#agron: threads

[immortalmuses]

The super talented @himbohotel sent: Castus looks to the never-ending snow, tugging his tattered shawl closer to his body. ❛ If you’re lucky, you die last, ❜ he says as his eyes train on the sweet, fierce boy who tended to his needs while he sat prisoner. Nasir. Such a gentle soul wrapped in a body of a warrior. ❛ If only to spare him the grief of watching you fall. ❜

ㅤㅤㅤThough  he  wish  it  weren't  so,  every  word  from  Castus's  scorned  lips  needles  at  Agron's  patience,  of  which  he  is  already  in  short  supply.  The  Gladiator  grits  his  back  teeth,  resisting  urge  to  bark  at  the  Numidian.  He  follows  the  line  of  the  other  man's  gaze,  mouth  flattening  into  a  hard  line.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Nasir  stands  more  warrior  than  most  men  in  Rebellion,”  Agron  snaps  in  return,  less  an  answer  than  a  challenge.  The  Germani  reminds  himself  that  his  lover's  goodwill  is  worth  this  annoyance of freeing Castus,  many  times  over.  He  just  wishes  the  fucking  pirate  would  stop  looking. 

ㅤㅤㅤ“…  I  would  see  him  survive  this  war.”  Agron  finally  relents,  quieter,  though  the  frown  does  not  ease  from  his  face.  “He  deserves  freedom…  true  freedom,  and  life  beyond  Roman  control." 

ㅤㅤㅤIt's  a  thought  that  has  plagued  Agron  these  past  months.  He's  always  known  Spartacus's  dream  of  liberation  might  come  at  the  cost  of  his  own  life.  For  a  while,  such  reality  served  as  a  comfort,  for  what  better  purpose  could  the  Germani  have  beyond  slaughtering  the Roman  Fucks  that  murdered  his  brother?  But  now..  now  he  has  Nasir,  a  blessing  made  flesh.  His  greatest  reason  to  live…  or  to  die  ensuring  the  Syrian  a  chance  at  a  real  future. 

ㅤㅤㅤBut  Castus  is  not  entirely  wrong.  If  Agron  were  to  fall,  he  knows  without  shadow  of  doubt  that  Nasir  would  follow  him  into  death.  It  is  a  thought  that  seizes  heart  in  the  Gladiator's  chest.  But  he  will  not  give  the  Pirate  such  satisfaction  of  knowing  the  weight  of  his  words. 

ㅤㅤㅤ“The  only  death  on  mind  should  be  your  own.”  Agron  grumbles,  dusting  flakes  of  snow  from  his  furs.  He  doesn't  look  at  Castus  again,  “..and  whether  it  will  come  from  Roman  blade,  or  mine."

[immortalmuses]

For @mlfns, continued from here

ㅤㅤㅤJupiter's cock, when Nasir casts such a fucking look, Agron finds he cannot help himself. The Gladiator's body stirs and his resolve weakens, and before he knows it the Syrian ends up getting whatever it is that he wishes. Agron scowls, even as he grips Nasir's hips and pulls him flush against his larger frame.

ㅤㅤㅤ"You do this deliberately--" He gripes, one large hand sweeping a greedy touch along the bared skin above Nasir's subligaria, palming at the defined back muscles lining the shorter warrior's spine. "-- tempt me with look and… and lips.." Said lips are very distractingly parted at the moment, and Agron is quickly losing the train of thought that led to his outrage.

ㅤㅤㅤFucking Syrians, He thinks, mouth crashing down over Nasir's own in a scathing kiss. Ignoring the raucous laughter of the rebel camp around them, Agron bodily lifts his lover against him, turning to carry him somewhere… private.

ㅤㅤㅤ"We are not done having words…" He mutters into the curve of Nasir's shoulder, eventhough it very much seems like conversation is not foreseeable in their near future.

[immortalmuses]

For @mlfns, continued from here

ㅤㅤㅤ"A mistake..." Agron says, low and fervent, his tone supplicant as if pleading his case before tribunus. The gladiator's scarred hands grasp at Nasir's sides, pulling the smaller man impossibly closer, "...a fool misstep not to be made twice."

ㅤㅤㅤDeath alone can part them now, for good or ill. Of Agron's many regrets, this outcome is not among them. He exhales slowly, tension bleeding out of every muscle that Nasir's palms touch in their journey across his body. He is the only home I will ever need, the Gladiator thinks, leaning into their closeness, this sacred intimacy that cares not for the war-torn camp around them.

ㅤㅤㅤ"I dedicate remaining life to remedy this wrong, Nasir..." Agron cups the side of the Syrian's jaw in his palm, his eyes earnest as he meets Nasir's own, "...Whatever time I have left, it is yours."

[immortalmuses]

short shit(?) for @talesspin​’s Saxa

          “Schwester, I would have counsel--”  Agron ducks into the tent he knows to be Saxa’s with typical brotherly disregard for personal space. One would think he’d learn after near trauma of interrupting his adoptive sibling in compromising positions (it doesn’t matter with whom, it’s nothing Agron wants to ever see, Gratitude).

          “There is a trader.” The Germani continues, oblivious, “He speaks our tongue, but refuses to break words with Me. Or...” And here Agron grimaces, “Or any man. I do not trust him, but he will only make trade with a woman.” 

         The fact they need the resources goes unsaid. He knows that Saxa knows this, and that she is entirely capable of holding her own in negotiation. 

[immortalmuses]

@talesspin​ sent: “  yeah,  i’ll be here.  i’ll be here when you’re ready to stop running.  ” from spartacus this can be in modern verse because reasons angst sentence starters | accepting

         Agron's back is turned to Spartacus, but that does not make his words feel any less like a physical blow. The German stops short in the doorway, his shoulders gone tight and his knuckles visibly white where he grips the frame. "I'm not---" He grits, means to snarl but it comes out sounding choked and upset, and for a moment Agron hates -- he hates -- himself for this display of weakness.

         "...You can't just magically make everything okay, Spartacus. This place, this ---" Agron turns at last, making an abortive gesture at the gym around them, though it's clear the German means so much more than that, "--- these people aren't family. Not like--" 

          He hitches, hesitates, but then barrels on with the single-minded temper that Agron is so often known for, "...not like you and I are family. How can you trust them?"

[immortalmuses]

A starter for @becomelions​‘s Crixus, because this hate-ship won’t sail itself

          “Remove face from sight, or see it stabbed through---” Agron grunts, irritable at being pulled from bed in this hour of morning. Naevia and Nasir break bread like dearest siblings, but that does not mean he and the Fucking Gaul must also make accord. 

                                     Besides, Crixus is in his way. 

          Grunting again (though more in effort than to intimidate the other man), Agron hauls a cache of weaponry over his shoulder and muscles past, heading for the villa’s makeshift armory. There are two more sacks like the first, lying in the dirt and awaiting transport. Inspired, the Germani snipes over his shoulder, “--better yet, remove fist from fucking ass, and lend aid.” 

[immortalmuses]

A dumb starter for @mlfns​

           “Nasir!” Agron’s voice comes from behind, urgent and insistent, begging the Syrian’s attention. He stands next to the cobbled together kiln that serves as both smithy-fire and baking oven for Rebel Army, an arm waving to catch his companion’s eye. There is an earnestness about the Gladiator’s face, which breaks into a grin when Nasir finally pays heed to his call. “--Nasir! Watch this!” 

          And then, without any warning (or reason), Agron stuffs three fist-sized bread rolls into his mouth.

[immortalmuses]

Finding Saxa on the Battlefield, for @talesspin​

         When Agron finds her (finally, finally), Saxa is half buried beneath a crush of mangled Roman corpses, many rent to pieces by the woman's own blade. He reaches to grab her, but she lies too still and too cold, with blood congealing on her lips and eyes half-closed... vacant of life. Agron is too late.

        Falling on his knees, the general feels his heart seize tight in his chest, like a support beam giving out. The knot of grief he's held at bay since Spartacus's fall swells anew, agony grown large enough to choke the Germani on unvoiced sobs. In his mind's eye, Saxa's form is overlaid by the specter of Duro, another sibling sprawled among fallen soldiers, lost in a battle that feels lifetimes ago. Another loved one Agron could not protect, another promise he could not keep. 

        "Schwester..." The general grits out, her name a broken noise caught in the back of his throat. Teeth clenched to hold back the urge to howl, Agron carefully pries away the bodies pinning Saxa down, extracting her from mud and filth of the battlefield. Gore cakes into the wound at her side, a thready trickle of blood still leaking from the widened gash, and on instinct Agron cups his palm over the injury as he gathers the smaller Rebel up into his arms. For the first time in the scant years he has known her, Saxa feels... frail. 

        Tucking the Germani woman against his chest, Agron curls down over her limp frame, exhaling a wounded sound into the tangle of her hair. In a minute, he will rise. He will carry his Sister from this man-made Tartarus, see her body granted final peace in the way he couldn't for Duro. In a minute, Agron will take what remains of his heart and accompany him over the mountains, bearing only scars and memories to show for a family forged in Rebel Blood. In a minute, the freedom Spartacus gave his life for will break upon Agron like the dawn of a new day.

                 But for now, he Mourns.