#ides of march 2024

[earlgrey24]

Brutus seeing the graffiti of him stabbing Caesar all over Rome, c. 44 BC

[wingedkiare]

From americanshakespearecenter

[myfckingnameisnuwanda]

EYEDES OF MARCH

[Inspo]

[myartsing]

It’s Ides of March get his ass!!

[decomposingarchaeologist]

HAPPY IDES OF MARCH EVERYONE! julius caesar has been dead for 2123 slutty slutty years, and every year gets sluttier than the last.

[roseapov]

Yesterday was my first Ides of March

Annnnd, it was FUN☺️ I'm gonna prepare for it the next year properly

I have a little excess of unused knives and daggers, but I'm sure they'll find a use soon, thank you Tumblr users-

So I'm asking you this...

[ssshh-im-a-secret]

Me, watching the clock turn from 11:59 March 14th, to 12:00 March 15th: *maniacal laughter* ITS TIME

[stars-in-the-night]

I'm sure most people on Tumblr are aware of Gretchen's "we should totally just stab Caesar" speech from Mean Girls:

Gretchen Weiners had cracked. - YouTube

But what I'm not sure is whether most people on Tumblr know that she's actually paraphrasing Cassius' monologue from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

Happy Ides of March, everyone!

[thestormthatrises]

[sillygoofyqueer]

WAIT

IT'S THE IDES OF MARCH

TIME TO KILL A ROMAN EMPEROR (AGAIN)

[awkwardlyapocalyptic1623]

It's that time again XD 🔪🔪🔪

Little Ceaser's pizza 🍕 🍕🍕🔪🔪🔪

[earlgrey24]

If I had a bronze coin for every tragic vaguely homoerotic play set in a republic on the brink of collapse that I've read in the past month then I'd have 2 coins

(Which isn't a lot, but at least I'd have something to put on my eyelids for Charon)

[therapardalis]

For um it may concern ...

[psychicreylien]

okay but. what if we ALL got together AT THE SAME PLACE and celebrated the ides. would it go something like this? (cw aside from the obvious: fire)

The day before the event was always lively. Children and elders alike gathered in the former Senate building to revel in the celebrations, parading and joyously dancing in groups and pairs. The sun's rays bounced off the pillars that were once naught but rubble, but were now glorious and had majesty to rival that which they were constructed from. There were stands and booths, some with art from local towns and some with clothing from distant lands. Music filled the air and danced with the smells of intricately-made foods and baked goods from inside the building. If a stand wasn't made to sell goods, their owners often held panels and spoke to the festival-goers, be it about the events of the week or the history of the event, or any range of topics one could think to learn about. If there was one place to be during the second week of March, it was here; the festival of the Ides.

The directors of the event were often known to be the wisest in the small community that held the event. This year, the number seemed to be less; the former Council that promoted the event had since been dethroned for their unjust exiles of a great number of the attendees, and many of the directors quit from fear of being exiled first. There were pictures and memorials in their place, rather than replacing their presence with an unknown figure and disrupt the festivities. Nevertheless, they oversaw the events and murmured quietly amongst themselves, a certain concern to their voices as they discussed the coming threats to their annual safe haven.

As this was happening, new attendees were still being welcomed, showing their verification before coming in. This was the only event ever known to have verification the way it did. Entry was free, of course, but one could not enter unless they had crafted a blade of some sort for the event. Some got creative with their blades; engraving messages in them or grievances as a way to have closure. Some used them as a memorial, carving names, putting ashes or even blood in the blade for when it was sacrificed. The newer attendees stuck with the basics; simpler blades with personally-crafted handles and minimal details. No matter how intricate or how long your blade took to craft, as long as it was hand-crafted, you would be allowed into the festival with a smile and a warm welcome.

Every year, the celebration attracted thousands of attendees from all far reaches of the world. And yet, even with the large number of festival-goers, the space never seemed to be quite full to capacity. There was always space between each booth, always enough room between people to make weaving through crowds less than necessary before the main event. It wasn't quiet, per se, but there was an air of familiarity that didn't push too far. The Ides festival was a place of sanctuary for generations previous, and the whispered hopes of the directors prayed it would be for decades to come.

The day of the original event, the stabbing of Caesar, was the staple of the Ides festival. The head director held a meeting months previous to determine the year's subject – it was never someone good. Years previous, the prize was an array of individuals; billionaires, corrupt businesspeople, anyone of the like. The schedule of events for the day was as follows: the subject was brought into the Senate building, tied and bound to a stake, read their sins and disgraces to humanity and otherwise, and stabbed by each attendee, starting with the directors and ending with the new attendees. Once that was over, a large bonfire was erected in the centre of the building, and it lit almost a mile in every direction. Everyone gathered around it, and at the exact time the original stabbing occurred, everyone threw their knives and blades into the fire and it weaved in every colour.

The fire was always strong. In the history of the Ides festival, there had never been a weak flame, rather, it burned brighter than the stars in the pitch night sky. Its hands flicked about, a dangerous look about them as they danced with the air and engulfed nightmares in tall, erupting flames. Its eyes changed colour, sometimes white and sometimes scarlet, always waiting for its next sacrifice. When the blades were handed over, it welcomed the sacrifices gratefully and quickly, flashing each colour with brilliant pride. First, a wine-violet, a deep and brooding shade once thought to be a sign of depression taken to a lavish elevation. Then, a shining ruby, resemblant of an actual gem in its moment. Following, at least three indistinguishable yet somehow distinct shades of scarlet and gold. A bright, envious green, followed by sharper teals, followed by clear-cut marine, followed by royal tyrian purple, followed by passionate magenta, and back to violet. By the time this was over, attendees had speant the better part of an evening around the fire, and were now ready to spend time chatting and eating in separate groups. Every person thanked the fire – which did little but flicker in response – and exited, more than apt to cook, eat, and share stories before falling asleep under the stars, waiting and dreaming for the next year's festival.