur of confusion rippled through the Harkonnen troops. They had expected blood, a swift and brutal execution. But none dared to question Feyd. His command was law, and they moved quickly to obey.

Hands grabbed at you, rough and unrelenting, as they lifted your limp form from the ground. Every muscle in your body screamed in protest, but you had no strength left to resist. Vexiae, too wounded to fight back, let out a weak growl as chains were wrapped around her massive body, binding her wings and legs.

Feyd watched with a sickening grin as his men worked. "I’ve waited too long for this moment," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. "You’ll be more useful to me alive, I think. I have... plans."

You were dragged toward a waiting transport, your vision fading in and out, but you caught snippets of conversation as the Harkonnen soldiers moved quickly to secure both you and your dragon.

"Careful with her," one of them muttered. "She's worth more than all of you combined."

Feyd stepped closer to where you were being loaded into the transport, crouching down to look into your face. His eyes glittered with a cruel satisfaction. "You’ll be coming with me," he said, his voice low and venomous. "And when we get back to base, I’ll make sure you see just how thoroughly you’ve lost."

You could barely make sense of his words, the pain clouding your thoughts, but one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to kill you. Not yet.

As they chained you down inside the transport, your mind drifted in and out of consciousness. You thought of Leto, of Aelor, of your children. Of what would happen to them if you didn’t escape. But escape seemed impossible now. Everything hurt. Everything felt so far away.

Feyd stood at the entrance of the transport, watching you with that same calculating gaze. "We’ll see just how much the dragonspawn is willing to suffer," he said quietly, almost to himself. "And what secrets you might hold."

The door to the transport slammed shut, sealing you inside as the engines roared to life. The last thing you heard before the world went dark was the distant growl of Vexiae, still fighting for you, even in her weakened state.

But for now, you were at Feyd's mercy—and whatever twisted plans he had in store.

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tomorrowusa · 9 months ago

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The tankies, Trumpsters, neo-isolationists, and appeasers are all eager to kowtow to Putin – though they may have different reasons for wanting to do so. But it's in the interest of liberal democracy and peaceful international stability that we should continue to support Ukraine's struggle against neocolonial aggression.

Josep Borrell, vice president of the European Commission, and Dmytro Kuleba, foreign minister of Ukraine, co-wrote this piece for Project Syndicate.

What Russia is doing is a classic example of nineteenth-century-style imperial and colonial aggression. Ukraine is enduring what many other countries have cruelly suffered in the past. For Russia, this war has never been about Ukraine’s neutrality, NATO enlargement, protecting Russian-speakers, or any other fabricated pretexts. Russian President Vladimir Putin has repeatedly claimed that Ukraine does not exist as a nation and that Ukrainian identity is artificial. The war is solely about annihilating an independent country, conquering land, and re-establishing dominance over a people that decided to be masters of their own destiny. Russia’s imperial ambition is doubtless familiar to many nations around the world that were previously subject to colonial rule and oppression. [ ... ] The war and its consequences thus concern every country. Should Russia prevail, it would send a very dangerous message that “might makes right.” Every aggressive power around the world would be tempted to follow in Russia’s footsteps. If aggression ultimately pays, why wouldn’t all those with territorial claims against their neighbors act on them? This is why it is in many Asian, African, and Latin American countries’ interest that Ukraine wins the war. Ultimately, this war is not about “the West against the rest.” Supporting Ukraine is not “pro-Western.” It is about rejecting war and terror. It is about standing for the principle of international relations based on mutual respect, and supporting Ukrainians’ right to security and liberty. Ukraine and the European Union share a view of international relations in the twenty-first century that is exactly opposed to that of Putin’s Russia. Our vision is based on international law, respect, and mutual benefit, instead of coercion, bribery, and fear. [ ... ] The only way to achieve a just peace is to double down on support for Ukraine. The EU has done exactly that in recent months, and it is set to increase assistance even further in 2024. Our common goal is to ensure that Ukraine can turn the tide of the war in its favor so that a just peace can be reached as soon as possible. The world’s support is crucial for achieving this result. It is in everyone’s interest that international law be upheld, and that cooperation is the highest priority. There must not be a return to the dark past of military aggression, imperialism, and colonialism – neither in Europe nor in any other region.

Many people mistakenly believe that Russia was never a colonial power because it didn't colonize overseas territories. But Russia did colonize vast parts of Eastern Europe, Central Asia, and the Far East. Even now Russia uses a disproportionate number of racial minorities from its remaining colonized areas in Siberia to be used as cannon fodder in Ukraine.

Putin is trying to re-establish the tsarist/communist colonial empire that lasted from circa 1700 to 1990. That is what this war is about. Putin's geopolitical nostalgia for the USSR of his youth is the driving force behind the killing of tens of thousands of Ukrainians and hundreds of thousands of Russians.

Imagine if Britain, France, Spain, or Portugal decided to take back their old colonies despite treaties and international laws which recognize the independence of those territories. What Russia is doing in Ukraine is no different from such a scenario.

Ukraine stands for liberal democracy against a form of expansionist totalitarian fascism. And the aid the US has already given Ukraine has severely weakened our biggest military adversary at bargain basement costs.

A free and independent Ukraine, integrated into the European Union, would also serve as an economic powerhouse the way South Korea is in East Asia. Ukrainians have shown how resourceful and industrious they are in wartime; such talents will not disappear when the last invader is driven out.

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elansector · 9 months ago

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Elan Imperial

In the dynamic world of real estate investment, one area that continues to stand out is the commercial sector. As businesses thrive and expand, the demand for prime commercial spaces escalates. If you're considering making a strategic investment, Elan Imperial presents a golden opportunity to secure your financial future. In this blog, we'll explore the promising realm of commercial spaces for sale and why investing in a commercial shop at Elan Imperial could be your ticket to financial success.

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#Elan Imperial

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holonetnews · 1 year ago

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Emperor Implements Public Order Resentencing Directive to Restore Stability

In a move aimed at restoring law and order throughout the galaxy, the Galactic Empire has invoked the Public Order Resentencing Directive, signaling a renewed commitment to ensuring the safety and security of its citizens. This significant step, widely regarded as a necessary measure in these tumultuous times, seeks to address the mounting challenges faced by the Empire and foster a sense of stability in the face of uncertainty.

Under the provisions of the directive, the Empire aims to streamline judicial processes and expedite the resolution of cases involving public disturbances, civil unrest, and other acts of lawlessness. The immediate impact of this initiative is expected to be felt across the galaxy, as it enables authorities to swiftly respond to incidents, ensuring justice is served promptly and effectively.

Critics argue that the directive may be susceptible to misuse and could infringe upon individual rights. However, proponents highlight the urgent need to tackle the rising tide of criminal activities and safeguard the well-being of law-abiding citizens. They argue that the Public Order Resentencing Directive strikes a delicate balance between expediency and due process, offering a necessary tool to combat the growing threats facing the Empire.

In an official statement, Emperor Palpatine emphasized the importance of upholding order and unity, stating, "The Public Order Resentencing Directive is an essential component of our efforts to restore peace and security to the galaxy. It will allow us to swiftly address acts of rebellion and maintain a safe environment for all Imperial citizens."

The implementation of this directive has already resulted in numerous arrests and convictions of individuals involved in public disturbances and organized dissent. As the Empire continues to grapple with the aftermath of recent events, the Public Order Resentencing Directive demonstrates a proactive approach to maintaining stability and ensuring the continuity of Imperial rule.

While concerns about potential abuses persist, the Empire remains committed to upholding the principles of fairness and justice. The directive includes safeguards to protect the rights of the accused, ensuring that due process is adhered to throughout the resentencing process.

As the galaxy watches with anticipation, the Public Order Resentencing Directive represents the Empire's unwavering resolve to restore order and ensure the safety of its citizens. Only time will reveal the true effectiveness and implications of this new approach, but for now, the Empire stands firm in its commitment to preserving peace and security in a galaxy yearning for stability.

— Deena Tharen, HoloNet News

#HNN: Report

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mariacallous · 2 years ago

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Sweden, once a pioneer of feminist foreign policy, is now the first to revoke it. Shortly after the country’s newly elected prime minister, Ulf Kristersson, announced his cabinet on Oct.18, his new foreign minister, Tobias Billstrom, declared the policy’s reversal, saying, “Gender equality is a core value for Sweden and this government, but we will not conduct a feminist foreign policy.”

The reversal in Sweden is in some respects unsurprising. Gender politics often fluctuate with political transitions, and waves of progressive gender equality agendas have historically met barriers and reversals. What is surprising, however, is that the founding nation behind this movement is now at the helm of its attempted undoing.

Like the broader feminist movement, the feminist foreign-policy agenda is the subject of intense debate and cannot be prescriptive for every context; thus, there is no universal consensus as to what it entails. Despite this lack of cohesion, the agenda can broadly be understood as policies that focus a country’s international engagements on gender issues through rhetoric, diplomacy, and development aid, among other vehicles. Underlying this approach is the belief that issues of gender equality shape every dimension of global stability and prosperity, from ensuring that peace deals last to lifting up global economies to protecting global health and beyond.

Sweden’s 2014 implementation of a feminist foreign-policy agenda under then-Foreign Minister Margot Wallstrom aimed to put the promotion of gender equality and women’s rights at the center of its global activities. The policy consisted of three R’s: rights, representation, and resources, which directed funding and support toward enhancing women’s position, participation, and wider inclusion in society.

In practice, the adoption of this policy in Sweden led to a notable boost for the country’s aid spending on gender equality efforts abroad, increasing from $2 billion in 2016 to almost $2.7 billion in 2019. This spending helped Sweden finance a large and growing number of gender-focused international development programs and deliver gender-responsive humanitarian assistance to populations in need.

Beyond aid, the feminist foreign-policy agenda has also shaped Sweden’s approach to high-profile diplomatic negations. For example, it was seen as having influenced Wallstrom’s bold criticisms of Saudi Arabia’s record on women’s rights in 2015, which ultimately contributed to the country’s decision to end a long-standing weapons deal with the Persian Gulf state. Under this framework, Sweden also led global initiatives on women’s rights—including when it introduced a resolution at the United Nations Security Council in 2017 to elevate sexual and gender-based violence as grounds for economic sanctions. The policy also led the Swedish government to increase the number of women serving as ambassadors to almost half of all positions.

Sweden’s experience has demonstrated that this approach is more than a rhetorical gesture, and it can meaningfully influence policy outcomes on the world stage. Yet even with its successes, the movement has faced continued criticism from supporters and skeptics alike, with some today calling for a “rethink.” Many have raised concerns about the agenda’s failure to match rhetoric to action and demand a precise vision as well as its lack of accountability to citizens and feminist groups. Others have criticized the movement for failing to incorporate adequately inclusive and intersectional approaches to feminism, suggesting the agenda is steeped in perceived cultural imperialism—although the introduction of Mexico’s feminist foreign policy has helped stunt critiques of the agenda as an export of the global north.

Still, others perceive the use of feminist terminology to be too radical, either because they do not agree with the term or more simply because they worry that the policy can inspire negative reactions or backlash in contexts where the term is not accepted, hampering the potential for programs and policies to take effect or harming intended beneficiaries.

Sweden’s reversal, however, is less a rebuke of the feminist foreign-policy movement’s goals or strategy than it is a reflection of the country’s current political dynamics, as right-wing politicians attempt to reclaim conservative authority on social and fiscal issues. In his recent announcement, Billstrom claimed the policy reversal was necessary “because labels on things have a tendency to cover up the content.” His point highlights clear schisms in Swedish politics whereby views of the feminist term have, at times, been perceived as too radical.

This shift is undoubtedly a blow to the movement, but it does not necessarily signal its undoing. Because Sweden’s new government has—at least in rhetoric—publicly claimed an interest in upholding policy supporting women’s rights, its hands may be tied when it comes to reversing many of its feminist policies in practice.

Take, for instance, foreign aid. Sweden has long been a leader not only in gender equality foreign assistance but also in foreign aid writ large, committing more than 1 percent of its gross national income (GNI) to these efforts since the mid-2000s. As a result of these commitments, Sweden was ranked the third most generous aid donor country among Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development countries in 2021.

Billstrom’s rebuke of the feminist foreign-policy agenda is swept up in concurrent efforts by the political right to cut Sweden’s aid spending. The new government has announced it aims to freeze its aid spending, reducing its long-standing 1 percent of GNI contributions to a projected 0.8 percent in 2023, which will inevitably lead to cuts in funding for global gender equality programs.

Yet because it promised to remain a leader for global gender equality, the new government must be careful to avoid making specific cuts to gender equality commitments that are not proportional to other reductions. Any shifts in aid spending for these programs could heighten criticisms that the government is hostile to women’s rights, risking backlash from voters.

The legacy of Sweden’s feminist foreign policy may also prompt attention from the new government to the optics of its mostly male leadership. Almost a decade after launching the agenda, women’s representation in global politics still hovers low, with women comprising just 21 percent of government ministers worldwide and only 26 percent of national parliamentarians. Facing public pressure, Sweden, among many countries, has boosted its investments in support for women’s political representation. Activists have urged the government to expand the government’s bureaucratic expertise in issues of political inclusion and for male leaders in particular to bring in greater women’s representation in their own cabinets and parties.

Partly as a product of this investment, Sweden’s new cabinet consists of 24 ministers—13 men and 11 women. Thus, the image of Sweden’s current male foreign minister slashing the country’s heralded former female foreign minister’s feminist project could create problems for the current administration, especially as the world’s attention is locked on the crowds of women and girls defying male authorities in Iran. The perception of this legacy under attack will then likely pressure Billstrom to avoid damaging optics and make the country’s female leadership even more visible in its global engagements on gender equality.

From spending to diplomacy to cabinet composition, the feminist foreign-policy agenda will continue to shape the government’s decision-making at home and abroad—whether Sweden’s leaders like it or not.

But the agenda’s ripple effects won’t stop there.

Sweden’s commitment to a feminist foreign policy in 2014 was met with fanfare from global gender equality advocates and sparked a wave of national commitments to this framework in Canada (2017), France (2019), Mexico (2020), Spain (2021), Luxembourg (2021), Germany (2021), and Chile (2022). Although their impacts are difficult to measure, these endorsements have resulted in a more gender-sensitive approach to the global COVID-19 pandemic response and recovery effort and in enhanced commitments from government to collect sex-disaggregated data to inform policymaking, among other measures.

Given that Sweden was a pioneer of the movement, it’s tempting to look at Sweden’s reversal as a test case for feminist foreign policy elsewhere. But Sweden’s setbacks could counterintuitively strengthen feminist agendas in other contexts. A study my team at the Overseas Development Institute conducted on women’s rights movements and norm changes indicates that perceived threats to gender equality in other countries can provide an anchoring effect for national women’s movements, which are motivated to double down and hold fast to progress in response. For example, the high-profile gang rape of a young girl in New Delhi in 2012 contributed to an explosion of national anti-violence against women campaigns working to maintain and expand existing protections in other countries. It’s possible, however, that Sweden’s changes could also inspire and empower backlash, thus indicating that the full effects of the move could depend on the relative strength of other movements in their national contexts.

Even facing challenges in certain settings, gender equality advocates across the board are broadly benefitting from an improving global consensus on women’s rights. In my research, I have explored how feminist principles are generally expanding over time. In my team’s study of attitudinal change in the World Values Surveys since the 1995 Fourth World Conference on Women, we found that attitudes that men should hold power and not women have palpably dropped over recent decades. In the mid-1990s, 50 percent of people surveyed globally agreed that “men make better political leaders”—a share that has since fallen to 35 percent. Even in traditionally conservative societies, such as Kuwait, engagement with the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women has contributed to norm change as local discourse has gradually absorbed the language of preventing discrimination against women. Rising global solidarity on women’s issues—reflected, for example, in the Qatari foreign minister’s recent disappointment with the Taliban’s retrenchments of women’s rights in Afghanistan—also indicate growing rhetorical consensus on the importance of women’s rights.

Regardless of what happens in Sweden, the feminist foreign-policy movement is far from over. The elevation of feminist issues to the country’s highest-profile international engagements means that attempts to roll back its policies on women’s rights will inevitably meet attention and scrutiny. Traditionally, governments hostile to gender equality issues have been able to shift their approaches under the cover of wider budgetary and strategic changes, but the feminist foreign-policy agenda has forced these decisions into public view. So-called anti-feminist policies are no longer the status quo but rather an exposed choice.

Although the feminist foreign-policy agenda in Sweden can be reversed on paper, its legacy at home and abroad cannot be fully erased.

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ahsokasleftbicep · 4 years ago

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Name and Soul: Chapter 1

Alright everyone here is the first chapter of the series. Apologies for the delay, I had a lot of editing to do. I hope you enjoy it!

@mqgriett

Crosshair x F! reader

Word Count: 3440

Warnings: Amnesia like stuff. Language. Bad Batch SPOILERS: DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU HAVE SEEN THE FIRST EPISODE OF THE TV SERIES!

It’s odd how quickly things change on the battlefield. This kind of change you never expected. You and the Bad Batch met about a year after the war started and with your sharpshooting and other combat skills, Hunter offered that you join their team. You got along with most of the group very quickly, with the exception of Crosshair. Over time, after a lot of sneers and eye rolling, the two of you grew closer. After a particularly grueling mission, both of you admitted how you felt and now the two of you barely went anywhere without the other. You were the perfect duo, with both of your skills combined, missions went without a hitch almost every time.

The group had been called to the planet Kaller to assist Master Billaba. Her padawan, Caleb, you believed his name was, led you and the boys to his master. That’s when it happened… that change, the shift in the air. The troops turned on the Jedi and fired on her. Order 66. Caleb bolted, running off into the woods, sliding down hills with a certain hatred in his eyes that you had never seen in someone so young, so… innocent. You, Hunter, and Crosshair ran after him. The woods were so peaceful compared to the chaos everywhere else.

It was quiet and Caleb seemed to disappear. You looked around and saw him in the trees. “Hunter, Crosshair, I found him.” While Hunter tries to convince the kid to come down, Crosshair aims at the kid. “Crosshair no!” You tackle him down into the snow.

Caleb runs off, Hunter yells out, “Crosshair, what are you doing?”

“Following orders. Get off me Y/n.” Crosshair shoves you off him before getting up.

You follow him, an angry look on your face. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“I’m following my orders. We need to find that Jedi.” The man walks off, you tailing behind him.

“Crosshair, we don’t even know what the order is.” You grab his hand, “Just wait until we know what’s happening.”

He turns his head towards you before scoffing, “Fine.”

Good soldiers follow orders. Crosshair mumbled that before Hunter sent you back with the others. When all of you got back to the ship, Tech explained that all the clones had been ordered to execute the Jedi. Saying that they committed treason and tried to kill the Chancellor. The war was just somehow over. None of it made any sense. According to the sergeant, Caleb died in a fall. You all got ordered back to Kamino, offloading and heading to your barracks.

“Hunter let that Jedi kid escape, or do you want to keep lying?” Crosshair sneered.

Hunter gets up, “I don’t like to think of executing our commanders as an objective.”

“An order is an order, Hunter.”

“Since when Cross? You’ve never been one to follow orders, why are you starting now.” You raise your voice to the two men. Everyone goes quiet.

“Don’t act noble y/n, you’re as much to blame as Hunter is for letting that Jedi escape. I could have gotten him if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“He was a child!” You walk up to him, glaring into his eyes.

“He was a traitor!” Crosshair pushes you back before continuing to clean his weapon.

You speak up after a while. “This doesn’t make any sense. General Billaba and her battalion have been in numerous battles, serving alongside each other for years.”

Echo speaks up this time, “How could they turn on her like that?”

“Because of the regs programming. It’s been documented that the Kaminoans inhibited the functions of clones to engineer them to follow orders without any question” Tech explains. “They manipulated everything, Crosshair’s sharpshooting and Hunter’s enhanced sense. And of course my exceptional mind. I assume that we are immune,” Tech glances at Crosshair. “at least, most of us.”

All personnel report to the staging area for a briefing on the state of the Republic.

You felt so out of place in the staging area, surrounded by clones that felt off to you. Their mannerisms were different, more robotic. You were drawn back at attention when Chancellor- no Emperor Palpatine began speaking.

....And the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated. The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed. But I assure you. My resolve has never been stronger! In order to ensure the security and continuing stability…

… the Republic will be reorganized… into the first Galactic Empire!

“Galactic Empire?” You look over to your team in confusion. Sudden cheers ripple across the room, the other clones celebrating like it's the greatest thing in the world.

Tech and Wrecker were arguing at the table. You kept looking at Crosshair, he was acting odd, well more that usual. He’s still acting like a prick, so that’s a good sign. He let you sit next to him, so that was good too. But he kept rubbing his head, like he had a migraine of some kind… so odd. You nudged his thigh.

“Are you feeling well, Cross? You look sick.”

“Thanks for the compliment, y/n.”

“You know what I mean... tell me what’s going on.”

“Just a migraine, don’t worry about it.”

“An Imperial’s been sent to evaluate the clones.” Hunter speaks as he sits down.

“What kind of evaluation?”

“Hopefully not mental. Clearly we’d never pass that… well, maybe y/n could.” Tech nods his head to you.

“Oh I doubt it, with all the stuff we’ve been through together, I’d probably fail.” You take a sip of your water before something catches your eye.

Omega shifts awkwardly, “Hello again. Omega. From earlier?.... in the corridor.”

“Yeah, kid. We remember.” Hunter raised his eyebrow at the child.

Hunter was about to ask about the kids parents before a couple regs interrupted. “Check it out. The defect squad’s got themselves a recruit.” Before you can react, Omega throws her food at the clone. Hunter tries to diffuse the situation, but you didn’t get your throw in so you grab your tray.

“Y/n, don’t.” Crosshair attempts to grab your wrist but just misses you.

“Don’t worry, Cross. I won’t miss.” You wink at him.

“Hey Wrecker, let's show the kid how it’s done, yeah?” You aim before to throw the tray at the clone. “Oops, my hand must’ve… slipped.”

All hell breaks loose and punches are thrown. Echo got knocked out, when the boys got up to go get him, you walked by Crosshair. Here goes nothing.

“Crosshair?”

“Hm? What is it?”

You grab his hand and pull him into a hall. “What happened on Kaller? Tell me what happened.”

“I told you, it’s just-”

“Why are you lying to me?” You pull his hand, drawing him closer.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, it’s you all. You’re the ones who refused to carry out the order.”

“An order to kill a child, Crosshair.”

“That child was a traitor to the Empire.”

“But a child nonetheless.” You retort.

“You don’t understand, none of you do. Just drop it.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. Crosshair, you’re worrying me.”

The man looks down at you, he looks so lost. “There is nothing wrong. I promised I would never lie to you when I proposed.” He tugs at the delicate chain around your neck, fiddling with the ring that he gave you just weeks before.

You look at him, skeptical, “And you’ll tell me if something is wrong? Cross your heart?”

His lips tilt up, “Cross my heart.”

Echo told you all about Tarkin. When you all started heading towards the training facility, the shock troopers stopped you.

“Y/n L/n? Admiral Tarkin has asked you to sit out of this battle simulation.”

You furrow your brows, “He’s asking me to not train with my team?” You look at Hunter and shrug, “I’ll be watching, I guess… Be careful, something doesn’t feel right.”

Wrecker speaks up, “Oh don’t worry Y/n, we’ll be fine!”

When you arrive at the observation deck, you are greeted by Lama Su and who you assume is Admiral Tarkin.

“Ms. L/n.” The prime minister greets you in a monotone voice.

“Prime Minister, may I-” you were interrupted by Tarkin.

“We can dismiss formalities, begin the simulation. Ms. L/n, you will be answering some questions for me.”

“....Of course, Admiral” You stand next to the man, watching the boys go through the course.

“What is your opinion of this team, L/n?”

“My opinion, sir? Well they are the best group I have worked with. Their skills are the most impressive I’ve seen.” You speak as you watch Crosshair take out the tower cannons. Wrecker is having the time of his life by the looks of things. So far so good.

“Switch to live fire.” Your blood runs cold, live fire? What is going on here? You watch the new droids take their place down below, Wrecker got hit and you tensed, unaware that Tarkin noticed your worry.

“And what of your relationship with these clones?”

“My relationship sir?” Your eyes catch onto Crosshair in the tower, moving to run out the door when he almost falls from the tower. Tarkin didn’t miss that either. He turned his head to you, an eyebrow raised.

“Surely you’re aware that relationships within the military are forbidden, especially with these… clones.” The bile in his tone made you sick, you wanted to punch him.

“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting Admiral, but I can assure you that my relationship with my team is strictly as comrades.”

“I’m sure of it then. I will be sending Clone Force 99 on a mission. I ask that you stay in Kamino during that time. And one more thing.” Tarkin turns to you. “Did your team carry out Order 66?”

You grit your teeth, “Yes sir, the death of the general and her padawan were confirmed, was that not clear to you?”

“Only the death of General Billaba was confirmed, a counter report was filed by one of your own says otherwise.” Tarkin turns and walks out. “That will be all Ms. L/n, you are dismissed.”

Once Tarkin was out of sight, you ran back to the barracks. You rush in, seeing the boys, frustrated looks on their face. “Who’s that Imperial bastard think he is?!”

Echo turns, “Y/n! Are you alright? What happened?”

“He questioned me about you guys. Asked of my opinion… and of my relationship with you all…”

“That bastard,” Echo clenches his fist, “He knows everything about everyone. He’s got it out for us.”

You look at Crosshair, “Tarkin said that one of us filed a counter-”

The door slides open and the devil himself walks through, “That was quite an impressive display, Nala Se claims that you are all more capable than an army.”

Hunter steps forward, “You have a mission for us, sir?”

“Yes, a group of insurgents in the Onderon sector. They must be dealt with. Unfortunately, Ms. L/n will not be able to join you. She will be staying here on Kamino while you complete this task.”

You help Tech load the last bit of supplies on the ship. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll stay in the barracks until you come back.”

“It shouldn’t take us long. If everything goes according to plan that is.” Tech says.

You smile and walk down the ramp.

“Y/n.” Crosshair calls you over.

“Yes Cross?”

He takes your hand and runs his fingers over your wrist, avoiding your eyes. “There’s something-”

“Crosshair! Let’s go!”

He looks back at you, apologizing. You squeeze his hand, “It’s okay Crosshair, we can talk about it when you come back.” You lean up and kiss his cheek. “ Be careful, okay.”

“Okay, y/n.” He pressed his lips to your temple before climbing up the ramp. They take off and you turn around, finding Omega behind you.

“Hey, uh, Omega right?”

“Yeah! And you’re y/n.” You can’t help but notice the worry in her features.

“Is something wrong?” You lean closer when the child just nods

“Kamino isn’t safe anymore, we need to get out of here. Something is going to happen, I just don’t know what. But the boys aren’t safe here.”

You kneel to her height, “Okay, I believe you. Something has been off ever since the order was declared. Keep quiet for now, okay. When the boys come back, we’ll figure something out.” Omega nods and runs off to Nala Se.

“Y/n!” Omega rushes into the barracks.

“Omega! What are you doing here?” You walk up and close the door. “Oh hey AZI.”

-“Ms. L/n. Omega, Nala Se instructed us to stay in the medical wing.”

“You guys can stay, think of it as a research assignment.” You smile at the girl.

Omega and AZI are looking around the barracks when troopers come to the door.

“You are not authorized to be here.”

You speak up, “Omega is fine, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

The trooper turns to his partner, “Pack up their gear and take it to the hangar. You two, you’re coming with me.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong, and you are not touching our stuff. Back off!”

The troopers grab you and Omega.

“Let go of her!” You struggle against his grip, then everything goes black.

You groan and open your eyes.

“Y/n! Are you okay? They hit you a-and then threw us here!”

You grab Omega’s hand. “Slow down, I don’t know what’s happening, but you need to stay calm okay?”

The door slid open, revealing the batch, they were missing their armor. “Guys!”

“Y/n, what happened?” Hunter helps you off the ground. Crosshair just rubbed his head and walked to a corner.

“I don’t know, they just threw us in here.” You rub your head. “What are you guys doing here, what happened to the insurgents?”

Hunter pauses, “They weren’t droids, they were people. There were children and elderly. We didn’t hurt them.”

From the corner, Crosshair interjects, “Because Hunter went soft, he had us disobey orders.”

“What? Crosshair, they were living people.” You look at him, confused.

“We’re locked in here because of him. First the padawan, then Gerrera. You’re becoming a liability, Sergeant.”

“Enough.” Everyone looks at you, “None of this is helping us get the hell out of here.”

After Omega spoke to your fiance, you quietly sit next to him. “Crosshair, I know you’re the one who filed the report.”

“How smart you are, y/n.”

“You don’t have to do this. You would never do this.” You're interrupted by the man that threw you in here.

“CT-9904, you’re coming with us.”

Hunter jumps up, “Oh, no, no, no. We stay together”

“Stand down!”

“Crosshair!”

“I said stand down!” The trooper shoves you back into the cell.

As Crosshair puts on his armor, he notices a chain with a ring around his neck. He doesn’t remember who or what it’s for. Help me, please. Don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt y/n.

Tarkin approaches him, “CT-9904, the prisoners have escaped from the brig. Make sure they don’t leave this planet.”

Crosshair tucks his helmet under his arm. “Yes, sir.” Good soldiers follow orders.

You tighten your hand in Omega’s as you run through the halls to get to the hangar.

“All right, this way. Let’s make this quick.”

Tech runs to power up the ship, and the hangar door opens.

You tighten the grip on your rifle, “Omega, get down. Do not get up until Hunter says so, okay?” You look up and see him.

“Crosshair, it’s me. I-”

“Crosshair?”

“Best stand down, Sergeant.” His eyes flit over to you. “You as well.”

“Lower your weapon.”

“Y/n” Hunter looks at you. You nod and raise your rifle.

“I can’t do that Crosshair. I’m sorry. I’ll come back for you, I promise.”

One of the troopers fire, blaster shots flying everywhere.

“Omega, go!” You yell out. You glance back and see Crosshair take aim at Hunter. A shot fires, knocking the rifle out of his hands. Omega. You take aim at his rifle when he tries to grab it again and fire. Crosshair shoots up as you run to the ramp, grabbing Omega and throwing her inside. Crosshair kept firing with his pistol, you returned fire, but did not hit him. You couldn't hurt him.

After the Marauder got into hyperspace, you sat down in Crosshair's room, your shared room. You fiddle with the necklace when the door opens, revealing Omega.

“Hey, are you okay?” The mattress bends a little.

“Yes… no, I’m sad and confused.” You feel tears welling in your eyes but blink them away. Omega looks at your necklace and points at it.

“What’s that?”

You smile softly at her. “It’s an engagement ring.” You chuckle at the confused look on her face. “It’s something that a person gives to someone that they love so much, that they want to spend the rest of their life with them. Crosshair gave this to me.”

“So he loves you and you love him?” The girl scoots closer out of curiosity.

“I love him very very much. I miss him very much too.”

“How did you two meet?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You really want to know?” The girl nods enthusiastically. “Well, it’s actually a pretty funny story. Before I joined the batch, I lived off the grid. When the war started I joined a local militia on Batuu, I was a sniper like Crosshair. Kept innocents safe, took out droids. One day there was a larger group of Seperatist droids causing trouble, I got sent out to look around and take them out.” You look over at Omega and she nods. “Things didn’t go exactly as planned, and a couple of civilians got caught in the middle. A droid was about to take a shot and my rifle had jammed. So I just ran towards it and tackled it. At the same time, someone shot me in the leg. When I looked back, I saw Crosshair standing on a building, all tense. Well, he was grumpy that I blocked his shot and he carried me back to the ship. After I healed up, Hunter offered me a spot on the team. And I’ve been with them ever since.”

The girls eyes widen. “So you’re a sniper too? Can you teach me?”

“Teach you? What, to shoot?” You look at the girl in surprise.

“Yes! I want to help however I can. Can you teach me? Please?” Omega got on her knees and bounced on the bed.

“I’m not the best-” You sigh, “Okay, okay. We can ask Hunter tomorrow.”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you!” Omega hugged you, smiling.

“Of course, why don’t you get some rest. You’ve had a long day.” You pat her head. “You can sleep in here until we set something up for you.”

“I’m not tired though.” She could barely hold her eyes open and she kept yawning.

“Sure you aren’t. Come on, bed time.” You pick the girl up and lay her in the bed across from you. You tucked the blanket around her and got up to leave, but she tugged on your hand. “Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“We’ll get Crosshair back, I know it.” She lets go and closes her eyes.

You crouch down and smile softly, “I know we will too, Omega.”

Crosshair sits on his bunk, staring at the necklace in his hands. He looks again at the engraving on the ring. O'r gai bal runi.

“What the hell does that mean?” He grumbles and turns the ring in his hand. I don’t remember why I have this. That women… y/n… she had the same ring around her neck. Who is she? Crosshair puts the necklace on the side table.

He rubs his head, furrowing his brows. Fight back! Fight back dammit! Get out of here!

“Shut up already…” Crosshair climbs into the bunk and stares at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

Everything hurts. NO! NO! Don’t let me hurt them again… I can’t hurt my brothers. I can’t hurt her. Y/n, y/n, please don’t leave me. HELP ME!

“Crosshair!” You shoot up from your bed, gasping for air. You look around wildly in the darkness. I heard him. I swear I heard him.

A small voice calls out, “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“I- Yeah, I’m alright, just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep Omega.”

You lie back down in your bed and grab your necklace, moving it around in your hand. We’ll find you Crosshair, we’ll bring you home.

#name and soul #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #tbb spoilers #star wars

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drwcn · 4 years ago

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concubine/sleeper agent!wwx and prince!lwj bullshit continues:

[story board 1] - The two empires and the Imperial Lan Family [story board 2] - WWX, Qishan Wen’s sleeper agent [story board 3] - The inner court (harem) of Hanguang Manor, prior to WWX

→ [Story Board 4] - “A-Xian”, the attendant of Jiang Yanli

Wei Wuxian lived with the Jiangs for 2 years. After he came to Gusu as a 16-yro, he charmed/scammed his way into the Jiang manor, won the favour of Jiang Fengmian, the affection of Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng, and waited. For a long time, no further instructions were given to him from Wen Ruohan. Then, one day, he saw Zhao Zhuliu on the streets of the Capital. Zhao Zhuliu was the head of Wen Ruohan’s intelligence bureau and incidentally, was also Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang’s shifu.

— “Shifu, does bixia finally have an assignment for me?” — “He does. Jiang Yanli is set to marry Lan Wangji. You are to find a way to accompany her to Hanguang-fu and get close to him.” — “Close to him as in...?” — “Any means necessary. He has a harem already, so you will not be the only one vying for his attention. Do think you can handle it?” — “Well I don’t know, shifu,” responded WWX coyly. “ Word on the street is that this Hanguang-wang prefers pretty men. His ce-wangfu Jin Ziyan is famous for his handsomeness, and that mianshou Mo Xuanyu he keeps around is a looker too. Do you think I’ve grown pretty enough?” — “You seem very aware of his household, I’m surprised.” — “Bixia sent me here to observe and learn; I’ve not been idle.”

Wei Wuxian knew Jiang Yanli was set to marry Lan Wangji before she even knew herself. This was not a coincidence. Originally, three years ago, when Lan Wangji was first choosing members of his harem, Jiang Yanli had been considered, but at the time Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan were already engaged to be wed. Jin Zixuan had promised Jiang Yanli that as soon as he passed the imperial scholarly exam and secured a position for himself in His Majesty’s court based on his own merit and not on the influence of his father Jin-guogong (Duke Jin), that he and Yanli would marry. It was a marriage that his late mother had arranged with her best friend Yu Ziyuan, and both Yanli and Zixuan were amenable to it. However, when Jin Zixuan finally passed the exam and ranked 6th in the national polling, he chose to take a position far away from the capital and left without a word of affirmation regarding the engagement. The position was an important one given to Jin Zixuan by Emperor Lan Xichen himself and so in some ways, it was understandable that he could not refused. After Jin Zixuan left the capital, Jin Guangshan went to his “old friend” Jiang Fengmian and “apologized” profusely on his son’s behalf, spewing all sorts of words about how a young man ought to make his way in this world and such. However, this left the Jiangs in an awkward position. Jiang Yanli was 21 yrs old, already older than any unwed noble lady should be. The Jiangs were angry with this outcome, but given the politics of it, they could not say much...and that was when Lianfang-jun Meng Yao revisited an idea that had been put aside three years ago. — “Hanguang-wang...desires to marry A-Li?” Jiang Fengmian was somewhat flabbergasted. “But...” — Meng Yao smiled, “Jiang-houye*, three years ago I came on behalf of er-di to broker a marriage between our two families, but you and Yu-furen both refused on account of her engagement with Jin-xiao-gongye. But I must say ling’ai* is a fine young woman, eloquent and mild-mannered and would make a fine wangfei* some day.” — “Wangfei? but -” — “Yes, Hanguang-wang did say he would choose his own princess or prince consort, but as you can see, even with Jin Ziyan as he ce-wangfu, Qin-fu’ren and Luo-fu’ren at his side, our prince has not shown any desire for any of them to be his legal spouse. He is still waiting, searching, and who’s to say Jiang-gu’niang is not equal if not better than the lot of them?”

What the Jiangs didn’t know was that Jin Guangshan was a traitor and had already sold his loyalty to Wen Ruohan, who promised him to make him a fanwang* when Qishan eventually annexed Gusu. JGS was a mole inside Gusu’s government secretly helping to further Wen Ruohan’s agenda. Nevertheless, Wen Ruohan wanted Wei Wuxian to get close to Lan Wangji, because as helpful as Jin Guangshan was, he was never fully trusted by the royal family and did not know their inner workings. Breaking Jiang Yanli’s marriage with Jin Zixuan was just a matter of convenience. Jin Guangshan was not fussed regarding a simple marriage when the reward would be much greater. As per WRH’s instruction, he used his influences in court to maneuver Lan Xichen into giving Jin Zixuan a position far away from the capital, thus removing his son from the dangerous political atmosphere and freeing up Jiang Yanli as a potential concubine for Lan Wangji. Then, Jin Guangshan sat back and allowed Meng Yao to finish the game that he started. Meng Yao was not a willing participant. He loved Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue but Jin Guangshan held the secret to his past and thus a noose around his neck. Everyone in court knew that Lianfang-jun Meng Yao was once a lieutenant in Nie Mingjue’s army and later became his personal secretary. He was known for his wit and silver tongue and the charming dimples on his cheeks whenever he smiled. However, not many knew that Meng Yao was the bastard son of Jin Guangshan and a prostitute. Meng Shi’s hope was that one day her son would be legitimized by his father, but alas her hopes were in vain. A child born to a whore would be condemned to a live in the “jian” caste unless otherwise freed. It was Nie Mingjue who chose to raise Meng Yao above his station and respected him as a person for the first time in his life. When Nie Mingjue and his long-time sweetheart the crown prince Lan Xichen were set to marry, Meng Yao thought his days of freedom would be over. To his surprise, Nie Mingjue opted to bring him back with him from the borderlands where Nie Mingjue’s battalion was stationed and introduce him to court and to Lan Xichen. It seemed almost impossible that Lan Xichen would love him as unapologetically as Nie Mingjue, but somehow he did. Meng Yao became the only concubine person in Lan Xichen’s harem other than Fengjun Nie Mingjue. Life was perfect, so perfect in fact Meng Yao even entertained the idea of coaxing Lan Xichen to take on a lady or two to be his concubine so that the palace could be filled with little ones. Of course he’d be a little jealous...but they would have children...and Lan Xichen loved babies. Then of course, Jin Guangshan found out who he was, and from that point on, Meng Yao was no longer a free man. Every single moment of his life, his father threatened him with exposure. If anyone were to find out just how unseemly his origin had been, how not only was his mother a prostitute, but he himself had been nearly no different (given to the Nies as a gift by a stupid pandering official), his life would be over. At the very least Lan Xichen would be forced to banish him, at the worst, he’d be dead. Oh there would be no public announcement of course, but it would be said that he had taken ill and succumbed to his frail health, and with his death the smear on the Lan imperial family would be cleansed. Meng Yao didn’t want to die, so he did as Jin Guangshan asked, even when the ask became Nie Mingjue’s life. (But NMJ isn’t really dead...Meng Yao was nothing if not a fighter. He could not let the father who’d cursed him to a less than hellish existence take away from him the first man who’d ever shown him love and kindness.) — “Jiang Yanli must marry Lan Wangji.” Jin Guangshan instructed. “And you must ensure that when she does, the boy goes with her.” — “What boy?” — “The ward of Jiang Fengmian: Wei Wuxian.”

So when Meng Yao came to speak with Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, naturally he brought up the subject of Lan Wangji’s “preference.” “The Qin family did very well in this regard. They were quite clever in allowing Mo Xuanyu to serve Hanguang-wang; the boy is too low-born to be of any threat. Even if Hanguang-wang’s harem of today becomes the imperial harem of tomorrow, Mo Xuanyu would not be more than a mianshou. His success, on the other hand, would ensure that Hanguang-wang’s favour stay with the Qin family. As we can see, their effort was not in vain. Qin Su became with child rather swiftly. Little Kaisong was born more no later than three months after Jingyi.” Meng Yao explained the delicate nature of the situation to the Jiangs. “If Jiang-guniang is to marry Hanguang-wang, forgive me for my boldness, but she would be wise to bring a male attendant of her own. Wangji is kind and would honour her as his concubine, but the man cannot control his inclinations, as none of us could.” Yu Ziyuan exchanged a look with Jiang Fengmian. Yanli was older now; waiting for Jin Zixuan to keep his promise had delayed her and possibly ruined her prospects. If this marriage to Lan Wangji were to succeed... he is an honourable man who treated all his concubines equally and with respect. If he grew to like Yanli enough to make her his legal spouse as Meng Yao seemed to think is possible...then one day she would be Empress. — “Hanguang-wang’s preference is men. Would he not prefer to have a wangfu instead of a wangfei?” Jiang Fengmian was still hesitant. — “Indeed I’m sure he would, but politics being what it is...” Meng Yao sighed. “I’m sure Wangji understands that having the mother of his heir be his wangfei and his future empress is the best course of action to ensure the stability of the nation. We certainly have no shortage of examples to learn from in history: a shuchu prince with competing shuchu brothers walks a perilous road.” — “Lianfang-jun is wise.” Yu Ziyuan nudged her husband. “Which young man do you suggest we include in the bridal party?” — “That I have not decided, which is why I’ve come to see you today. Jiang-fu is a large manor, surely there must be some servants worthy to catch the eye of our Hanguang-wang. Yu-fu’ren, why don’t you assemble them, and we can have a pick?” — “Lianfang-jun, that is a delightful idea.”

Wei Wuxian was not surprised at all when all the young men of Jiang-fu under 21 and above 16 were assembled in a courtyard. He scanned the crowd; there were about 20-ish of them. One by one, they were beckoned forward, and when it was his turn, he walked with his head bowed towards the man sitting under the eave on a luxurious wicker chair, holding a fan. The fan was very expensive, drawn by an artist in the previous dynasty. An antique. This must be Zewu-di’s* only concubine, Meng Yao. — “Greetings to Lianfang-jun.” — “Raise your head, boy, let me take a good look at you.” — Wei Wuxian obeyed. Meng Yao looked him over once, appraising and evaluating, before making a pleased little noise. “Hm. Your name?” — “Wei Wuxian.” — “Wei...Wuxian?” Meng Yao gave a pretty laugh. “A rather boastful name for so young a person. My, but you are a lovely thing. Tell me, what is your age?” — “Eighteen.” — “Eighteen, excellent. It’s unfortunate that your name isn’t something a little more humble. What does your family call you?” — “My family calls me A-Xian, dianxia.” — “Well A-Xian, if I were to tell you that you’ve been chosen to accompany Jiang-gu’niang to serve Hanguang-wang, what say you?” — WWX thought *I’d say Lan Wangji better sleep with one eye open*, but said with a gracious and deferring bow of his head, “That would be my honour.”

[next]

Note:

houye - marquess ling’ai - a formal way to address someone else’s daughter wangfei - princess consort fanwang - a type of high-ranking prince with their own region/land to govern and possibly even their own army to command under imperial rule. Zewu-di - emperor zewu.

#cql #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #concubine!wwx #assassin!wwx #prince!lwji #cql ficlet #corie fics #without envy

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little-mad · 3 years ago

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Downsides of Thievery Pt. 3

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

Going through the portal from one dimension to another felt as simple as walking through a door. There was no flash of light, no weird tingly sensation all over Gavin’s body, no “welcome to a new dimension” announcement; Gavin could almost believe he was still back home...were it not for the fact that every single thing around him was mega sized.

Trees as tall as skyscrapers loomed overhead, and although he was looking down on them from Rael’s hip height, Gavin could still tell that even the wildflowers sticking out of the ground would be taller than him. He swore he even saw a chipmunk the size of a car scurrying up the side of a tree.

Suddenly, Gavin felt almost glad he was secured inside a cage. As much as he hated being confined, right now he didn’t feel like he could handle being out in the open, not with a bunch of big ass woodland creatures roaming about. Being attached to a big ass dude was bad enough.

Though he couldn’t see it from his current position, Gavin figured the portal they’d come through must have gone away, judging by the abrupt disappearance of the soft blue glow that the portal had been giving off a moment ago. “I’m officially closed off from the rest of humanity,” Gavin’s brain helpfully reminded him.

Glancing upward, Gavin caught Rael throwing him a brief look as if to ensure his captive was still there. The teal eyes examined him for only a moment before they returned to looking forward.

Gavin sighed. As intimidating as Rael was, he knew he couldn’t avoid talking to the guy forever. For one, he needed to ask his captor where exactly he was being taken, because in the middle of the woods hadn’t been what he’d been expecting. Gavin was admittedly not all that knowledgeable about alteon customs, but he was pretty sure they mostly lived in cities and towns.

Before Gavin even got the chance to mentally prepare himself for the prospect of addressing the alteon, he was bucked forward by the movement of the giant leg behind him.

Once again lying at the bottom of the cage, Gavin groaned. He was really beginning to sympathize with hamsters, lizards, and other handheld pets. Getting tossed around in a cage really sucked. Although, he figured most pets would be handled more carefully by their owners than Rael was currently handling him.

Every other step the aleton took jarred Gavin’s cage, meaning there was zero point in trying to stand up because he’d just be thrown to the floor again in an instant. Instead, he opted for sitting in the back with his arms wrapped around the iron bars for stability. It was still an unpleasant experience, but at least this way he could spare himself a few extra aches and pains.

About five minutes passed by and Rael continued to make his way silently through the forest. He clearly had no intention of striking up a conversation, which meant the task fell on Gavin. “Just picture him in his underwear,” he thought to himself, but then quickly realized that trick only worked on normal sized people. Picturing Rael in his underwear would only make Gavin feel both afraid and uncomfortable. “Okay…just imagine he’s not gigantic then.”

Gavin tilted his head back so he was looking up towards Rael’s face, however from the angle he was at, he could only really see the underside of the man’s jaw. “Yeeeah, kind of hard to imagine he’s not huge when I have to almost break my neck just to see his face.” After taking a deep, steadying breath, Gavin opened his mouth to speak.

Were Rael someone well learned in the magical arts, he could have easily teleported both himself and his human charge to the palace. However, as things were, he had no choice but to travel on foot through the woods that surrounded the city of Ostrad.

Rael didn’t necessarily mind a little hiking, but having to walk back to the city added on about an extra hour to the assignment he never wanted in the first place. He blew out an inaudible sigh, ignoring the way the cage hooked onto his belt repeatedly bumped against his thigh as he walked. At least the human had kept quiet so far, as long as it remained that way--

“Hey, uh--Rael?” The unexpected sound of the human’s voice nearly caused Rael to stop in his tracks. He paused for a moment but quickly recovered and continued making his way forward.

Rael flicked his eyes downwards for just a moment and saw that the human was looking up at him expectantly. Half because he didn’t want to end up running into anything, and half because he didn’t want to give the human the satisfaction of getting his attention, Rael quickly went back to looking forward. “What is it?” he responded reluctantly, making no effort to hide his irritation.

“Well--um, I was just wondering where we’re headed,” said the human nervously. Rael had been a little surprised when he found out that humans didn’t have high, squeaky little voices that fit their size. Instead, their voices were essentially normal, though much quieter than that of an alteon. This was something Rael was grateful for. While it would have been briefly amusing if the humans squeaked like mice, Rael had no doubt he would quickly tire of it.

“I’m delivering you to the Emperor at the palace,” Rael stated tersely. Surely the human could have deduced that on his own.

There was a pause, and Rael hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but evidently the human had other plans. “Right but uh--why didn’t we just...portal straight there?” he asked.

Rael rolled his eyes. He didn’t know whether it was all humans or just this one in particular, but there was certainly an air of obliviousness emanating from Gavin Stone. “The portal needs to be distant enough from civilization in the event intruders manage to slip through somehow,” Rael explained slowly, as though he were speaking to a child.

Honestly, the precaution of keeping portals isolated seemed as though it was more for the sake of protecting the humans that might come through than any alteons. Prior to departing for this assignment, Rael had been educated in all the ways humans could potentially bring harm to alteons. The list was quite short, and mostly involved large weapons of mass destruction, which were apparently not widely available in the human realm.

A thoughtful hum came from the caged human. “I guess that makes sense, though I can’t imagine any human intentionally trying to come here,” he commented. He seemed to be gaining some confidence in his speech and no longer stumbled over his words, much to Rael’s annoyance. The last thing he needed was for his captive to start getting talkative.

“Believe me, we don’t want humans here either,” Rael retorted. Perhaps he was speaking from his own opinion more so than that of the general population of his dimension, but he wasn’t about to tell Gavin Stone that.

Gavin narrowed his eyes at Rael’s comment. If he didn’t know any better, he might say that his captor wasn’t all too fond of humans. He had to wonder what the alteon’s past experience with humans had been. Was Gavin the first he’d met? Had he really made that bad of a first impression? “Oh yeah, I sprinted away from him full speed,” Gavin reminded himself.

People not liking him was not an unfamiliar thing for Gavin. Admittedly, he maybe didn’t have the best verbal filter, and had the unfortunate tendency to blurt out whatever popped into his head. He had been fired from his first job at a movie theater for accidentally calling his manager a “lazy dickwad” within said manager’s earshot. He had gotten sent to the principal’s office in third grade for letting it slip to another kid that Santa wasn’t real. And Gavin knew it was only a matter of time before he said something to Rael that really pissed off the giant.

If Gavin were smart, he would just keep his mouth shut. It was obviously what Rael would have preferred. The only problem was, Gavin wasn’t smart. Smart people became doctors, settled down with a sweet spouse, and moved into a fancy house in the suburbs. Smart people did not become thieves who stole from literal giants.

“So uh--are you like the Emperor’s delivery guy then?” Gavin asked. He didn’t really know where he was hoping the conversation would go or what he hoped to accomplish, but running his mouth felt familiar. If he stayed quiet he’d just end up wallowing in his own anxiety and fear.

Rael shot Gavin a quick, sharp look. “I am a member of the Imperial Guard, not a ‘delivery guy’,” he snipped, clearly not fond of Gavin’s insinuation.

Gavin didn’t really know what being in the “Imperial Guard” entailed, though he supposed it had a fancy enough name. Honestly, it kind of sounded like something out of Star Wars, though he wasn’t going to mention that to Rael considering the guy probably didn’t even know what a movie was.

“So did they specially choose--” Gavin’s sentence was interrupted midway through by an annoyed huff from Rael.

“There is no need for us to converse. So unless you have something crucial to say, I recommend you keep quiet,” the alteon stated coldly.

Despite Rael’s less than friendly tone, and the fact that it was a colossus of a man saying it, Gavin did not intend on keeping quiet. A familiar desire to be contrary was rising up in him. His mom had always called it his “urge to be a complete pain in the ass.”

Gavin didn’t necessarily want to intentionally piss off his captor, he didn’t want to make an enemy of the alteon. That would be stupid even for him. However, Gavin wasn’t about to roll over and behave like a good little boy. He was a criminal, following the rules was basically the antithesis of who he was. No, Gavin was going to talk to Rael whether the elf looking son of a bitch liked it or not.

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: Gavin Stone #oc: Rael

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grimmseye · 4 years ago

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Tandem

Read on Ao3 Here

Rating: Gen

Fandom: She-ra

Relationships: Hordak & Entrapta, Hordak/Entrapta (pre-relationship

Chapter Characters: Hordak, Entrapta

Chapter Tags/Warnings: This is just 1500+ words of Hordak’s thoughts about Entrapta, Pre-Season 2

(Disclaimer: remember that Hordak is both an imperial soldier and a cult survivor. This is also before he and Entrapta have really started building their relationship. His narration is told through that lens. )

— — — — — — — —

Years of sifting through the Horde’s administrative detritus had not made the job any more bearable for him. Even when Shadow Weaver had been keeping operations smooth, there was a certain portion of work that had to fall on his head, plans and projects needing review before they could be dismissed or approved of.

It was aggravating work, with one new exception. When he reached the file with telltale oil smudges on it, he could already feel the weight of his armor ease. There was a quickness to his movements as he flipped the file open — certainly not eagerness, but anticipation. For once, the weight of the file pleased him rather than had Hordak biting back groans.

Entrapta’s projects were the only things that brought him any mental stimulation these days. He took a cursory flip through the first packet, ears perking as he spotted the first draft of her blueprints. For once, she wasn’t offering new weapons to deploy, but rather a more espionage-focused design: something small that could scope out their targets before they sent any troops to seize new territory.

It was delicate work, and deeply time consuming. He settled in to read in more detail, making a note to himself to grant her a more direct line of contact to him. From now on, Entrapta’s projects should be sent through communication pads, to be vetted by the only person in the Fright Zone who could offer worthwhile criticism. Two pages in, he could tell notes from those who had reviewed it before were utterly worthless, all questions and conjecture with no understanding of what it was that they demanded. It was worthless to insist she work faster if there wasn’t a method to do so.

There was one, potentially, but not a single of the previous readers had mentioned it.

Hordak created a document on his communications pad and set a stylus to the screen. He got several lines into his writing before he had to stop, giving a faint sneer. His armor weighed his limbs, making his writing sloppy, and regardless...

He tapped his nails along the edge of his throne. As excellent as Entrapta’s reports were, she did not receive the same work with enthusiasm. Audio recordings were her preferred means of reference if he recalled correctly, remembering a delay in her work when she'd first began working on his bots. When he'd inquired about it, she'd mentioned something along the lines of struggling to digest the information. A vocal repetition and a recording of the instructions had been enough to get her back on schedule.

A moment’s deliberation sent to the security feeds, ensuring Entrapta was in her lab before he flicked on a monitor. Through his screen, it gave an overhead of Entrapta at her workbench, looking to be setting up to get to work. Good. He wouldn’t be able to interrupt her if she were doing something delicate.

He lifted his chin before announcing himself with a call of, “Princess Entrapta.”

She straightened up at once, head swiveling before she caught sight of the monitor, gawking for a moment before breaking into a smile and calling out, “Hello!”

She’d forgotten to bow. Again. He pushed a breath through his teeth, finding that the urge to demand proper respect felt oddly diluted for Entrapta. Whether or not she bowed had yet to compromise her work. Instead he skipped to the point: “I received your newest blueprints. The design is promising, if… inefficient.”

Entrapta clapped her hands together, looking excited before the words caught up with her. “Oh, I know. I’ll need to develop a prototype to get a real sense of what materials I’ll need and how much time it’ll take —” As she spoke, her words grew quick, almost snappish. “— But right now the estimated time per drone is much longer than I’d like, let alone viable for regular use.” Her hair frizzed out, bristling not unlike a cat’s. A clear sign of displeasure.

He lingered in that for a moment, then spoke. “I have a suggestion,” He said, appreciating how she perked up at once. It was gratifying to work with someone who knew what they were doing, and even understood what he was doing — at least as far as an upbringing on this planet allowed. “There is a synthetic compound we produce here in the Fright Zone that may work as a substitute for what you intend to use: adamantine. It should have the strength to support this device even in sheer pieces.”

She listened to him speak, interrupting only once to ask if she could run a recorder. Once again, he found satisfaction in that. He rarely had trouble with being listened to — with the exception of Entrapta, all knew to bow in his presence, to not speak while he was speaking. He had fear, and respect, and obedience, he had created a facsimile of the true Horde, successful in his emulation of Horde Prime. And yet, while Princess Entrapta did not fear him or even always obey him, she heard him in a way no other creature on Etheria had before. She challenged him, even, and as irritating as her insubordination could be, there was value in an alternative perspective.

Truly, she was impressive. Despite being a princess, Entrapta had taken well to life in the Fright Zone. Everything he knew of the Etherian princesses suggested inordinate wealth and luxury that would not lend itself to the Horde’s lifestyle. The primary kingdoms were disorganized and self-serving, lacking unity and loyalty to any but themselves, excising that which they found displeasing and then stuffing their castles with unneeded opulence. Here, closest thing to luxury Entrapta had been provided was her own room, something all ranking officers were granted. And yet he’d heard none of the anticipated whining, just a snippet of her voice from Imp about the brown nutrition bars being unfavorable in texture, even once cut into smaller cubes.

He wasn’t sure he could count her among the ranks of the princesses at all, and that was entirely favorable. Dryl had such organization and stability that even in their princess’ absence, the small nation ran like clockwork. It seemed almost entirely self-sufficient, and what necessary trade was denied to them after allying with the Horde could be supplemented.

Again, he berated himself for not considering Dryl’s value. It seemed that like the other nations of this planet, he’d vastly underestimated its value, and Princess Entrapta’s value most of all.

At some point, their conversation drifted off track, to the materials Dryl itself mined and then stories of what Entrapta had found beneath the earth, the First Ones’ tech she was so enamored with.

“Their power sources are more efficient than any Etherian technology I’ve seen,” Entrapta breathed, her chin cupped in her hands. “One crystal,” she framed her thumb and forefinger approximately an inch apart, “could have enough energy to fuel one of your Skiffs for a full day of flight, longer if you stop to let it replenish — because that’s what makes them so amazing, they don’t run out of power. I think eventually they might exhaust their capability for storage but I have yet to prove it, but in the meantime they seem endlessly capable of recharging their own energy, potentially by harnessing the latent magic in Etheria’s atmosphere.”

Sometimes it could become difficult to keep up with the pace of her voice, when her words began to run into one another and she took great gasps as she ran out of breath. And yet, the subject held his attention, ears perked forward with fascination.

“If we were able to collect such crystals…” Even that much energy would be insufficient for his portal machine, but to collect a great quantity —

“That’s the trouble,” Entrapta sighed, deflating. “I’ve rarely found these crystals intact.”

Disappointment weighed heavy in Hordak’s chest, then curled into anger. He’d hardly known about it for a moment, and already his hope —

He slammed his fist down on his throne. Hordak glanced at the clock, realizing half an hour had slid by without his noticing. This entire thing had been — “A waste of my time.”

“I disagree!” Entrapta’s rebuttal made his eyes narrow. Still, he knew to listen to his officers when they spoke — even to Shadow Weaver, who had to walk through elaborate metaphors and tangents before she ever got to the point. Though perhaps he should have listened less to her. The very premise of her arrival should have served a warning — seeking revenge did not sow loyalty.

Unlike Entrapta, who worked for her discoveries, for possibility rather than vengeance on the fools who had left her for dead.

So he did not silence her as she continued, “Your input was quite valuable! If you could have some of that material sent to my lab, I’ll be sure to attempt a prototype using it and see if it will be a good substitute.”

His ears relaxed from their flattened position. Hordak glanced away from the screen for just a moment, taking a breath to calm his frustrations. “Of course. I will see it is done.” He hesitated for just a moment before saying, “That is all. You are dismissed, Princess Entrapta.”

“Okay!” She smiled. “It was nice talking with you! We should do this again!”

His finger hesitated over a button. Hordak inclined his head, half of a nod before he ended the transmission.

The quiet that followed left him with a strange feeling: reluctance to continue his work, the want to shift it aside and perhaps pull up his records on Dryl to read more on what Entrapta had told him. Instead he took his pad, putting in two orders: one to deliver a shipment of adamantine to Entrapta’s lab, the other opening a direct line to her own communicator.

Just in case she wanted to consult his opinion once again.

#Entrapdak #Entrapta #Hordak #spop #spop fic #entrapdak fic #my writing

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yunharlaquin · 4 years ago

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ANYTHING VERGING ON a reminder of Imperial Center the young pilot avoids at almost any cost. The retribution of her refusal to stay on the planet, insisting on creating her own path still burns across her skin over two years later, even if it had been limited to mere words. ( it’s not as if training in the ways of the sith even was a possibility. ) Returning ‘ home ‘ remains a rare event, only occurring when ordered. Even once there, she attempts to remove herself from the ‘ court ‘ && anything of the sort as much as possible. Grand Moff Tarkin firmly fell within the former.

❝ Sir. ❞ First tour after her graduation from the academy completed, she should have expected to be summoned to the capital, but it still curdled her stomach when the call came. Thus, the very last person she wished to meet on her first day in the palace, except the emperor himself, was the moff. Yet, she finds him standing opposite her in the corridors, honorific spilling out before she can halt it. She curses into the void of her mind for even saying anything, especially as she now couldn’t leave it only at that. ❝ I didn’t know you were on the planet. ❞

@moffftarkin liked for an imperial au starter

#moffftarkin #imperial >> to ensure continued security && stability.#i decided on bby tie pilot jaina #she's screaming inside

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whumpcollector · 3 years ago

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Project CHIMERA Pt.1: A New Age

Hey everyone. I’ve had this little project stewing for a long while. I’m experimenting with the writing style and such so please give me any feedback you have! (Also formatting this thing has been a nightmare so if anything comes off as difficult to read please lmk and ill fix it)

TW: Dehumanization. Themes of imperialism. Descriptions of blood and injury.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 1

Date: Celendor 3, 991

It is a glorious day. Truly it is. Today marks the beginning of project CHIMERA. I have been assigned to lead this project by Emperor Vystlat himself, an honor I intend to prove myself worthy of. The equipment is still being set up and the facility brought to full function, but within the week we will be able to begin the production of the first batch of clones. All going well we will have our first subjects by the end of Celendor.This will be a new age for the empire.

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Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 4

Date: Celendor 12, 991

The first batch of clones are growing better than anticipated. Within two days they have already passed the embryonic stages and have reached infancy. If this rate continues they will be juveniles within three days at most, and we will be able to begin the initial stages of CHIMERA ahead of schedule. This is better than I ever could have hoped for. Soon the need for the empire’s children to die in order to spread our prosperity will be gone. Soon, the glory of the empire will go uncontested.

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---Security Clearance Level: 5---

Official Report of Progress: Project CHIMERA

Date: Celendor 12, 991

My glorious Emperor Vystalt,I am more than pleased to report that project CHIMERA’s progress has been greater than I ever anticipated. The first batch of clones have reached the juvenile stage and are being awoken as I write this report. After a day of acclimation we will be able to begin their training. Initial physiological tests have revealed that cell growth rates and immune system responses are greatly enhanced compared to the average human’s. With further research we may be able to adapt these properties to other medical fields. While I do not wish to get ahead of myself, the prospective avenues of research are truly promising.

I shall personally inform you of any and all major developments.

May our glory shine upon the world,

-Dr.Archimedes Yarru

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Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 6

Date: Celendor 13, 991

It appears that our genetic manipulation has worked a bit...too well. These clones are not the blank slates that we had anticipated, but have managed to develop personalities during their time in incubation. The good news is that the information we imprinted them with during the incubation phase has stuck as well. We won’t need to teach them the basics. In theory their training can continue as normal, but some issues have reared their ugly heads. We are already receiving resistance to the idea of training from some of the subjects, and an alarming amount of them have developed dispositions that aren’t exactly compatible with being a soldier. Still, this is a minor setback at most and I have been assured by the training staff that things will progress as intended. I hope they know what they’re doing, but the emperor chose them personally so they must be good at their job.

Despite this hiccup I can’t help but be hopeful for the future. Every other aspect of CHIMERA has gone off without a hitch. I’m already seeing promising results from my initial tests of the clone’s blood and muscle cells. I will have to study them closer to get better results, but that will come in time.

Damn it's been 22 hours since I last slept. I should probably do that now.

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Celendor-15-991

To: allstaff

Subject: Plans going forward and clarification of CHIMERA details

It has come to my attention that there has been some confusion throughout the staff, both due to the unforeseen personalities of the clones and with general project protocol. Allow me to rectify these issues here.

[1] The classification of all subjects are as follows. Please remember this to avoid any failures of communication in the future.

Stage gamma: Subjects in the initial stages of testing. They will physically resemble adolescents, generally ages 12-15.

Stage beta: Subjects that are through initial training stages and have been curated into specified roles to receive specialized training. They will also reach physical maturity, resembling 20-22 year olds before their biological development and aging slows.

Stage alpha: Subjects that have finished training and are capable of being sent into the field.

Note: The ages attached to each stage are to provide a reference point to help identify subjects at a glance. Subject’s early rapid aging and the subsequent cessation of said aging makes any attempts at estimating age past a certain point futile. Please refrain from doing so

Addendum: This also means that there will be no attempts at assigning or recognizing birthdays. Yes Arthur, we mean you. Sate your addiction to cake on your own time

[2] Despite the unintended development of personality within subjects all current training protocols and methods will be utilized. The head of the training staff has asked that I pass along this message

*[While I understand that these new developments may be difficult to handle for some of you, it is imperative to remember that these clones are not people. They are more akin to automatons or even puppets. There will likely be many attempts to resist our training, do not waver. These clones are meant to be the bulwark of the empire. They need to be forged and tempered into weapons of war. If that requires us to break them first we must accept that. Use a heavy hand, accept not disobedience, and do whatever it takes to ensure the compliance of the clones.

Taskmaster Grestin]

[3] Remember that project CHIMERA is still in experimental phases. The genetic makeup, physiology, and even mental development and reception to training will vary from batch to batch and even subject to subject. Adapting to such differences will be crucial to ensuring progress of the project. If you happen to notice any abnormal physiological phenomena or behavioral anomalies please report to me. While these subjects are meant to be made into soldiers for the empire they also provide a plethora of opportunities for other fields of research. Within that vein, please refrain from killing the subjects. I understand that taskmaster Grestin’s previous statement emphasizes the importance of discipline but please, do show some restraint when possible. Creating these subjects is currently an expensive and, quite frankly, unreliable process despite our initial success. There is a reason this first batch only consists of 10 subjects. Please do not lower that number.

-Dr. Archimedes Yarru

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Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 9

Date: Celendor 19, 991

Well Grestin has definitely earned the title taskmaster. I get that any training intended to produce super soldiers is going to be intense but, damn. I’m almost worried that she’ll kill the subjects long before they get into stage beta. Hopefully I’m just being overly anxious. I trust that Grestin won’t push them too harshly too quickly.

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Medical Report: Subject Gamma-A-8

Date of Admission: Celendor-20-991

Subject Gamma-A-8 was submitted to the facility infirmary at 8:26 AM on the 20th of month Celendor, year 991 by staff member Jules Armidin. Subject Gamma-A-8 was admitted due to severe injury and physical exhaustion. A complete list of afflictions has been attached to the report.

After initial treatments Subject Gamma-A-8 has been stabilized and is currently recovering. It is estimated the subject will be fully recovered within 10-14 days with no long term injuries or afflictions.

Attached - Trauma_Report_GAMMMAA8

[ Subject Gamma-A-8

Muscle tearing located in the left and right biceps, triceps, and pectorals

Hairline fractures located in the left ulna, left and right radius, and sternum

Compound fracture located at the tibia

Eye spasms indicative of long term sleep deprivation Mild concussion

General bruising located across the arms, legs, and abdomen

Lacerations across the back ]

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Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 10

Date: Celendor 20, 991

At least the subject didn’t die. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr Yarru’s Personal Log.

Entry 11

Date: Celendor 21, 991

Well if anything at least I have been able to study how the subject’s body responds to physiological trauma. The results are nothing short of remarkable. Almost all of the major injuries have been healed to the point of not impairing the body's functions, including bone fractures. I was as shocked as the doctors when a compound fracture seemingly mended itself overnight. It hasn’t fully healed, but the subject is capable of moving the leg to a degree, which is still nothing short of amazing. Accelerated Healing was something that was coded into their base genetics but this is more than what we could have ever expected.

I wonder if this trait is shared by all subjects or if Gamma-A-8 is a special case. Perhaps Grestin’s methods will prove fruitful in more ways than one.

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Dr Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 14

Date: Celendor 28, 991

It has been less than one month since the beginning of project CHIMERA and the results are already beyond my wildest dreams. Despite my initial reservations almost every subject has taken to the training regimen, no doubt due to Grestin’s expertise.

Note to self: Don’t piss her off

Subject Gamma-A-8 has had a difficult time keeping up with the other subjects. Despite the subject’s remarkable natural healing it seems unable to match the raw strength and speed the other subjects possess. I am hopeful that it will be able to catch up, or at least be able to function adequately in whatever role it is assigned. If not, well, 90% success rate is still more than acceptable given the circumstances.

I feel as if I have gathered as much data as I can working on the peripheries. Blood samples and medical reports are all well and good but they can only get me so far. I haven’t had a chance to interact with any of the subjects thus far. I think it's about time that I change that.

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Tags: @haro-whumps @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

#whump #sci fi whump #dehumanization #Dr. Yarru

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yunharlaquin · 4 years ago

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The stormtrooper gave the civilian a sharp look, hidden beneath her helmet. No patience for senile war veterans laid beneath her skin. “Move along, you crazy old...!”

“Trooper!” Jaina’s bark sounded impressively like that of one of their trainers, harsh and demanding enough for the other to come to attention for the lieutenant. “Leave the man alone.” Pulling her identity cylinder from the trooper’s hand, the young pilot watched in satisfaction as the woman scuttled away.

He’s far too young to be called such names, likely a veteran with some head trauma, something to make him believe he’s still a part of the armed forces. For that, she can find both patience and kindness. “You better be careful around these stormtroopers.”

Dax laughed at her warning, but nodded almost solemnly. “When they have to put up with shavits like us, they’ll throw you in the brig for the night as quickly as you can down a shot.”

@yunharlaquin has a starter from Kenobi

Hyperspace carried its risks, something had managed to knock him off course and he had made an emergency landing on the nearest planet. His ship was in need of repairs thus, he had done the most sensible thing and gone to find civilisation. Luckily he had not landed too far away from help, spotting a clone walking away from him and quickly trotting after them.

“It really must be my lucky day.” He joked as he followed the clone to a group, spotting a black uniform a moment later and deciding that would be his best option, special operations? They had to understand that he was on urgent business. The war didn’t stop just because he had made a crash landing.

“Am I glad to see you, for a moment I thought I might have veered far enough off course to land in enemy territory.” He laughed, but froze when he saw a clone trooper walking around with out a helmet who very clearly was not a clone. Huh, strange.

#multipleoccupancy >> kenobi #imperial >> to ensure continued security && stability.#PAIN TIME

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96thdayofrage · 3 years ago

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How the Taliban surge exposed Pentagon's lies

Western politicians and media colluded in duping their publics into believing Afghanistan was a 'winnable war'

The real explanation for the Taliban's 'surprise' success is that western publics were being duped all along

A month ago, as the US army prepared to end the 20-year occupation of Afghanistan and hand over responsibility to local security forces it had armed and trained, maps showed small, relatively isolated pockets of Taliban control.

At the weekend, the Islamist fighters marched unchallenged into Afghanistan's capital, Kabul, bringing almost the entire country under their thumb. US intelligence assessments that it would take the Taliban up to three months to capture Afghanistan's capital proved wildly inaccurate.

It took a few days.

Foreign nationals were left scrambling to Kabul's airport while American officials were hurriedly evacuated by helicopter, echoing the fall of Saigon in 1975, when US embassy staff were chased out of South Vietnam after years of a similarly failed war.

On Sunday, Afghan President Ashraf Ghani issued a statement that he had fled the country – reportedly in a helicopter stuffed with cash – to "avoid bloodshed". But all the evidence indicates his corrupt security forces were never in a position to offer serious resistance to a Taliban takeover.

Jumping ship

The speed with which the Taliban have re-established their hold on a country that was supposedly being reconstructed as some kind of western-style liberal democracy is astonishing. Or, at least, it is to those who believed that US and British military commanders, western politicians and the mainstream media were being straight all this time.

The real explanation for the Taliban's "surprise" success is that western publics were being duped all along. The United States' longest war was doomed from the start. The corrupt, entirely unrepresentative members of the Kabul elite were always going to jump ship as soon as Washington stopped pumping in troops and treasure.

According to Forbes magazine, as much as $2 trillion was poured into Afghanistan over the past 20 years – or $300m a day. The truth is that western politicians and the media intentionally colluded in a fiction, selling yet another imperial "war" in a far-off land as a humanitarian intervention welcomed by the local population.

As Daniel Davis, a former US army lieutenant colonel and critic of the war, observed at the weekend: "Since early 2002, the war in Afghanistan never had a chance of succeeding."

Nonetheless, many politicians and commentators are still sounding the same, tired tune, castigating the Biden administration for "betraying" Afghanistan, as if the US had any right to be there in the first place – or as if more years of US meddling could turn things around.

Colonial chessboard

No one should have been shocked by the almost-instant collapse of an Afghan government and its security services that had been foisted on the country by the US. But it seems some are still credulous enough – even after the catastrophic lies that justified "interventions" in Iraq, Libya and Syria – to believe western foreign policy is driven by the desire to assist poor countries rather than use them as pawns on a global, colonial chessboard.

Afghans are no different from the rest of us. They don't like outsiders ruling over them. They don't like having political priorities imposed on them. And they don't like dying in someone else's power game.

If the fall of Kabul proves anything, it is that the US never had any allies in Afghanistan outside of a tiny elite that saw the chance to enrich itself, protected by US and British firepower and given an alibi by western liberals who assumed their own simplistic discourse about identity politics was ripe for export.

Yes, the Taliban will be bad news for Afghan women and girls, as well as men, who are concerned chiefly with maintaining personal freedom. But a tough conclusion western audiences may have to draw is that there are competing priorities for many Afghans who have suffered under decades of invasions and colonial interference.

Just as in Iraq, large segments of the population appear to be ready to forgo freedom in return for a guarantee of communal stability and personal safety. That was something a US client regime, looking to divert aid into its own pockets, was never going to guarantee. While the US was in charge, many tens of thousands of Afghans were killed. We will never know the true figure because their lives were considered cheap. Millions more Afghans were forced into exile.

Spoils of war

Nothing about western intervention in Afghanistan has been as it was portrayed. Those deceptions long predate the invasion by the US and UK in 2001, supposedly to hunt down Osama bin Laden and his al-Qaeda fighters following the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center.

Seen now, the attack on Afghanistan looks more like scene-setting, and a rationalisation, for the illegal invasion and occupation of Iraq that soon followed. Both served the neoconservative agenda of increasing the US footprint in the Middle East and upping the pressure on Iran.

The West has long pursued geostrategic interests in Afghanistan, given the country's value as a trade route and its role as a buffer against enemies gaining access to the Arabian Gulf. In the 19th century, the British and Russian empires used Afghanistan as the central arena for their manoeuvring in the so-called "Great Game".

Similar intrigues drove US-led efforts to expel the Soviet army after it invaded and occupied Afghanistan through the 1980s. Washington and Britain helped to finance, arm and train Islamist fighters, the mujahideen, that forced out the Red Army in 1989. The mujahideen went on to oust the country's secular, communist government.

After their victory against the Soviet army, the mujahideen leadership split, with some becoming little more than regional warlords. The country was plunged into a bloody civil war in which the mujahideen and warlords looted their way through the areas they conquered, often treating women and girls as the spoils of war.

Despite Washington officials' constant trumpeting of their concern at Taliban violations of women's rights – in what became an additional pretext for continuing the occupation – the US had shown no desire to tackle such abuses when they were committed by its own mujahideen allies.

Rule of the warlords

The Taliban emerged in the 1990s from religious schools in neighbouring Pakistan as civil war raged in Afghanistan. They vowed to end the corruption and insecurity felt by Afghans under the rule of the warlords and mujahideen, and unify the country under Islamic law.

They found support, especially in poor, rural areas that had suffered most from the bloodletting.

The subsequent "liberation" of Afghanistan by US and British forces returned the country, outside a fortified Kabul, to an even more complex havoc. Afghans were variously exposed to violence from warlords, the Taliban, the US military and its local proxies.

To much of the population, Hamid Karzai, a former mujahideen leader who became the first Afghan president installed by the US occupation regime, was just another plundering warlord, the strongest only because he was backed by US guns and warplanes.

It was telling that five weeks ago, asked about the prospects of the Taliban returning to power, Biden stated that "the likelihood there's going to be one unified government in Afghanistan controlling the whole country is highly unlikely". Not only was he wrong, but his remarks suggested that Washington ultimately preferred to keep Afghanistan weak and divided between feuding strongmen.

That was precisely the reason most Afghans wanted the US gone.

Washington poured at least $88bn into training and arming a 300,000-strong Afghan army and police force that evaporated in Kabul, the government's supposed stronghold at the first sight of the Taliban. American taxpayers will be right to ask why such phenomenal sums were wasted on pointless military theatre rather than invested back home.

The US military, private security contractors, and arms manufacturers fed at what became a bottomless trough, and in the process were ever more deeply invested in maintaining the fiction of a winnable war. An endless, futile occupation with no clear objective swelled their budgets and ensured the military-industrial complex grew ever richer and more powerful.

Every indication is that the same war-industry juggernaut will simply change course now, playing up threats from China, Iran and Russia, to justify the continuation of budget increases that would otherwise be under threat.

Missing in action

The motive for US officials and corporations to conspire in the grand deception is clear. But what about the mainstream media, the self-declared "fourth estate" and the public's supposed watchdog on abuses of state power? Why were they missing in action all this time?

It is not as though they did not have the information needed to expose the Pentagon's lies in Afghanistan, had they cared to. The clues were there, and even reported occasionally. But the media failed to sustain attention.

As far back as 2009, as the US was preparing a pointless surge of troops to tackle the Taliban, Karl Eikenberry, then ambassador to Afghanistan, sent a cable to secretary of state Hillary Clinton that was leaked to the New York Times. He wrote that additional US forces would only "delay the day when Afghans will take over". A decade later, the Washington Post published secret documents it called the Afghan Papers that highlighted the Pentagon's systematic deceptions and lying. The subtitle was "At war with the truth".

Bob Crowley, an army colonel who had advised US military commanders in Afghanistan, observed: "Every data point was altered to present the best picture possible." The Post concluded that the US government had made every effort to "deliberately mislead the public".

John Sopko, the special inspector general for Afghan reconstruction appointed by Congress in 2012, had long detailed the waste and corruption in Afghanistan and the dismal state of the Afghan forces. But these reports were ignored or quickly disappeared without trace, leaving the Pentagon free to peddle yet more lies.

Cheerleading, not scrutinising

In the summer, as he issued yet another report, Sopko made scathing comments about claims that lessons would be learnt: "Don't believe what you're told by the generals or the ambassadors or people in the administration saying we're never going to do this again. That's exactly what we said after Vietnam... Lo and behold, we did Iraq. And we did Afghanistan. We will do this again."

A good part of the reason the Pentagon can keep recycling its lies is because neither Congress or the media is holding it to account.

The US media have performed no better. In fact, they have had their own incentives to cheerlead rather than scrutinise recent wars. Not least, they benefit from the drama of war, as more viewers tune in, allowing them to hike their advertising rates.

The handful of companies that run the biggest TV channels, newspapers and websites in the US are also part of a network of transnational corporations whose relentless economic growth has been spurred on by the "war on terror" and the channelling of trillions of dollars from the public purse into corporate hands.

The cosy ties between the US media and the military are evident too in the endless parade of former Pentagon officials and retired generals who sit in TV studios commenting as "independent experts" and analysts on US wars. Their failures in Iraq, Libya and Syria have not apparently dented their credibility.

That rotten system was proudly on display again this week as the media uncritically shared the assessments of David Petraeus, the former US commander in Afghanistan. Although Petraeus shares an outsize chunk of responsibility for the past two decades of military failure and Pentagon deception, he called for the "might of the US military" to be restored for a final push against the Taliban.

Were it still possible to hold US officials to account, the Taliban's surge over the past few days would have silenced Petraeus and brought Washington's huge war scam crashing down.

Instead, the war industries will not even need to take a pause and regroup. They will carry on regardless, growing and prospering as though their defeat at the hands of the Taliban signifies nothing at all.

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