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#sorry i havent been around ive been doing my part to dism*ntle the p*lice syst*m#but ill be around and i just wanna write about crassus because hes horrible#x. memoirs of an egg 》 mun.
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“it is said also that he [crassus] was well versed in history, and was something of a philosopher withal, attaching himself to the doctrines of aristotle, in which he had alexander [cornelius] as a teacher. this man gave proof of contentedness and meekness by his intimacy with crassus; for it is not easy to say whether he was poorer before or after his relations with his pupil“
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forgive .
sentences from gnash’s song ‘forgive’. trigger warnings apply.
“ i know you’re mad. ”
“ i know you’re mad when you can’t look me in the eyes.”
“ i need you better”
“ when you say nothing it’s like you’ve stuck a knife in my side ”
“ i know the feeling. ”
“ i know the feeling, it’s not easy being stuck with me tonight. ”
“ it’s not easy being stuck with me tonight. ”
“ to make things right, these things take time. ”
“ these things take time. ”
“ hold me. ”
“ i’m holding onto you for dear life. ”
“ i never know the words to say. ”
“ i never know the words to say, but you forgive me anyway. ”
“ we both know i’m the reason you cry. ”
“ do you need a break? ”
“ do you need some space? ”
“ do you need to change your mind-ways? ”
“ should i get away? ”
“ i’m afraid if i change you won’t look at me the same. ”
“ i wanna be your only shoulder when you have a bad day. ”
“ we’ve been arguing more than what we usually do. ”
“ i know i deserve what you’re putting me through. ”
“ if you mean what you say, and you want to me to go —”
“ if that’s what you want. ”
“ i want you to know that i’ll stay the night if that’s alright. ”
“ i’ll stay the night. ”
“ i’ll stay the night to make things right. ”
“ hold me ‘til the day that i die ”
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carry ! for crassus minor & meto.
one word prompts
IN HINDSIGHT, CRASSUS MINOR realises as he takes a woozy meto in his arms, it might have been better to take meto to the physician than his own tent. alas, marcus had hardly known anything was the matter until he saw meto’s knees buckle. he dove to grab him, awkwardly snatching him out of the air before either of them could crumple in the mud. he had looked around uncomfortably as he breathed before pulled meto into his arms. it was dark, the camp was silent, with only sentries calmly milling about. perhaps it was marcus’s lone judgement that had him heading to his own tent.
he is careful to be ginger when he stoops down to rest him on his bed, not minding the dirt on the secretary’s sandals as he covers him with his own blanket. marcus goes to the metal carafe and pours a shallow cup of water, thinking that keeping this quiet might be best for the time being. to say that meto is the hardest worker in camp is not to discredit the methods of the soldiers or generals. some might say, crassus minor might say, that he works too hard. and now it finally shows. though perhaps it isn’t tactful to let everyone see, and marcus won’t let that be his decision to make.
“when is the last time you have had water, or wine, or, gods forbid, a meal?” marcus demands quietly as he pulls a stool over to sit beside meto, handing him the cup. “no, no, actually don’t answer that.” the quaestor reaches over and presses the back of his hand to meto’s forehead before trying his jugular. “you’re burning up...” poor thing.
#theophanie#crassus minor interactions tbt.#crassus maior and crassus minor are both incredibly stupid but in opposite directions#also im imagining meto fainting like elizabeth swann like 'i cant breathe' and marcus is just like 'yes i'm a bit nervous myself'
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@audaciiae. ( x )
“Stop.”
Camilla’s voice is sharp, cutting through the silence that lays heavy between them. She stands there in the doorway of the living room, a frown on her face. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like when Charles speaks like this because it means he’s been drinking, and…nothing good ever comes from it.
She takes a step back, swallows hard. Her heart pounds in her chest, hands shaking at her side, but she balls them into fists and shoves them into the pockets of her skirt. “I do love you, Charles. You’re my brother…but you’ve done things that makes me trust you less.” How can I ever trust you again? “If you would stop doing this to me, then maybe I could love you like I did when we were younger, but that’s entirely on you, not me.”
A MILD VERTIGO HOLDS charles tightly as if pulling him in circles through a pool of water. his head spins slowly as he stares down at the dusty persian rug with bits of broken glass on the ochre tassels. he imagines himself squinting up at the ceiling light to see his vision is kaleidoscopic. he leans back in his armchair, his hand holding his crystal glass hanging from the arm. a slow sigh surrenders from his lungs and he dreads inhaling again.
“i’ve made mistakes,” his heart wrings painfully in his throat. he lifts his glass to gesture at her. “and maybe you don’t trust me because of them, but all you’ve done is give me a reason not to trust you either.” his rheumy gaze leaves her to lay on the rug. “how the fuck am i supposed to know what’s real anymore? i can’t trust you to help me out of this. just leave and be done with me.” charles sets the glass, half - empty, on the wooden end table beside him and pushes himself up from the armchair, staggering as he does.
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“I don’t want to know.” @ antony
fleetwood mac
ANTONY’S LIPS TWIST INTO a wiry smile from where they had almost been formed around the preamble of his latest excursion. in his defense, whatever caesar had been imagining he would say was surely not as bad as reality, but antony decides to bide his insubordination for another, more pressing, time. “alright,” he concedes. “i’ll keep my secrets.” he pours himself a cup of strong wine and drinks it, hardly tasting it before it quenches him and calms his body from the long march to caesar’s position north by northeast to quarter east.
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some one word prompts . ( send one of the words for our muses to interact based off that word )
goodbye : my muse kissing and/or hugging your muse goodbye.
secrets : my muse sharing/confiding their deepest, darkest secret with your muse.
nightmare : my muse coming to your muses aid when they awake from a nightmare.
push : my muse pushing your muse out of the way of danger.
embrace : my muse abruptly throwing their arms around your muse, hugging them tightly.
bloody : my muse coming to your muse with blood stains on their clothes and hands, shaking.
drunk : my muse takes care of your muse while they are in a drunken state.
bed : my muse wakes up in the same bed as your muse with little recollection of the night before.
slap : my muse slaps your muse across the face out of anger.
gone : my muse stays by your muses side while they take their last breath.
scream : my muse hears your muse scream and quickly runs to their side.
sleep : my muse falls asleep on your muse, making it hard for my muse to leave.
stalk : my muse gets caught by your muse trailing behind them, watching them.
sacrifice : my muse jumps in front of your muse, sacrificing their life for your muses life.
trail : my muse watches as your muse traces one of my muses scares, asking them about it.
love : my muse confronts your muse about why they never say ’ i love you ’ back.
piggyback : my muse jumps on your muses back, my muse gives yours a piggyback ride.
jump : my muse runs to your muse and jumps up, my muse holding yours up by their thighs.
dance : my muse holds their hand out, waiting for your muse to come out and slow dance with them.
carry : my muse carries your muse to their house, either drunk, or a weakened state, can specify.
lighter : my muse pulls out a lighter and lights it for your muse to use to light their cigarette.
shot : my muse gets shot and struggles to your muses house for aid.
wound : my muse patches and bandages a wound your muse has gotten.
fight : my muse stops your muse from getting into a physical fight with someone else.
arrest : your muse finds my muse arrested in cuffs with swarming police everywhere.
hospital : my muse awakens in a hospital, finding your muse by their side, asking what happened.
gun : my muse pulls out a gun on your muse, your muse tries to talk them into putting the gun down.
betrayal : my muse finds out that your muse has betrayed them in same way and confronts them about it.
nude : my muse walks in on your muse accidentally seeing them naked.
karaoke : my muse pulls your muse up on stage with them to sing some karaoke songs.
laughter : my muse hears your muse laughing uncontrollably and approaches to see if they are okay.
murder : my muse walks in on your muse committing a gruesome murder.
wet : my muse strips down to their under garments and runs into the water, motioning for your muse to join them.
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i cannot MAKE you understand. i cannot make ANYONE understand what is happening inside me. i cannot even explain it to MYSELF.
indie , highly selective , GREGOR SAMSA from kafka’s the metamorphosis.
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MARCUS HAD BEEN ONE of the furthest along the grape vine, and yet he still had heard about the altercation between his father and caesar, and ultimately meto, that had quietly sent crassus back rome ( and raging into the face of his eldest son, who clutched his summons as his father screamed, reducing him from a nobleman of thirty years to a child. ). the assortment of cuts and bruises on meto’s face only confirms the truth, though crassus minor cannot tell was mark was caused by his father’s rapacious hand. still, he would believe the tale even if meto was unmarred ; crassus is a great serpent who constricts anything and anyone of their worth and swallows their capital whole, down into his pit of a belly. as his own blood, marcus has yet to see his greed deterred by anything.
he tries not to stare at meto, sitting stiffly and busying his hands with organising his parchment, taking his pen, dabbing it in the ink. the sound alone was enough to transport him back to that red - tiled veranda out in the garden, sitting with his brother on cushions and listening half - heartedly to lessons on grammar and geometry while meto listened along with them. he had been much different then, of course. his short hair accentuated his scrawniness, the smoothness of his skin revealing a face teetering on the edge of malnourishment. he hadn’t the strength to speak up for himself, let alone grant people permission to sit in his presence. his lips twitch with discomfort as he remembers reaching over and snapping meto’s stylus, snickering as crassus reprimanded him for his mathematical errors,
“publius?” the laughter sputters from his chest before he can think to stop it. he has been compared to his brother for his whole life, usually to expose the shortcomings and disappointments of marcus himself ( ‘a more sensitive disposition’ is what his mother calls it. ), but such a comparison was the last thing he would have expected from meto, due to their strained history. “no, no; warring and marauding are his delights, not mine. i....well, i am more interested in other pursuits.” chiefest of them, at the moment, is laundering finances and properties from his own father. crassus minor is an unremarkable man, but his knowledge is formidable, and his ideas threatening, and caesar has a use for such a mind, even if it is embedded in the head of another crassus. he shifts in his chair and quiets. he isn’t sure if meto is aware enough of the hidden small fortunes within the transactions between crassus and caesar that are so easily overlooked in the ledgers and manifests, and crassus minor is not in the practise of detailing his own criminality aloud. resting his hands in his lap, he changes the subject.
“i must say, though, you surprised me just as much,” marcus gestures at meto. “it is good to see you flourishing here.”
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Spartacus | Stanley Kubrick | 1960
Laurence Olivier, Peter Ustinov, Nina Foch
#x. a good body with a dull mind is as cheap as life itself 》 crassus visage.#also i love peter ustinov :(((
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am i an old hollywood ballerina yet
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i will write soonish this week but i’m super busy with schoolwork and yearning. im coming at you live to say that marcus antonius is ridiculously sexy
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Anthony Perkins, 1959
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how come caesar can come back as a ghost but crassus can’t come back as a ghost who makes quips in the back benches of the senate and makes you find a tenner in your pants pocket and carries his head around
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@theophanie.
HE’S BEEN PREPARED FOR THIS, for confrontation, for a while now, a few days less than a fortnight. the summons came on a blustery fall evening, and with them a name mentioned in caesar’s letter that sounded unsettlingly familiar in his mind. it gnawed at the fringes of crassus minor’s memory as if he were trying to recall a holiday from years ago, trying to make faces of names, people from neat scrawl on a damp piece of parchment.
frustrated, it led him to rifle through his father’s accounts, flipping through years of ledgers and guestbooks, scanning through endless lines of meticulous penmanship detailing every household matter from the counts of feathers in pillowcases to outputs of silver mines in africa. he found the name in the manifest of slaves, and suddenly a deluge of memories returned to him, permeated by grammar lessons and the afternoon sun coming in the atrium, and the awkward exchange of glances as dinner was served.
years away from his family have re - carved marcus from entirely different stone, leaving him chronically humiliated by the disposition of his former fallen state and its constant reminder that lived on in his father and younger brother. constantly, he reveals that dreadful shame, in some never - ending emotional prostration to remedy what he can never remedy. and yet, in a way, marcus is glad that shame is the worst he has to live with. it is a luxury he knows that others cannot indulge in.
still, it curls in his stomach, makes his hands clammy and his eyes flighty as he sits in warm tent, longing for the brisk freeze outside to calm him. just as he thinks it, a gust of air sighs through the opening. crassus minor stands to greet him. he would recognise his face anywhere. “meto,” he says, trying to be kind but he fears that he comes across perhaps a little strangled. “i hope you’ve been well.”
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