#rust republic

[orpheusilver]

RUST AS A SYMBOL FOR THE EMPIRE

[pessimisticsarc]

SPOTIFY WRAPPED STARTERS

#20 — So Beneath You

"I don’t believe that I can stay here and watch them vilify my blood."

For: @republicing​​

[blackkatmagic]

Mace Windu?

“Captain,” Mace says, and when Keeli turns, he inclines his head in greeting, refusing to let the usual flicker of caution stop him as he advances across the space set aside as a makeshift sparring ring. Ryloth’s red dust is a thick coating over everything, turning the white parts of Keeli's armor to rust and giving his hair even more of a red cast than usual, and Mace can feel his surprise, his concern, his wariness.

Not unexpected, given that Mace hasn’t had a chance to visit since droids ambushed Keeli's party, and it was only Mace's last-minute intervention that saved them. With Ima Gun-Di being taken to New Holstice for treatment, that means Keeli and his men are now under Mace's direct command, and Ponds brought Mace plenty of whispers about the whole company being terrified of being sent back to Kamino for decommissioning or reeducation.

Mace would be offended that any clone could assume he would do such a thing, but—it speaks volumes as to the clones’ situation and their servitude to the Republic.

There's very little Mace values the way he values the Republic, but at this point in the war, that bedrock faith is cracking, tarnished, and the way the clones exist is the entire reason as to why.

“General Windu,” Keeli says promptly, snapping to attention. He’s stripped down to just the lower half of his armor, skin bare and slicked with sweat, breath coming quick, and Mace can feel the wash of prickling self-awareness, bordering on embarrassment as he hesitates.

Nothing in Mace is capable of leaving Keeli to squirm, even for a moment, no matter how uncertain he is about his offer being accepted. He nods, waving Keeli out of his stiff attention, and says, “At ease, Captain. I wanted to make sure that you and the rest of the men were settling in.”

That doesn’t ease the wariness, but Keeli nods, mouth pulling into the start of a grimace. “We’re fine, sir. Just a couple of minor injuries, but everyone should be on their feet in a few days.” He hesitates, just for a second, and then says a little stiffly, “If you're going to transfer us back behind the lines, sir, I can assure you, an incident like before won't happen again—”

Mace raises a hand, stopping the words. “I know,” he says evenly, and meets Keeli's eyes. “You weren’t able to spot the ambush in time to avoid it last time. I want to make sure that next time, you can.”

There's a moment of outright alarm that’s blunted by anger, and Keeli says, “Sir, if you're sending us back for reconditioning—”

Mace shakes his head, takes a step closer. “I'm not,” he says plainly. “Close your eyes.”

“Sir?” Keeli asks in confusion, but he does so regardless of his concern, standing stiff and uncertain in the heavy sunlight.

Considering him for a moment, Mace tips his head, breathes out. He trained Depa, helped train Quinlan, helped train A'Sharad. This is hardly the first time he’s offered lessons to someone who could use them.

It’s the first time he’s made such an offer to a man who might not believe he’s able to say no, though.

“Commander Ponds tells me that you're an excellent earthbender,” he says steadily, and then, “I want to put my hand on your shoulder, and share the way I see the world, mind to mind. Do I have your permission?”

“Of course, sir,” Keeli says, bemused. “Do I need to do anything?”

“No, just pay attention.” Mace closes his own eyes, breathes out, reaches as he shifts his feet. Feels the twitch Keeli gives at the foreign sensation of another mind alongside his, and then—

An inhale, sharp, and then an equally sharp surge of something that Mace can only identify as fascination.

“Sir, what is that?” Keeli asks, intent, and shifts, dragging one foot along the ground. Mace shares how it feels in his carefully tuned senses, the ripples that run through the earth, the way it shifts the image in his mind. Doesn’t answer, but watches Keeli's face, and—

He’s been watching Keeli since well before the mission went south. That same edge of hunger right beneath his even expression is still there, almost hidden but not quite, as he takes in the ripples spreading outward.

All the clones are hungry to learn what they can about bending, beyond the absolute basics the Kaminoans and the Mandalorian trainers drilled into them. Mace has seen it in practically every clone, but Keeli's want is even sharper, even greater. Every time he earthbends, every time Mace sees him across the practice field, he can sense Keeli's focus, see his grace and grit as he pushes himself further.

The thought of teaching him this arose before, but Mace is viciously aware of just how any advance, any suggestion, could be taken when Keeli doesn’t believe he can say no, and he hadn’t wanted to press.

And then, startled, Keeli opens his eyes, looks straight at Mace. “Vibrations,” he says with surprise. “You’re feeling the vibrations through the earth? With your bending?”

Mace can't help the faint pull of a smile. Teaching quick students is always the most rewarding task, and enjoyable. “Indeed. We don’t have much time before our orders come in, but I can teach you if you’d like to learn.”

“Yes,” Keeli says, almost before Mace can get the words out, and then coughs, sheepishly drawing back and rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean. Yes sir, I’d like that. If you think I can manage.”

“I do,” Mace says steadily, and catches his gaze squarely. “You understood what I was doing with no context beyond your own bending. Ponds was right to call you impressive.”

Keeli scoffs, looking away, and—that sense of embarrassment twists up with pleasure in a way that hooks itself into Mace's ribs. “Ponds is a waterbender. He wouldn’t know a good earthbender if they dropped a rock on his thick skull.”

Mace hides his amusement. “I’ll have to tell him you said as much,” he says gravely, and when Keeli's eyes widen in alarm, he snorts. “A joke, Captain. Though I think Ponds would take it as a compliment.”

Keeli rolls his eyes, the tips of his ears flushed. “That’s not proving me wrong,” he says, and steps back, turns to scan the ring. “We should have time right now if you're not doing anything better—Sir!”

Mace pauses, halfway through unbolting his robes, and raises a brow.

Keeli stares at him for a moment, looking a little like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming train—

The earth shivers, rises like the start of a wave right beneath Keeli's feet as he yelps, but Mace has seen this particular trick too many times to fall for it, and slams the roll of stone back down with a sharp gesture. Turns, levels a speaking look across the camp, and pins Depa with a wholly unimpressed stare.

Undeterred as ever, Depa waves cheerfully, then ducks out of sight behind a tent, though Mace isn't foolish enough to think that that’s anywhere close to the end of her little matchmaking attempt.

This is going to be a long training session, it seems. And Keeli's grin, half-hidden behind one hand, isn't doing anything to make it easier.

[yoitsjay]

Hi!! I saw you were wanting some writing requests 👀 Talk Too Much by COIN is such a Tech song for me and maybe fem!reader gets shut up by Tech kissing her instead of the other way around for once since he’s usually the one adorably info dumping.

I can finally spew out my hyper fixation and get it off my chest? You bless me.

Talk x3

Pairings: Tech x f! Reader

Summary: your info dumping your most recent hyperfixation on Tech, and all he can think about is the way your lips move and how badly he wants to kiss them... so he does.

Warnings: fluff, kisses.

Word count: 858

“Did you know there are approximately 140,000 types of mushrooms spread over the whole galaxy? and mushrooms aren't plants or animals, they are their own species. And it includes yeast, mildew and rust-”

“Fungi are genetically closer to humans than they are plants, which is good and bad- mushrooms could adapt to our body temperature and we could become some freaky mushroom zombies-”

-

The bad batch wasn't too sure how long you had been rambling for, all Hunter did was ask you what you were researching and now- maybe hours later- you were still talking about mushrooms which was what you were studying.

You were a scientific researcher for the republic and often needed to travel a lot, which is where you met the bad batch. They traveled a lot too so you ended up joining them and helping them with the more technical stuff, which brought you and a certain bad batcher close together.

But currently Tech was not on the Marauder to listen to your rants rather than the others, he was getting rations and other medical supplies with Wrecker. Lucky Wrecker… you would have gone with him if you weren’t fixated on your work, though now it was completely discarded as you just continued blabbering on.

Hunter sat in front of you, trying to remain professional as he tried to listen to at least some things you were saying, though Crosshair managed to slip away and run to his bunk, where he used the emergency code and called Tech, who picked up right away.

“What happened? you used the emergency channel, is Y/n okay?” Tech asked immediately, not even knowing who was the one calling him. “Relax Tech, we need you back here, Y/n wont stop talking.” Crosshair grumbled, and Tech was silent for a few moments, though Wrecker was muttering something in the background.

“She is ranting about mushrooms again?” Tech asked, and Crosshair deadpanned. “Again? how much does she do this to you?” Crosshair asked, hearing his brother's light chuckle. “A lot, though she listens to my information dumps in return.” He stated, then sighed. “We are retrieving the last of the supplies, then we will be on our way. Just pretend to listen, she will not notice.” Tech explained and then hung up the call.

Crosshair groaned, you were going to be the death of him and Hunter.

-

It only took a half hour for Tech and Wrecker to get back, and when they entered the ship you were still engrossed in conversation with Crosshair and Hunter, though Cross was slumped over with his head in his hands, and Hunter just looked stressed as he listened to you. Wrecker took the supplies to the supply closet on the Marauder, and Tech made his way over to you, tapping Hunter’s and Crosshair's shoulder, and they almost immediately got up and went to either sleep, or do something else entirely.

Though when you noticed they had left, and that Tech was sitting there instead, you had practically beamed. “Hi Tech? Where did Hunter and Cross go? i was just telling them about how any type of fungi allow trees to communicate with each other, and that-”

Tech leaned forward, his hands cupping your cheeks as he pressed his lips to yours. A soft gasp was the only thing that left said lips as you tensed up for a moment, then relaxed into the man in front of him. Just as he went to pull away you leaned forward, sliding one of your hands into his hair, the other grasping his thigh as you chased the first kiss, and went in for the second.

Crosshair and Hunter sighed in relief from a distance, Crosshair flicked his toothpick between his teeth then tossed it onto the ground. “That’s one way to shut her up.” He muttered, getting nudged by Hunter. “She gets excited, I'm sure she'd listen to you rant on about sniper specifics.” Hunter huffed, walking into the bunk rooms as Crosshair rolled his eyes, then followed suit.

You pulled away from the kiss after a few minutes, staring into Tech’s eyes before you smiled. “Sorry.” you muttered, having now realized that you were definitely talking the other boys to death with mushroom facts. Tech chuckled lightly. “It's okay, serad, they understand you get excited… they did grow up with me after all.” Tech joked a bit, which made you smile.

“When are you going to finish these studies?” He asked, and you hummed, grabbing your datapad as you tapped it a few times, then hummed again. “I should be finished in a few days, then I move on to something I've been really excited for. But I have to get this done before I lose interest and don't finish at all.” You chuckled, Tech hummed in agreement. “Well, I will help you.” He stated, moving to sit beside you now at the terminal you were at.

You smiled at him, and leaned against his shoulder before pulling him into another, gentle kiss, which he was more than happy to reciprocate.

“Let’s get to work then, these mushrooms won’t fact check themselves!”

➺

Tech tag:

Tbb:

@only-my-unexistent-fiances

All:

@moomoog017

[disdoorted-crows]

i made a list of folk songs the mechs used in their music and now you can have it too

have you ever been listening to a folk playlist and thought, 'hey, i think i've heard this one on a mechs album!'? well, you probably have! the mechs' songs, especially their early stuff like once upon a time in space, often contained tunes from popular folk songs!

disclaimer: i got a lot of this information from either the genius lyrics page for the song or the lyric video from TheVoidSings, who of course has lyric videos for (i believe) all the mechs songs out there. so, shoutout to them for doing the research! i just compiled it. also, this is an incomplete list; it's just all the ones i could find.

the queens court - the deserter

tim goes crazy - battle hymn of the republic

the recruiters song - pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag

gassed last night - bombed last night

the toy soldiers song - over the hills and far away

blood and whiskey - o were I on Parnassus hill

pump shanty - pump shanty

cinders song - haul away joe

rose red - rose red

old king cole - old king cole

laid in blood - fifteen men on a dead man's chest

our boy jack - bella ciao

sleeping beauty - let all mortal flesh keep silence (picardy)

broken horses - skibbereen

sirens - gently johnny

riddle of the sphinx - greensleeves

favoured son - the rocky road to dublin

underworld blues - last kind words blues

ties that bind - blue in green

elysian fields - i am a poor wayfaring stranger

one eyed jacks - the house of the rising sun/when jonny comes marching home

iphis - house carpenter

pellinore and the beast - barbara allen

gunfight at the dolorous guard - my funny valentine

empty trail - when the levee breaks

the hanged man rusts - lannigan's ball

hellfire - dem bones (💀💀💀)

skin and bone - the raggle taggle gypsies

holder of the grail - the rising of the moon

peacemaker - sinnerman

once and future king - the snow it melts the soonest

thor - drowsy maggie

ragnarok I runaway - crazy train

drop dead - matty groves

lost in the cosmos - bonny grovewoodside

chop of their heads - mouse round (mending song)

[pompadourpink]

hi! in one of your asks you said that you spoke picard, can i ask how you learned it? i know there are a lot of regional languages in france, but that there was a push to only teach french in schools, so would you say most young people who speak a regional language learned it from family/ self taught?

Hello,

I indeed was raised in the North by a family who has been living in the same handful of cities forever (I recently dicovered I had an ancestor in the 1100s called Estiennenon the 1st, Knight of Bersées, a village ten kilometres from my hometown growing up).

Here are the dialects of Metropolitan France (and at the bottom of this page the ones from the former colonies, overseas):

It is true that the government has been trying to unify the language (and the accent) for a long time, claiming their insistance comes from a desire to strengthen the republic instead of accepting what they call communitarianism, which would according to them divide people. It has been a difficult topic for several centuries and as far as I see, most people have integrated the fact that you can speak your dialect at home with your family and your school friends, but it (nor your regional accent) has no place in school (from high school I would say) nor work, and especially not in formal situations.

We are also very attached to etiquette and not afraid of confrontation and what is considered good social behaviour includes good communication so if you speak like your grandparents, it will most likely be unfortunately side-eyed and sarcasmed out of you during your youth.

I was born in the early 90s and can fully understand Picard. I will use the occasional word or have a shadow of an accent coming out when I am really tired (it was stronger when I was younger), but I do not and have never used it because it was and is still mocked, not only because it is a dialect but it is one from the North, which has a pretty bad reputation overall (think Alabama). I have no intention to teach it to any future children as my knowledge has been rusting since I moved out after high school and there would be no benefit to it outside of being able to understand a few songs, although I still use some of the daily vocabulary.

As for the second part of your question, I have to take a first stop at your mention of "young people" since, outside of certain regions and families that make it a point to share the language with their children, the practice of speaking it at home is getting lost. My parents are mid boomer and early gen X and they naturally adopted my stance growing up to avoid mockery at work, especially while living in other places and it seems to be the case for most people, therefore young children would not be exposed to their regional dialects at home through grandparents anymore, and our current teens are way more interested in learning English anyway.

There are however places that are very proud of their dialects (ones that are essentially some form of bilingualism as they were born of the proximity with another country) and will teach it in a bilingual school French/dialect (such as Alsacien, Breton - which has no direct borders but is Celtic - or Occitan).

However, I would not add Flemish to this list despite its location since Belgium has a French side and a Flamand side who hate each other culturally and linguistically. I was raised near the Belgian border and did not hear or see Flemish until after I started travelling.

Let's look at a few dialects:

And since you specifically asked about the North, here is my shoutout to Jacques Landrecies, the only Picard specialist of the country and a beloved professor when I was a lit student, interviewed towards the end of this video.

Hope this helps! x

Fanmail - masterlist (2016-) - archives - hire me - reviews (2020-) - Drive

[literaryvein-reblogs]

a few more food-related words

for your cooking- or other food-related scenes

Béarnaise - a sauce of egg yolks and butter flavored with shallots, wine, vinegar, and seasonings. Béarnaise is based on Béarn, a region and former province of southwestern France, where it was originally prepared.

Fondue (or Fondu) - a dish that people prepare for themselves at the table by putting small pieces of food (such as bread, meat, or fruit) in a hot liquid (such as melted and flavored cheese or melted chocolate). Originally, fondue named a dish that is similar to the egg-based soufflé and that is usually made with cheese and bread crumbs; however, it is most familiar as the name for a preparation of melted cheese usually flavored with white wine and kirsch (a type of brandy), or a dish that consists of small pieces of food that is cooked in or dipped into a hot liquid. The name is a French derivative of the verb fondre, meaning "to melt or cast."

Hollandaise - a rich sauce made basically of butter, egg yolks, and lemon juice or vinegar. In French, sauce hollandaise means "Dutch sauce." Its name is from Hollande, the French designation for Holland.

Macédoine - a confused mixture; a mixture of fruits or vegetables served as a salad or cocktail or in a jellied dessert or used in a sauce or as a garnish. Macédoine is the French name for Macedonia, a region on the Balkan Peninsula that is now part of Greece, the Republic of North Macedonia, and Bulgaria. Historically, this area has been home to a richly varied population encompassing many ethnic groups. Etymologists believe that the cultural heterogeneity of the region may have inspired people to use its name as a generic term for any kind of wildly jumbled mixture, including that of the foods used in some sauces.

Marinade - a savory usually acidic sauce in which meat, fish, or a vegetable is soaked to enrich its flavor or to tenderize it. The main ingredient of marinade is French mariner, meaning "to pickle" or "to marinate." The verb marinate refers to steeping foods in a marinade or to coating or covering food with tasty herbs, spices, etc., before cooking.

Mignonette - a type of herb; a sauce made typically with vinegar, pepper, and herbs and served especially with oysters. Its name stems from French words meaning "dainty" and "darling." Those adjectives perfectly describe the small, delicate flowers of the plant, and dainty is fitting for the dollops of the piquant sauce placed on oysters. However, in French cooking, mignonette is used for a mix of ground peppercorn, dainty berries of the black pepper plant, and this is the likely source for the sauce's name.

Mousseline - a sauce (such as hollandaise) to which whipped cream or beaten egg whites have been added. Mousseline is the name for a soft, light sauce as well as a fine, sheer fabric that resembles muslin. It is also a synonym of mousse in its sense referring to a light, spongy food. In French, mousse can mean "froth" or "moss."

Puree (or Purée) - a paste or thick liquid suspension usually made from cooked food ground finely. Puree was processed from Middle French purer, meaning "to cleanse" or "to strain vegetables," which itself was made from Latin purare, meaning "to purify." Besides a pasty food, puree is a thick soup of smooth texture.

Rouille - a peppery garlic sauce. In French, rouille means, literally, "rust." The reddish-brown Mediterranean sauce is usually served with fish soups and stews.

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Word Lists

[clonemando]

@blackat-t7t Here is your Fox/Thorn H/C with a cuddle pile at the end. Enjoy.

There was a ringing snap as the old rusted barrier along the walkway gave out under the weight of a fully armored trooper crashing into it and Thorn watched as Fox’s gaze met his own wide with fear before he was falling backward over the edge. Thorn dove for him with a scream but his fingers barely brushed over Fox’s chestplate before his partner was gone swallowed up by the dark depths of Coruscant’s seemingly endless levels the same way many cadets ended up swallowed by Kamino’s waves.

For a moment he just stared feeling a void echoing the one he was staring at being torn open in his chest. Then Rex’s voice broke him from his daze.

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t- Thorn I- Fox-” He struggled to get anything out, horror replacing the rage that had been on his expression just minutes earlier as he corned them on their patrol to yell at Fox for avoiding him.

“You didn’t mean to kill him? Like he meant to kill Fives you mean? Well, you did. Guess you’re the brother killer now, Rex. Congratulations on your revenge.” Thorn said, voice level and empty as he watched Rex flinch and step back.

“What- What do we do now? Do we call-” Rex started eyes flickering around as if looking for some sort of help.

“Call who Rex? The Guard? I am the Guard and there’s nothing I can do now. He’s gone. He’s not a person, there won’t be an investigation. He’s not the first we lost over an edge and he won’t be the last and there’s never anything to do. You just… finish your patrol. Report the lost republic property to the Chancellor and put a few troopers on double shifts until we can get a replacement from Kamino.” He said starting to walk again. He had to finish his patrol. He was already late now and Fox would be upset if Thorn got himself punished for being late.

“You can’t just… just keep working! Shouldn’t you call Thire or something? There’s bereavement leave. The Kaminoans even approved it to keep their products at their most effective. The Jedi-” Rex started as he followed Thorn and finally he snapped.

“If you have forgotten, the Guard doesn’t have a Jedi. We had Fox. That’s it! We had Fox and he could only get us so much because he’s not considered a person either! Now we don’t even have him and we will all need to take triple shifts to cover all the stuff he has been shouldering on our behalf! I don’t have anyone available to cover this patrol. That’s why Fox and I were doing it. We just lost three shinies to senators and a full team was wiped out in a gang raid the week before. We don’t get things like leave or whatever the kriff bereavement is. The Guard belongs to the Senate, the Jedi abandoned us, just like you GAR bucketheads. So kriff off and go cry to your jedi for your extra days off and let me take care of my family. You’ve done enough Rex.” He spat darkly before turning on his heel and continuing his patrol. Rex didn’t follow him this time.

He raised his wrist to access his coms after another ten minutes.

“This is Commander Thorn reporting a 9-12 slash D. Commander Fox was lost to faulty railing in Sector 12-A. We will discuss promotions and schedule changes at the dawn shift change. As his second the Marshal position falls to me now. Carry on with your duties.” He murmured numbly before letting his arm fall and continuing to move on autopilot almost hoping the Separatists would chose to attack now so he’d have an excuse to shoot something. But the rest of the patrol was quiet.

~

Fox was exhausted. He had spent the last two days slogging through filth and fighting off the weird pollution corrupted creatures that prowled the lowest levels just to make his way to the closest working lift. Then he had to sit on the floor listening to the worst possible sort of music as he slowly ascended out of the dark toward his family and home. His arm was definitely broken and Shark was going to shoot him up with every hypo they had with complaints about the bite wounds he had getting infected but Fox was pretty sure he had gotten off easy.

He couldn’t explain how he was alive. The concussion made it hard to think straight but even with that he knew he had to have fallen at least 100 levels if not more. But at the last minute something had caught him and slowed his fall enough the injuries were survivable. He didn’t really take stock in the Jedi’s fancy force shit but maybe there was something out there looking out for him.

Once he was above the com-cut line where they lost signal to their coms he immediately reached out. “This is Commander Fox. I am injured and will need a medic and pick up from the lift in Sector 12-D, could someone also bring me some caff? I’m kriffing tired.” He grumbled into the line and smiled when it immediately started blowing up, resting his head against the side of the lift and letting his family’s furies and delighted voices wash over him like a warm blanket.

“Cut the chatter! Fox, Shark and I will be waiting for you once you reach the top. I… It’s good to hear from you but you have a lot of explaining on how you’re alive.” Thorn’s voice finally cut in and Fox’s smile grew.

“You’re going to be waiting until the Senate turns for that answer my rose, I have no kriffing clue. Woke up at the bottom with a concussion, broken arm and some jostled ribs but I was able to drag myself up and start walking to the lift not too long after the fall.” He sighed not even realizing he had used his pet name for Thorn until the line filled with cooing from the rest of the guard.

Fox passed out not long after that and only woke up again when Thorn was lifting him out of the elevator and onto a hover-cot and Shark started cursing him out. He squeezed Thorn’s hand then passed out again.

He flickered in and out of consciousness a few more times before finally waking up feeling better than he had felt in years. Blinking open his arms he was unsurprised to find Thorn plastered to his side and Hound using his stomach as a pillow. Shark must have allowed them to take him to the barracks at some point because he was laid out in the middle of the three mattresses they had shoved together at the beginning of the war so they could all sleep together and he was buried under his Guard.

“I thought… I thought you were gone for good. I thought I lost you.” Thorn’s voice was soft with fear and sleep and Fox ran his fingers through the long blond curls.

“Told you I was too stubborn to die. Can’t get rid of me that easily. I still have to scare the Senate into giving us rights so I can marry you one day.” He said with a small smile and Thorn sighed.

“While you were gone I shot the Chancellor. We’ve been dressing up in his robes and pretending he’s got the cornellian flu until we figure out what else to do but now you’re back it’s your problem. I’m taking a thing Rex told me was called bereavement.” Thorn said and Fox’s eyes opened fully from where he had started drifting off again.

“YOU DID WHAT?! THORN! I was gone two days!” He shrieked.

“He implied you were better off dead and I was in mourning. There’s scientific data proving making people work through grief lowers productivity. It’s not my fault!” Thorn whined and nuzzled his face in Fox’s neck while Fox tried to wiggle free but he couldn’t move from how he was buried under so many siblings.

“I’m going to kill you once I’m free. I’m going to kill all of you!” He growled but they all ignored him in favor of continuing their nap.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

People planning to stab Robespierre compilation

What was your plan in going to Robespierre’s house.

To talk to him in person.

What did you want to talk to Robespierre about?

I don’t want to give any response or explanation regarding this question.

Do you realize that your answers lead one to believe you had the intention of committing a crime, and that you must explain your intentions?

She does not want to explain further, and adds that she intended to ask him for instructions on the situation and the strengthening of the Republic.

Do you realize that your declarations and obstinacy to not want to explain yourself cannot be reconciled with such a plan, which is why I’m again asking you to explain yourself?

She persists in not wanting to answer.

Did anyone propose to you the plan of going home to Robespierre and did you tell anyone about it?

No.

Did you go to Robespierre’s house several times during the day?

No.

When you went to Robespierre, did you bring with you knives, and if yes, of which sort?

I had in my pocket two folding knives, one in tortoiseshell and the other in ivory, both trimmed in silver: the one made of ivory was given to me by my brother in 89, having found it at Prés-Saint-Gervais. The other was given to me by my grandmother three or four years ago. It was loaded with rust; I cleaned it and tried to remove the rust by scraping the blade with another knife, eight or nine days ago. I rarely use it.

Do you regularly carry two knives?

I carry the tortoiseshell one regularly, the ivory one showed up in my pocket, I didn’t know it was there.

When you went home to Robespierre, did you have the intention of using these knives to kill him?

No, moreover, we can judge as we please. Interrogation of Cécile Renault, held on May 24 1794

At that time, the indictment that I (Lecointre) was preparing against the traitor (Robespierre) and his accomplices was completed; Fréron who helped me with his insights, Barras, Rovère, Thirion, Courtois, Garnier de l'Aube, Guffroy and Tallien etc advised me to attack him in person, so that success would be more certain. The roles were divided to support my opinion, and to combat with force the sophisms of Robespierre, but they were of the opinion that the memoir should be printed and distributed an hour before being read at the National Convention: Guffroy was in charge and had promised, from the 6th, to have it printed; and it was solemnly sworn by us that if the truth succumbed, we would immolate the tyrant in the middle of the Convention. Conjuration formée dès le 5 préréal [sic] par neuf représentans du peuple contre Maximilien Robespierre, pour le poignarder en plein sénat: rapport et acte d’accusation dont la lecture devoit précéder dans la Convention cet acte de dévouement (1794), page 4

Bourdon de l'Oise, rightly frightened by the ease with which, until then, several batches of his colleagues had been delivered to the proscriptions of this tribunal, had wanted to exclude from the number of defendants, whom the two committees alone could bring there, any representative of the people: he had insisted that the decision could only emanate from the Convention itself, and by a special decree. On this subject, a great rumor arose within the assembly: the members of the two committees, whom Bourdon's motion implicitly accused of wanting to get hold of their antagonists, with Couthon and Robespierre at the forefront, had strongly qualified him as a caluminator. Robespierre, in his fury at being thus unveiled, had forgotten himself to the point of throwing the epithet of ”scoundrel” against Bourdon; and, far from retracting Bourdon's claim, he had insinuated that the latter was on his way to get arrested; that the committees could provoke it. 

Bourdon, after this stormy session, had felt only too well that it was a fight to the death which had just begun between him and Robespierre: he had resolved to guarantee his own head, by the precipitous fall of that of Robespierre. It was with his own hand that he wanted to destroy this tyrant of the fatherland, this proud usurper who did not hesitate to degrade the national representation, in order to sacrifice it in detail to his disproportionate ambition. Once this decision to get rid of Robespierre by the dagger had settled in his head, Bourdon thought of taking, before the assassination attempt, some measures relative to his fortune. He took the keenest interest in a woman and several young children whose fate was linked to his own, and had made arrangements in their favor. 

Now, it was me that Bourdon had chosen, to be both the preserver of his final wishes and the protector, after him, of these beings he loved. The day after 23 Prairial, Bourdon brought me to his house, making me believe that it was just a simple dinner. He then occupied a small bachelor's accommodation on rue des Saints-Pères in a house on the left, which only had a narrow door, without a doorman. His apartment was pointed out to me by a woman who was coming out, in despair at not having been able to get him to intercede for her husband. I had barely entered when Bourdon, without further circumlocution, said to me: “Listen, we’ve known each other for a long time; I know that you are a moderate patriot, that you are not very passionate about the republic; but you are an honest man, a good friend; and it is for these two reasons that I was able to open up to you about my projects and the measures they involve. Robespierre is my personal enemy; he attacked and threatened me in the middle of the Convention: he wants to kill me, in order to be able to more easily dominate the Convention and seize absolute power. I want to thwart his ambitious designs by immolating him with my own hand.” 

At the same time, and as if he felt the need to convince me even more of the strength of his mind, he took out from under his bed an oblong casket, in which was tucked the coat he had worn on the day of the storming of the Bastille, the hat which, in the Vendée, had adorned his forehead as a representative of the people, and a large cutlass with which he was always armed on his expeditions. He took great care to point out to me that his coat was still covered with stains from the blood he had spilled at the Bastille, that his hat was riddled with the bullets of the Vendéens. As for the cutlass, he had more than once plunged it into the hearts of his enemies; it was the weapon with which he intended, at the first opportunity which presented itself, to strike Robespierre. I trembled lest the wall, which received these terrible confidences together with me, should share a syllable with anyone. Bourdon, to reassure me, said that for the development of his plan, he needed someone discreet enough to remain silent before and after the action; faithful enough to keep his will; zealous enough and enlightened enough to have it executed in due time. “It is you,” he said to me, “who will be my devoted confidant, I count on it and no longer worry about anything.” He immediately gave me his will with his instructions and some important titles. 

God knows with what agitations this gift filled my soul, what bad nights I passed with the possession of this perilous deposit! At the slightest suspicion, at the slightest word of revelation, I would have been a dead man. What would happen if Bourdon had gotten arrested before or after the consummation of his revenge and the slightest indication of correspondence with him was administered against me? The sixteen days I spent in this state of uncertainty felt like centuries. Finally arrived, against all foresight, and without the isolated provocation on the part of Bourdon de l'Oise, this day, forever precious for humanity, of the 9th of Thermidor.  Souvenirs de M. Berryer, doyen des avocats de Paris (1839)

Tallien: I demanded earlier that one tears apart the veil. With pleasure, I just saw that it is torn apart entirely, that the conspirators have been unmasked, that they will soon be annihilated, and that liberty will triumph. (Loud applause.) Everything announces that the enemy of the national representation will fall under its blows. We give a proof of our republican loyalty to our nascent republic. I forced myself to remain silent until now, because I knew of a man who approached the tyrant of France, that he had formed a proscription list. I did not want to remonstrate, but I have seen the session of the Jacobins yesterday: I have trembled for the patrie ; I have seen the army of a new Cromwell forming itself, and I am armed with a dagger in order to pierce its breast, if the National Convention did not have the courage to issue a décret d'accusation against him. (Loud applause.) Tallien at the Convention, July 27 1794

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Bad Ground • (No Title) 'October Rust' Track 2 [Spoken Word Intro] • Love You to Death • Be My Druidess • Green Man • Red Water (Christmas Mourning) • My Girlfriend's Girlfriend • Die with Me • Burnt Flowers Fallen • In Praise of Bacchus • Cinnamon Girl • The Glorious Liberation of the People's Technocratic Republic Of Vinnland by the Combined Forces of the United Territories of Europa • Wolf Moon (Including Zooanthropic Paranoia) • Haunted • (No Title) 'October Rust' Track 15 [Spoken Word Outro] • Black Sabbath (From the Satanic Perspective) • 17 Haunted (Per Version) • 18 Cinnamon Girl (Extended Depression Mix)

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[legobiwan]

So. I'm revisiting a very old draft I cooked up of a Dooku-Obi-wan tale. Flitting between this and my Gravity Falls idea and my SPM concept stuff is rather dizzying on its own, not to mention I also haven't tried to write in the SW universe in quite some time. Going to try and publish some more excerpts to get back in the groove. Still getting those writing land legs (sea legs?) back. Yeesh, I'm rusty. Shake off that rust. Shake it off, shake it off.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re finally starting to ask the right questions, Master Kenobi, albeit to the wrong beings.”

Obi-wan stilled. 

The comm screen faded to its grey, standby mode, casting the small room into an almost total darkness, save the weak luminescence of a handful of stars peering from the corner of a single window to his rear. Around him, a set of blocky transmitters hissed in short, labored susurrations - a system that even now was uploading his message to some server on Taris, flinging it forward to unfortunate Bandomeer and then on to far, far away Coruscant. Obi-wan ran his fingers over the small, nubby input/output indicators sprouting from the consol, which flickered in an unmetered, erratic pulse; green to red to green to red. 

“I was wondering when I would see you again, Dooku.” 

A metallic ping marked the initial reception of the message on Taris. It was fast - faster than he had expected, and Obi-wan couldn’t help but wonder about the encryption layers in the Count’s communication system. They were either so poor that his message would be hacked by every fifth-rate pirate this side of the Outer Rim, or efficient enough to meet the strict security needs of the heart of the Confederate uprising and still relay data at least a quarter-time faster than the Republic’s sclerotic, and expensive, hyperwave transmission lines.

“I’ve had other matters to attend to,” Dooku sniffed as Obi-wan’s vision settled into the darkness, the Count’s long, looming shadow beginning to creep from the tall, cylindrical ventilation system running vertically up the far wall. 

“Other matters.” Obi-wan toyed with a switch on the console, one that would set all new, outgoing communications to encrypt using an archaic verb form of Ancient Nettlese as its key. A childish impulse - and one that would result in nothing but a few lines of perturbed binary from the communications droids - but one not without its immediate appeal. “Other matters like coordinating the battle on the Dolla plains?”

Irritation rolled off the Count in spiny, sawtooth waves. “I had a hand in the strategy, but was not the decisive body in the final assault. You, of all people, should be familiar with the delegation necessary to conduct a proper war.”

Obi-wan snorted. “I suppose delegation is easier when all that is required is a few keystrokes.”

[fancy-fancy]

i have had a dry streak again so sorry for the lower quality. rust comes quick

Republic of Dixie Miku for @spann-stann

[the-bees-patella]

hi! for the prompts thing: warning: workplace aftercare + any rex ship you're in the mood for :> thank you! ♥️

from this prompt post.

Thank you so much for prompting!! Sorry, I took it in a fairly literal direction, as in, needing aftercare from your workplace. So then I went directly to my spinny wheel of Top 10 Worst Times of Rex’s Life and landed on...Kadavo.

non liquet (ao3) || cody/rex || M, 400 words.

Content note for slavery; the canon-typical violence, cruelty, and dehumanization found in our beloved children's cartoon.

Rex had said he didn’t want to talk. But now, curled up in the bunk, Cody’s chin perched on the crown of his head; bowered in body heat under the blanket. Cody’s arm is falling asleep, trapped beneath both their heads. His fingers climb the jagged ladder of Rex’s spine. The gap between each rung is far too steep.

Now, Rex’s voice, gnarled with disuse:

“I killed him,” he says. “The slave master. I don’t feel bad about it. But—I was so angry; I wanted revenge. It didn’t feel like combat, I lost control. And I was—I was just so…”

The words, a humid spoonful of air tapping at his lip. Cody rubs his cheek against the spackle of Rex’s hair, just to feel the rasp, some new sensation. To let him know this is testimony, not prayer.

As cadets, he and Fox would joke about optimizing their stats in the free will department. “The Jedi reward lateral thinking and initiative,” Fox would say. And then Cody would say, “But careful, not too much!”

Rex is choking under the slack in the noose of too much.

The purpose of orders is not their substance. If all the Republic had wanted was rules followed to the letter, it could have had datapads and metal droids aplenty. It would never have bothered with designer soldiers. But what it wanted was a man in war’s perpetual debt for his very existence; a man whose currency was violence. A man with no master other than obedience. But nonetheless: a man.

To make such a man, and hand him a weapon, the air still acrid with screams of pain; his throat locked tight against his own screams. The burns on his neck still grieving for themselves, weeping under the shock collar.

To make such a man, and then step aside, just in time.

Cody knows Kenobi could not have killed the slaver himself. He understands that. But couldn’t he have given Rex the mercy of a direct order?

The smell of the tunnels still clings to Rex, dirt and shit and torched flesh and the animal rust of spilled blood, all varnished with the astringent patina of Bacta. It’s the smell of inverted dignity; of despair.

What’s the operative difference between an execution and a murder?

“I was just so hungry,” Rex whispers.

They can’t get much closer without suffocating. Cody tries anyway.

[blackkatmagic]

For the ask game! Thorn! 🥰

The very edge of the furthest landing pad from the Senate is usually empty, but today, for the first time since Thorn started coming here, it’s occupied.

A little surprised, Thorn pauses on the edge of the platform, the cold wind spinning out the steam from his cup of caf in whirling gusts. The figure standing on the far edge is Mandalorian, by that armor, and it’s striking. Rust-red, with a golden faceplate on the helmet and heavy brown plates over the shoulders in a style Thorn has never seen before, even among the hundred trainers Jango Fett brought to Kamino. The Mandalorian's long red cloak billows in the wind, swirling around their feet, and their gaze is trained out on the press and mess of Coruscant at dusk, full of lights and pollution.

Being far from the Senate means that everything is a lot more like the actual Coruscant, and not the polished façade of beauty the Senate lives on, Thorn thinks, rueful.

“Careful,” he says, light but pitched to carry over the hum of the speeder traffic. “If you fall from here, the only place to land is in the refinery exhaust shafts, and they go all the way down to the planet’s surface. No one comes back from that kind of fall.”

There's a pause, then a shift. The Mandalorian turns, cocking their head as they look Thorn over, and after a long second they ask, “No one goes down to the surface anymore?”

Thorn shakes his head, crossing the platform as a diplomatic ship passes overhead with a roar. “Not that I've ever heard of,” he says. “Even the scavengers keep to the higher levels. It’s supposed to be a wasteland down there.” He grins, trying to share a joke. “Not that it’s all the much better up here. Unless you like politics.”

The Mandalorian scoffs, sounding just like how Thorn tends to feel about such things. “Politics are the greatest wasteland,” they say derisively, and then pause again, considering Thorn. “You're Taung as well.”

Taung, Thorn thinks, surprised, and frowns. It’s not a word he’s heard before. “Is that another word for Mandalorian?”

“Yes,” the Mandalorian says, though they sound amused. “In a way.”

Thorn grins, and pretends it doesn’t feel more like a baring of teeth. “We’re only Mandalorian in a way, so I guess it fits. I'm Thorn.”

The Mandalorian inclines their head, deliberate. “Atin, though I go by other names.” He doesn’t offer any of them, just turns his attention back to the view below them, the wild rush of trillions of people all moving through the Republic’s capital. “This world is nothing like it used to be.”

Curiosity flickers, and since there doesn’t seem to be an objection to his presence, Thorn sinks down in his usual spot, feet dangling over the side with all of Coruscant below him. It makes the ache of standing for too long a little more bearable, and he sets his caf down beside him, stretches with a groan. Fox ran them all hard today, which is the usual, but—there have been an unending string of long days, and Thorn just wants to rest.

“What did it used to be like?” he asks, tipping his head back to find Atin watching him. He’s huge from this angle, more than two meters tall and broad enough to carry the height easily, his armor just making him seem bulkier.

For a long moment, Atin is silent. Then, deliberate, he raises his face towards the sky, the last light of the sun shimmering and rippling like water over the gold of his helmet’s faceplate. “Mountainous,” he says finally. “All of these buildings dwarf the mountains now, but once, the rolling mountains here were covered in forests. I wonder if they still exist.”

Something slides down Thorn’s spine, icy, uneasy. Coruscant has been a city-planet for thousands of years, he thinks. No one should remember what it used to be two hundred thousand years ago. But—

“You talk like you were there,” he says, trying to make it light. “You're looking pretty good for being that old, though, I have to say—”

“Commander!” a voice says, pitched up with alarm. “Commander, move!”

Thorn is on his feet in an instant, spinning with a hand going to where his blaster usually sits. He’s in his blacks, though, left his armor in the bunkroom because he’s off duty, and alarm flares at the sight of a familiar woman in red, running like something is wrong—

A hand grabs his shoulder, huge, heavy in its massive red gauntlet, and Atin hauls Thorn back. Thorn yelps, the heels of his boots slipping on slick metal as the wind snatches at him. Senator Amidala is just a pace away, reaching, and Thorn grabs on instinct—

Her hands snatch his, just as the Mandalorian shoves, and Thorn tumbles over the side with a cry, Padmé in his arms, nothing to catch them as they plummet straight down towards the distant, desolate surface of Coruscant far, far, far below.

(There’s nothing to catch them except Coruscant, and it does.)

[technicallymaximumkitty]

playlists

I made playlist for hazbin hotel characters

charlie, vaggie, alastor, angel dust, husk, niffty, sir pentious (bonus adam)

❤️ Charlie ❤️

❤️ Humility, gorillaz 

❤️ Lights, ellie goulding 

❤️ Gateway to the stars, skeleton staff

❤️ Cry baby, melody martinez  

❤️ Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, Lesley gore 

❤️ KK bubblegum, animal crossing 

❤️ Charlie’s inferno, the handsome devil 

❤️ The exorcist, calypso 

❤️ Space unicorns, parry gripp 

❤️ Out of my league, fitz and the tantrums 

❤️ Heathens, 21 pilots 

❤️ Devil town, cavetown 

❤️ Rat, penelope scott 

💜 Vaggie 💜

💜 Saint benard, lincoln 

💜 Angel with a shotgun, the cab 

💜 I wouldn't mind, he is we

💜 Hell’s coming with me, poor man’s poison 

💜 Mary on a cross, ghost

💜 Notion, the rare occasion 

💜 Butch 4 butch, rio romeo 

💜 Training wheels, melody martinez 

💜 All the good girls go to hell, billie eilish 

💜 Soku eye, gorillaz

💜 Spear of justice, toby fox 

💜 Roar, katy perry 

💜 Raincoat, studio killers 

🧡 Alastor 🧡

🧡 Twisted, missio 

🧡 All eyes on me, or3o 

🧡 Our love is god, heathers musical 

🧡 Animals, maroon 5

🧡 Dismemberment song, blue kid

🧡 Animal cannibal, karen skladany 

🧡 We'll meet again, vera lynn 

🧡 Terry's taxidermy, teddy hyde 

🧡 Christmas kids, roar

🧡 Arms tonite, mother mother

🧡 The hunting song, tom lehrer

🧡 Necromancing dancing, bear ghost 

🧡 Happy face, jagwar twin 

🩷 Angel Dust 🩷

🩷 Epoch, the living tombstones

🩷 Say amen (saturday night) panic! At the disco

🩷 Bad romance, lady gaga

🩷 Candy store, heathers musical

🩷 Grrrls, aviva

🩷 Take a hint, victorious cast 

🩷 Bubble gum bit*h, marina and the diamonds

🩷 Baby hotline, jack starbur 

🩷 Weak, AJR

🩷 Bad habits, steve lacy

🩷 Vending machine of love, the stupendium 

🩷 Front street, will wood and the tapeworms

🩷 Control, halsey 

🤎 Husk 🤎

🤎 Let me down slowly, alec benjamin 

🤎 Dirty harry, gorillaz

🤎 Ghosting, mother mother

🤎 Hand me my shovel i am going in, will wood and the tapeworms

🤎 The good, the bad and the dirty, panic! At the disco

🤎 The gambler, kenny rogers

🤎 Let's get this over with, they might be giants 

🤎 Cats, dogs, and rats, rare americans

🤎 Your gonna go far kid, the offsrping

🤎 Pardon me, he is we

🤎 Coffee, jack starbur 

🤎 Look who’s inside again, bo burham 

🤎 Tennessee whiskey, chris stapleton 

🤍 Niffty 🤍

🤍 Girlfriend, hemlock spring 

🤍 Body, mother mother

🤍 Bill waterson, lemon demon

🤍 The masochism tango, tom lehrer

🤍 The red means i love you, madds buckley 

🤍 Cell block tango, Chicago musical

🤍 Runs in the family, amanda palmer 

🤍 Killer queen, queen 

🤍 Hello kitty, avril lavigne 

🤍 Pretty little psycho, theexorcist 

🤍 Cannibal, kesha 

🤍 Barbie girl, aqua 

🤍 Curses, crane wives 

💛 Sir Pentious 💛

💛 Love like you, steven universe 

💛 Give and take, poor man’s poison

💛 Oh klahoma, jack starbar 

💛 I’ll rust with you, steam powered giraffe 

💛 Mr blue sky, electric light orchestra 

💛 Hidden in the sand, tally hall

💛 Egg and soldiers, cosmo sheldrake 

💛 Rhinestone eyes, gorillaz 

💛 Man made objects, lemon demon 

💛 Under my skin, jukebox ghost 

💛 Bang!, AJR

💛 Secrets, one republic 

💛 Savior of the skies, the cog is dead

🩵 Adam 🩵

🩵 Main character, will wood and the tapeworms

🩵 Stick it to the man, school of rock

🩵 Eighth wonder, lemon demon 

🩵 Verbatim, mother mother 

🩵 They’re only human, death note musical 

🩵 American idiot, green day

🩵 5/4, gorillaz 

🩵 Punk tactics, joey valance and brae 

🩵 Kiss me son of god, they might be giants 

🩵 DONTTRUSTME, 3OH!3

🩵 blood//water, grandson

🩵 Another way out, hollywood undead

🩵 Modern day cain, I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

[inquartata30]

Parallax: Chapter 2

Fandom: Mass Effect

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Politics

Relationship(s): Lexi T’Perro/OC (Thaia Kallistrate), Benezia/Aethyta, Benezia/Aethyta/Shiala

Characters: Lexi T’Perro, Thaia Kallistrate (OC), Aria T’Loak, Matriarch Benezia, Suvi Anwar, Nakmor Drack, Vetra Nyx, Cora Harper, Matriarch Aethyta, Shiala

Additional Tags: Minor Character Death, Politics, Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Original Characters

Summary: 55,000 years ago, the protheans won a Pyrrhic victory over the reapers. From the ashes of the Prothean Republic and the rusting hulks of the reapers, the ancient asari grew into a galaxy-spanning empire. Two people on opposite sides first meet during an abduction that threatens to upend the tenuous armistice between the Asari Empire and the Terminus Systems. Decades later, they face each other again as forced allies and unwitting political pawns when the galaxy’s three major factions collide.

Chapter 2: Sphere of Influence

55 Tevos 437 Forty years later, one of the last things Thaia had ever expected was to see Aria T’Loak and her most trusted lieutenant, Soraya T’Perro, again. On Omega. On friendly terms. With Thaia being assigned a job by Aria. And Thaia accepting it because she had no choice if she wanted to stay on Omega while waiting for the Omega-4 Relay to be cleared of sabotage from the human terrorist group, Cerberus. All she wanted to do was study it and continue her work with designing and building a prototype relay for the asari, yet here she was, about to be working for Aria T’Loak. “—and I can’t have you idling on my station,” Aria was saying while standing across from Thaia, the large operations table between them. A technical model of Omega’s structure slowly rotated above it, two sections near the mine highlighted, and a third highlighted section at the opposite end. “You’ll be pulling some guard duty.” Please not any of the clubs. Aria signaled to Soraya, who lifted a bag from the floor and set it on the table in front of Thaia. Then she unzipped it, revealing a full kit of low-profile body armor, clothing manufactured from ballistic cloth, and other sundries commandos on personal bodyguard details often used. “I had my people pick up your weapons. Your pistol is in the bag. Your other weapons and belongings are currently being moved to more secure and far better lodgings,” Soraya said, and then studied her for a moment. “Bit of a shithole you were living in.”

Read the rest of Chapter 2 on AO3