Angst - Erinnerungen (fürs Team)
Sep. 30th, 2018 07:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
der_jemand posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
120_minutenTeam: Mond
Challenge: Angst: Erinnerungen (fürs Team)
Fandom: Spartacus
Pairing: Agron/Nasir
Wörter: ~250
A/N: Äh…![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nachanca hatte so eine schöne Idee, ich konnte nur nich umsetzen was in meinem Kopf rumspukte, also… poste ich, bevor ich es frustriert lösche. Sorry, Endspurt and all that.
Post-canon, der angstige Teil vom Happy End, das sie sich verdammt nochmal verdient haben.
„He is… yours, isn’t he?“
It’s an innocent question, really. Indiscrete, impolite, sure, but innocent. The girl asking is hardly older than twelve summers and has been swooning over Nasir for a while. It’s charming, really, and, yet, Agron freezes. The clay vase slips from his bad hand and shatters on the ground.
The girl jumps to collect the shards, profusely apologising but stops when she catches his look. “Apologies. I… I did not mean to offend...”
“He is not anyone’s.” He can’t help the growl.
The shop keeper whose vase he’d dropped hurries towards them. “Has the girl bothered you?”
Agron turns on his heel, leaving the shop keeper, the girl and the broken fragments were they are. He walks for a league before he can finally make himself stop. His hand his still trembling.
He is being pushed to the side, he hears Duro’s cry and he whirls around, his blade cutting through Roman flesh. Too late.
He shakes his head and uses his left hand to clamp down on his wrist.
A leash cracks, his back burns with searing pain.
Spartacus, going down onto his knees, Spartacus’ blood drenching the soil.
Crixus. Saxa. Naevia. The brokenness, the defiance in their eyes.
Nasir hissing and snarling, fighting for his freedom, desperately trying to prove himself worthy of this freedom, waking screaming, lying awake at night. “It’s over… they all… this is what they died for, isn’t it, Agron?”
“He is not anyone’s.” Never has been, never will be again. Not anyone’s.
Challenge: Angst: Erinnerungen (fürs Team)
Fandom: Spartacus
Pairing: Agron/Nasir
Wörter: ~250
A/N: Äh…
nachanca hatte so eine schöne Idee, ich konnte nur nich umsetzen was in meinem Kopf rumspukte, also… poste ich, bevor ich es frustriert lösche. Sorry, Endspurt and all that.Post-canon, der angstige Teil vom Happy End, das sie sich verdammt nochmal verdient haben.
„He is… yours, isn’t he?“
It’s an innocent question, really. Indiscrete, impolite, sure, but innocent. The girl asking is hardly older than twelve summers and has been swooning over Nasir for a while. It’s charming, really, and, yet, Agron freezes. The clay vase slips from his bad hand and shatters on the ground.
The girl jumps to collect the shards, profusely apologising but stops when she catches his look. “Apologies. I… I did not mean to offend...”
“He is not anyone’s.” He can’t help the growl.
The shop keeper whose vase he’d dropped hurries towards them. “Has the girl bothered you?”
Agron turns on his heel, leaving the shop keeper, the girl and the broken fragments were they are. He walks for a league before he can finally make himself stop. His hand his still trembling.
He is being pushed to the side, he hears Duro’s cry and he whirls around, his blade cutting through Roman flesh. Too late.
He shakes his head and uses his left hand to clamp down on his wrist.
A leash cracks, his back burns with searing pain.
Spartacus, going down onto his knees, Spartacus’ blood drenching the soil.
Crixus. Saxa. Naevia. The brokenness, the defiance in their eyes.
Nasir hissing and snarling, fighting for his freedom, desperately trying to prove himself worthy of this freedom, waking screaming, lying awake at night. “It’s over… they all… this is what they died for, isn’t it, Agron?”
“He is not anyone’s.” Never has been, never will be again. Not anyone’s.
no subject
Date: 2018-09-30 06:08 pm (UTC)