#ides of march for reference

[lemurious]

[sic semper]

how many words will it take to keep a republic?

[this one's for camille.]

[the old roman republic fixation blending into the new one of the french revolution. now on ao3 as well.]

“He should’ve stopped right then. Thus, always, to tyrants. That’s enough to make one’s name ring for eighteen hundred years and then some.”

Ever since they had struggled through their first sentences of Cicero together, they have turned it into a kind of a hideout, a refuge. The last bright spark of the Republic, all the sweeter for its brevity, all the more terrible for the inescapable light.

They are fighting not to turn their own land into a desolation and would not stoop to the hypocrisy of calling it peace, and quirites have been renamed citoyens, and the old blood on the cobblestones is the same as under the statue of Pompey, and so many hands are eager to proffer a knife that there is a brief illusion that the guilt might be shared as well.

Camille has not moved to light the candles, and the sky has blinked violet for a mere moment, so fast that one could’ve missed it if one weren’t paying attention, and settled into a comfortable dusk.

He rubs his eyes, straightens himself, sways minutely in the slight derangement brought by exhaustion.

It is a respite, to think about what choices he would’ve made, had he the death of only one Caesar to reckon with, to imagine himself in the interminable tableaus of artists who felt that only they could give an accurate rendition to the scene. At the head of the liberators - no, that’s the place in which he can only imagine Maxime, however reluctant.

Camille stops dead, halfway through another speech in his head, he can almost hear his own voice shaking, his finger pointing in accusation at the corpse of Caesar and letting the anger of the crowd carry him through the Forum.

He wouldn’t have made the deal with Octavian though, nor scuttled off to Egypt. He would’ve stayed in Paris – in Rome, that is, of course. In his city. His city, claimed and signed and sealed in word after word and pamphlet after pamphlet, and declarations and constitutions and decrees beyond count, and it still might not be enough.

“He didn’t have to call Cicero’s name," Maxime goes on. "I wouldn’t consider Brutus a coward…”

Camille wonders if Brutus – not if, how frequently Brutus had tried to reason with his conscience, how many times Cassius had strengthened him, by words or arms.

They seem to have acquired their own Cassius, not too long ago, another moth to the flame of revolution, except this one – this one is worth watching, and the entire Convention watches. This one seems to be bound for a glorious death, if one could be contrived.  

It might not take much, these days. Marat has recently managed without even trying.

“What’s wrong with Cicero?” Camille pushes his thoughts out of his head, imagines them flying through the open window and into the summer heat that is settling into the city for the night.

“He was like one of these overtrained dogs, always ready to attack the next enemy. I do not discount the elegance of his language, or the precision of his philosophy – “

“You are trying to discount the man. But we still memorize his speeches. Now -give me a speech from Brutus, one to make you want to follow his lead! See – you can’t. I know you can’t. All you have from Brutus is a sword. Cicero took that sword and adorned it with virtue, having an excess of it in his possession due to having left all vice to Antony, now, of course, I do object to it, on occasion being partial to Mark Antony myself, but wouldn’t you call it a force of its own, this ability that only words have, to turn a death into a martyrdom and a murder into an execution?”

Camille positively runs out of breath by the end of the sentence.

“Caesar wouldn’t have been killed by a pamphlet.” Maxime is curt, but there is a softness to his look.

“Just you wait.”

“You – well, you I could trust – to prove me wrong.”

“I tell you again – only consuls can be killed in the Curia Hostilia, while tyrants have to die in words, over and over, until they teach us how to treat the tyrants of our age – wait, I need to put this down –“

“You should be writing plays.”

“You should be carrying a knife, just in case a suitable Caesar passes by. Stop insulting me. We’re living a tale, we have to be able to tell it too – not that I, of course, am going to give all that many more speeches, I suppose –“

“You will, when the need arises.”

“I wish I had your certainty.”

“My certainty begs to differ. You do not wish for anything of the sort. And I am hardly ready to start stabbing kings, or anyone else for that matter. We have our laws.”

“I know you. At some point, you will be called to a Curia and you will make a choice, against an entire row of Caesars, lined up, unsuspecting, in front of you. And then, well, then, another republic will be saved again, I suppose, and then –“

“And then?”

There is a tinge of dust, in the light breeze rising. A taste of desert.

“And then, Philippi.”

“Such a morbid future.”

“There’s nothing morbid about immortality, at least not for you, at least not this kind, it’s the only kind that is worth pursuing anyway, there’s a kind of truth to it that is harder to stain, and, speaking of which, time for me to go, this needs to be printed by tomorrow, they’re already cursing me in the press for keeping them awake.”

“Camille.”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember how we used to talk of them, as if we ran in their circles, as if we had to step aside to let their litters pass us by? Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, everyone? Do you think – they felt they had no other choice?”

The only answer is a cliché, and it sticks to Camille’s teeth like molasses.

Still, he supposes, it must be comforting. For a moment he is so exhausted that he feels that he will never find anything comforting, and then he looks at the desk, at the pen dripping ink because Maxime is holding it at a strange angle, and tells himself to stop being so fanciful.

It is easier to speak in clichés, in the dark. Sometimes, Camille wishes he could be turned off together with the lamps and blink right back into shape the following night.

He wonders what kind of a ghost he would make. And if Maxime would even want to stick around the living.

“One always has a choice.”

“Camille.”

“Yes, again?”

“…it's too hot, my words are trying to slip away from me – for all that I despise Cicero, that was something he was good for. Finding them.”

“You can just say something trite about surviving, taking care of myself, maybe even thinking, for once, of how my own words will be read before putting them down.”

“Is that what you expect of me?”

“No.”

Camille turns, steps closer, reaches out, velvet and lace and skin under his hands. Sometimes, even he chooses to be silent. So will Maxime, but not just yet.  

“Here’s your Cicero, then. Vince et vale.”

[kaiasky]

listen up chucklefucks, i just gotta say. I'm not defending zir, but I'm sad zie deactivated. Like, i get that trauma lasts a long time and the good stuff is maybe easy to forget?? so maybe it's just like that. And my beloved mutual @/pompeyspuppygirl made a post about zir clout chasing behavior, which is pretty shitty behavior if it's true (and if we're canceling someone it had better be pretty severe). anyways now that zie's gone pompeyspuppygirl said it was okay to make this post (again, thanks ppg everyone go follow her--really everyone in this whole drama is worth a follow)

ANYways yeah zie was my mutual and like, reblogged a lot my smaller posts. (that isn't to discredit what my mutual pompeyspuppygirl is saying about zie clout chasing ofc). AND idk zie was always reblogging art from new and undiscovered artists and reblogging donation posts (which if you don't know is really bad if you're trying to clout chase...) (again, though, ppg is my mutual i believe her.) and like, remember on valentines day i tried to blaze zir posts and zie told me to stop because zie didn't want the posts to go viral? (but again ppg is my mutual and has a lot of proof in the Google doc I'm not trying to disprove that I'm just saying what else I know)

Idk, like i feel like a lot of people loved zir's blog a while back, bc like zie DID make some good posts?? So idk why everybody's acting like they aren't even a little bit sad.,. like ngl this feels like maybe all the reasonable people left to Twitter and all the Twitter refugees who love drama came here??? shdfhhdhdhdhdh haha but idk...look idk, i just, julie i do miss you. idk. more thoughts later sorry I'm getting worked up shshs

[weepingwillowbark]

may your ides of march be many and your julius ceasars be few

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Betrayal Tropes

Bad Samaritan: The villain who acts kind and uses good deeds to lure the heroes into a false sense of security, before turning the tables on them for their master plan.

Black Shirt: Someone who secretly wishes for the enemy to win so they can side with them.

Broken Pedestal: Someone finds out that the person they idolized wasn't quite as heroic and noble as they thought they were.

Dead Person Impersonation: A character impersonates a beloved dead member of another group.

Defecting for Love: A character switches sides due to falling in love with someone of the other camp.

Personal Horror: The one thing worse than being betrayed by others is betraying yourself and your sense of who you are.

Prisoner's Dilemma: Do you cooperate, stay silent and hope your partner doesn't betray you, or do you rat them out and hope they don't do the same to you?

Turncoat: A character that switches sides in order to help out the other side.

Unwitting Pawn: Someone is being manipulated all along and doesn't know it.

Wounded Gazelle Gambit: Manipulating people by pretending that someone hurt you.

These tropes include how characters betray each other's trust

Usually a Plot Twist of some kind (except when it isn't).

Contrast with Trusting and Loyalty tropes.

Victims of betrayal are often motivated to seek retribution against the traitor through revenge.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[jadeinretrogrde]

tumblr users waking up this morning

[adorkastock]

[ponpox]

🗡️

[marcus-junius-brutus15]

hey guys happy pride month!!! BTW the rumor that all queer people burn in hell isn't true and it's because Dante said me and Cassius are down there for stabbing Ceasar, not for dating each other. You'll be fine. Unless. You know. You eat someone or something like that.

[maplebitts]

This is how 600 strike went right?

[girlkisser72]

et tu, shauna? — jackie ceaser

[calliopesartblog]

it’s the ides of march! time to stab your father figure 🔪

[appalachianapologies]

Hawkeye Pierce would celebrate the ides of march so hard send tweet

[noa-the-sunflower-fox]

Parker is done! Shes Lillie's twin. I might do their other siblings later.

[superevilnicole]

We should TOTALLY just stab Caeser.

Or whatever idk I just got here

[the-identifier]

Why the fuck do you get so profound and then be silly

ask identified. no answer.

@the-identifiers-evil-brother unidentify this answer