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RULES
1. Prompts must be about either Spartacus characters or the storyline. Any pairings and characters are welcome. Example prompt would be "Doctore, candle in the darkness, friendship with Spartacus."
2. When responding to a prompt, title your comment "CHARACTER/PAIRING - TITLE" just so they're easy to find and easy to sort. If you want to rate it or indicate any warnings, that's fine, too. There's no limit to rating or content here, so get as wet and wild and fabulous as you want.
3. No hate, no wanking, no trolling, no shit. This is not a suggestion.
4. FEEDBACK IS LOVE. Make sure to thank the wonderful people who answer your prompts for you, and comment on the other fics that you like! Let's keep this thing going!
5. Questions/comments will be answered in this post. This post will remain indefinitely open so keep on writing prompts and drabbles!
Last but not least........
PROMOTE THE SHIT OUT OF THIS. PLEASE!!! Banners below, free to hotlink, with most characters represented. Make and comment with banners of your own design if you want.
1. Prompts must be about either Spartacus characters or the storyline. Any pairings and characters are welcome. Example prompt would be "Doctore, candle in the darkness, friendship with Spartacus."
2. When responding to a prompt, title your comment "CHARACTER/PAIRING - TITLE" just so they're easy to find and easy to sort. If you want to rate it or indicate any warnings, that's fine, too. There's no limit to rating or content here, so get as wet and wild and fabulous as you want.
3. No hate, no wanking, no trolling, no shit. This is not a suggestion.
4. FEEDBACK IS LOVE. Make sure to thank the wonderful people who answer your prompts for you, and comment on the other fics that you like! Let's keep this thing going!
5. Questions/comments will be answered in this post. This post will remain indefinitely open so keep on writing prompts and drabbles!
Last but not least........
PROMOTE THE SHIT OUT OF THIS. PLEASE!!! Banners below, free to hotlink, with most characters represented. Make and comment with banners of your own design if you want.
Copy & Paste Promotional Ad
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Make prompts. Write drabbles. Leave feedback.
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bloodandsandfic, sbsfemslash, sbs_slash, and barcapietros as well. :) 
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October 16 2010, 18:26:30 UTC 1 year ago
Questions?
Questions, ask them here!October 17 2010, 02:52:34 UTC 1 year ago
Re: Questions?
Okay goofy question. Are we supposed to be giving out prompts or trying to write something? Both?1 year ago
October 16 2010, 18:26:32 UTC 1 year ago
COME ON GUYS, LET'S HAVE SOME FUN!!! <3
October 16 2010, 18:31:03 UTC 1 year ago
Glad you approve!
I've already added prompts! :DOctober 16 2010, 18:26:50 UTC 1 year ago
October 18 2010, 13:07:12 UTC 1 year ago Edited: October 18 2010, 13:07:57 UTC
Spartacus "Hope"
The animal from Thrace. Forsaken?No. Not any more.
Forced by fate to rise above myself, strength breathed into me by the people that meant the most to me: my wife; a friend found in the most unexpected place.
It is done. I look behind me and I let a long, deep breath fill my chest as the cage that held me and the birds that forged me lie still in the growing distance. I am not proud of the blood and goo that covers my skin, but as I feel my path was written in stone, I know now where I'm supposed to go. What I'm supposed to do. And that instills hope, something I never thought I'd feel again but for the longing of meeting Sura again.
My name died the day she took her last breath in my arms, a fragile body that had challenged death until she could rest in my arms. She's the keeper of my name and the banner of who I am now. One day we will be reunited, but this time, I will choose when and how. Not a Roman. Not a tribe of barbarians. Not the gods. It will be me. Spartacus.
And it will not happen until we have made Rome shake under its rotten foundations. And the Romans will fear my name. And the ones I love will know the man who carries it. A man, not a beast, not a tool, not a game to play.
"Sura, I am not the man I used to be." A smile etches my lips. "I think you would be proud."
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Home
It had been a long training day. The sun had bore no mercy on the gladiators, only Doctore's firm voice had spared them from the heat.At least for some minutes.
All gladiators sought shadows but one.
A broad figure stood by the cliff, silently staring at the open immensity.
Barca had had a dream last night. Never thought, in countless lives, that he would ever dream again. Not since he lost freedom. Not since he was forced to fight his people on the sands. He had buried dreams under their blood. He deserved no freedom. That was the irony: he had lived, but lost his freedom.
Years had gone. He had moved through by simply accepting his life, his fate. Killing. Fucking. Building within a sense of belonging in that new world where fate had thrown him. Had seen men and women come, live and die within those walls. Had seen men suffering. A few smiles. Had cemented a friendship based on respect with Crixus, who had learned the values of brotherhood quicker and with more honor than most.
But no dreams ever came to his nights. Neither he expected them.
Why would he? He did not deserve them.
And then... Unconsciously, Barca squinted his eyes as if to strengthen his thoughts. A young lad. A delicate thing. Who hadn't feared him. Who had opened his heart to him, stark honesty poured into a hardened heart, piercing his soul forever. No come back from that.
A quirk of the lips shaped in smile. He had dreamed again. Of home. Of showing Pietros his land, open to the sea, a rich vastness unlike nothing he had ever seen.
A broad figure stood by the cliff, silently staring at the open immensity.
No gladiator took noticed or care. Only one. A young boy, who had dreamed of the beast of Carthage, had seen the poetry of his fierceness in the fight and the strength of his heart in love. A boy that felt he lived one step higher than the rest of the world because of the love he shared.
Silently, with that attitude he always carried between the gladiators, respect and permission asked with every move, he took a bowl and filled it with water, walking the distance to the cliff with care of not spilling it.
"The heat is too strong. You should drink." Barca didn't like this boy showing affection to him when training, so he spoke his words careful and from a distant. Maybe too far, Pietros mused, because Barca hadn't said a thing. "Barca?"
The beast of Carthage didn't move. "I had a dream last night."
Pietros didn't move.
"I dreamed of home. Wondered why."
Silence from the boy, standing still, eyes round.
"Now I know why." Barca turned and looked at his lover. "I dreamed of the ocean. Then I awoke. You were there, asleep."
And then, he smiled. Really smiled. "I wasn't dreaming about the ocean. I was dreaming about you. I was dreaming about home." Barca extended an arm and caressed the hand that trembling, held the water. "I am home."
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October 16 2010, 18:31:46 UTC 1 year ago
October 16 2010, 23:16:05 UTC 1 year ago
Crixus/Naevia, your touch washes the blood away
He was defeated, both in body and soul.Crixus remained perfectly still as he sat on one of the rough wooden benches in the physician's room while waiting for his just re-freshened wounds to be seen to. That was supposed to be the perfect occasion for his glorious return, to make everyone in the ludos -starting with the Thracian dog- see that he was far from over, that his recovery had been successful enough for him to get back to regularly fighting even sooner than expected.
He had to prove himself worthy to Dominus if he wanted to remain there where he was. Where she was.
And Jupiter only knew how much he needed to remain in Capua, now more than ever; now that he had found something that unexpectedly exceeded the glory he had received in the arena and lived for for so long, now that he had found her.
Naevia. He wanted to prove himself worthy to her. He ached to prove to her that he was still a champion, even if he had currently lost his titled status.
Yet he had failed. There, in the ludos where he had been the undisputed king for so long. He had failed and succumbed under the weight of Spartacus' sword. Under the inquisitive gazes of Doctore and his brothers, of Dominus and Domina, under the expectant eyes of Naevia.
He had failed himself and he had failed her. And there he sat now, still bleeding from where Spartacus' touch had renewed the fresh scars, feeling the empty shell of the man he had been in what now seemed another life: the Undefeated Gaul.
He didn't move when he heard footsteps approaching from behind, not until a hand was placed on his shoulder. A hand graced by a soft touch, a touch that surely couldn't belong to the calloused hand of the physician. No, he knew all too well who that hand belonged to.
"Domina sent me to check on you." Said Naevia with the usual calmness that accompanied her voice.
He imperceptibly moved his shoulders in a helpless way, his eyes still cast down in self reproach. "I am fine." He lied, his deep voice sounding almost careless "I'll be as good as new by tomorrow. You can tell Domina there's no need to be concerned."
She hesitated, a pause that made him regret the cold façade he was putting up. "I am, though." Whispered Naevia. Then her hand touched his skin again, her fingers softly caressing his cheek this time before slowly descending onto his chest, gently lingering onto the visible signs of his tangible pain, careless of the crimson traces gracing now her fingertips.
A shiver involuntarily shook his body at the sudden contact, startling her.
"I'm sorry, have I hurt you? I shouldn't have--"
"No." His voice firmly yet softly interrupted her rushed apology, his hand stopping her retrieving one and successfully pinning it onto the same spot on his chest without effort, keeping it in place. "You could never hurt me," Crixus whispered next, at last lifting up his face to show the first shadow of a smile "your touch heals all wounds and washes the blood away."
//END.
PS: It was set after 1.08 - apologies if there's any mistake, English is not my language.
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October 16 2010, 18:32:41 UTC 1 year ago
October 17 2010, 03:51:18 UTC 1 year ago
Glory for blood
They booed him when he first entered the arena, threw rotten vegetables when his name had been announced instead of Spartacus. The crowd no longer wanted him it seemed since Spartacus defeated Theocles. He had been pushed out of their minds, their hearts, in favor of the Thracian and now Crixus looked up at the jeering crowd and decided then that he would recapture their spirit.Crixus stared at the gladiator from Pompeii and knew that victory would reclaim his former glory. His sword would bring the bigger man down and he would stand in victory. The crowd would cheer his name again and shower him with glory. Crixus smirked from behind his helmet and knew he would see that body hit the sand.
P.S. - Okay I hope I did this correctly.
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October 16 2010, 18:34:17 UTC 1 year ago Edited: October 16 2010, 18:35:09 UTC
October 17 2010, 09:17:42 UTC 1 year ago
But it had taken him time to understand that. The first moons following Melitta's death, all he wanted to do when night claimed all memories of their time together back, was rip his skin and free himself of them. He prayed to his gods to make time pass quickly and let it wash all memories away, because the void left in his heart was too big, too dark, too painful; unbearable.
His pleas found no ear, because the pain only grew. Oenomaus lost his focus, he let his whip free more than he would ever allow himself, spilling blood of gladiators during training, something he would very rarely do. But those men seemed to know nothing about love, they did not understand. And they were below his rank. Gannicus gone too, only the new champion of Capua, the Gaul Crixus, deserved his respect. But as a brother, not a friend. Crixus knew nothing of love, he had embraced the ludus as his new house, his life, but nothing else.
And Barca. He hadn't had love with Auctus. And look how that had ended. No, he was neither the ears to turn to.
Dominus...he had spared some kind words, expecting him to move on as all men did. He had also caught a glimpse of pity from Domina's eyes. Melitta had been her trusted slave. He had thought that would keep her safe. Naevia, the young girl he had seen slowly turning a woman, had replaced her. Normalcy had returned to the house of Batiatus, and that was expected from him too.
So why could he not? Why did he have to sit alone every night, his heart clutched by some unseen force making it difficult to breathe? It would take him long nights to realize. He wanted to let go of the past, refusing to cherish the good memories because they burned. He saw it one night. He was not running from memories, he was running from himself. He had become a new man, Melitta had melted into him as he had left his print on her. That was instilled in him deeper than the mark of the brotherhood. And he had been neglecting it when he should have embraced it.
He opened his heart again, let the memories flow and spared a moment for his wife. For the first time in moons, a smile reached its way to his mouth.
Oenomaus would never let a night pass without sharing a moment with his wife. With a part of who he was.
****
PS: I wonder if producers know Melitta's a coffe maker name...
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She pined for his voice, whispering words of calm, and dreams, and joy, like he did to their son. Like he did with her every night after he let her body snuggle against his, feeling the warmth emanating from his broad chest, right before surrounding her with a protective embrace. His whispers chased darkness away. She always imagined his face smiling from behind as he whispered to her. As he smiled when he mumbled lullabies to his child, suppressing a chuckle knowing how bad a singer he was despite his son looking at him in utter adoration. As she did, looking from a distance, leaning on the wall, soaking herself with a vision of love.
She screamed in pain as another jolt hit her muscles, forcing her to push, and forced her mind towards the voice she would never listen again.
A cry echoed in the morning. Aurelia let her exhausted body fall back on the bed and took a breath.
"It's a boy."
She swallowed. A boy. Their last night together, when she visited them in the ludus and saw his face filled with love and hope for the first time in a long year of pain and distance, he had told her he had dreamed she delivered a girl. With the sweetest face, a little nose and two big brown eyes. The stark image of her mother. And they would call her--
"The child needs to be fed." The midwife's voice took her away from useless memories. With some effort, she tried to forget the pain and soreness and sat back. "I paid you coin."
"But--"
"Take the child away." She swallowed and waited in tense silence until the woman took a boy she would never see again. Then she stood up, and fought the dizziness, taking deep breaths. Walking slowly, she headed to the bath and cleaned herself. Tomorrow she would go to the house of Batiatus. Varro had left debts unpaid and she would see them returned.
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Crixus, Taken (Rape trigger)
Crixus had thought that he would have enjoyed fucking the little dominus's wife. Having a Roman take his cock, instead of the other way around. He strutted to the chamber and smiled upon seeing the redhead disrobe wantonly like a whore, but soon her icy gaze locked upon his and he felt himself soften. It was an omen. Her women held him down on the bed for her to mount him. Crixus grew up believing that men did the taking, but after the domina was finished, he knew he had been taken as surely as if by a man.Crixus shuffled out of the domina's chambers and didn't look any of his brothers in the eye when he returned to the cell.
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October 16 2010, 18:38:29 UTC 1 year ago
October 18 2010, 19:31:27 UTC 1 year ago
Off the beaten path
Ashur would admit it to no one but he hated being a gladiator. At least in the beginning he hated being a gladiator. Forced to train under a man he barely knew, being entertainment for Roman bastards that cared nothing but blood. He hated all of it expect for one part - the brotherhood. He hadn't been a part of something like the gladiator brotherhood in Syria. In fact, he had been alone most of his life just trying to stay ahead of slave traders and warlords. Then he found a home in the brotherhood.He glanced down at his leg, cast in some odd support as he limped behind his Dominus. When Crixus injured him in the arena, Ashur thought his new life would be over. That he would cast from the homes but instead, thanks to his mind for wagering, he found a place at Batiatus' side. He looked over to his Dominus then grinned, he liked the idea of being Batiatus' right hand man. Bags of coin would be placed in his hands, his words were important to Batiatus and his bum leg mattered not.
He could place himself into a position of power within the house, he mused as he navigated the narrow corridor that would bring him back to the House of Batiatus. He could become a powerful man in a powerful house and the market vendors would respect him. He could have power and respect, he thought as the gate opened to him. He could have all he wanted, he dreamed then paused his steps at the sound of laughter.
Ashur glanced toward the training sands. Crixus stood with Barca laughing over the foolish new recruits. His eyes narrowed, his brow crinkled and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be a gladiator again. To feel the ties of brotherhood. He shook his head then continued into the villa. As long as his leg was broken, he would remain outside that circle. Where he didn't want to be.
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October 16 2010, 18:42:21 UTC 1 year ago
October 16 2010, 18:42:55 UTC 1 year ago
October 16 2010, 20:28:32 UTC 1 year ago Edited: October 16 2010, 20:31:46 UTC
untitled - Mira/Spartacus
More than five years after the massacre at the House of Batiatus, Spartacus returned to Mira as more than a legend.Washing clothes in brook, Mira finished beating a skirt on a rock before she straightened her back with a crack and sigh. She was wiping her brow with the back of her hand when she saw him on the horizon. Mira had known it was him as surely as she knew her name. Throwing the skirt on a bush to dry, she ignored her half-full basket and crossed the water on the rocks, holding her long dress up. She made herself walk and not run to him, but she couldn't help the feelings that reemerged when she looked into his eyes.
Older and more scarred, Spartacus looked so different and yet so similar to the man in her memories. The eyes were the same blue, but his gaze held more wisdom and pain than before.
It was those eyes that made her reach out and take him into her arms. Mira closed her eyes. "I missed you."
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October 16 2010, 18:44:26 UTC 1 year ago
October 16 2010, 18:45:39 UTC 1 year ago
October 18 2010, 02:17:07 UTC 1 year ago
Barca/Pietros - untitled
Pietros knows how to deal with the gladiators by now. Be quick, always be quick; fetch and carry and be efficient and disappear into the shadows as soon as possible. Hurry to your next task with eyes safely down. Don't give them time for more than a pinch on the ass or a passing grope. Disappear into the house and they'll soon be distracted by pounding the practice dummies, forgetting the idea of pounding you.The weather is hot and dusty and Pietros is tired and clumsy today. The cook is furious with him for spilling most of the pot of soup; there'll be hell to pay from the gladiators if the new batch isn't ready in time for their meal. He's hurrying back from the storeroom with the jar of olives the cook sent him for, when of course the jar slips in his hand. And falls. And shatters and scatters the olives all over the dusty floor. Pietros bites back a curse and drops to his knees, scrambling to pick all the olives up. The gladiators will be coming in any moment now.
A pair of large hands suddenly joins his in picking up the olives, and Pietros nearly jumps out of his skin. Barca is crouched beside him, cat-silent and looming large...and apparently absorbed in making sure that every olive gets picked up.
What the fuck?
Pietros forces down his panic at Barca's closeness, forces himself to continue his task without question. A gladiator can do whatever the hell he wants. Even pick up olives from the floor.
Pietros' hands are full, and so are Barca's; everything has been picked up. Barca moves as if to pour the olives from his hands to Pietros', and the backs of their fingers brush. Pietros does not flinch by an act of will, and keeps his eyes down as he hurries away from Barca and back into the storeroom. He drops his double handful of olives into an empty clay pot and does-not-flinch again when Barca leans over his shoulder--damn the man, how could someone so big move so quietly?--and carefully pours out his own handful.
Pietros snatches up the pot and turns to go back to the kitchen, but Barca is still there planted solidly between him and the door and he ends up nose-to-chin with the man, staring at the gladiator's collarbone from beneath lowered lashes. By this time Pietros' whole body is rigid with tension. Barca has never been one of the cruel ones--has actually never touched him before--but being alone in the storeroom with a gladiator is stupid stupid stupid, just asking for trouble.
"At least promise me that you'll wash those off before I see them on my plate," Barca says, breaking the silence. Is that...amusement in his voice? Pietros risks raising his head a little and sees the man's lips quirked into a smile.
"...with the weather today, they'll just get dusty all over again," Pietros ventures daringly, and is rewarded by a slight deepening of Barca's smile. He raises his head a little further to look at the man's face, and freezes all over again at the look in his eyes. Barca's gaze is intensely focused on him, with an all-too-familiar heat. Stupid stupid stupid and there's no way to get to the door. Pietros braces himself for whatever may come--then his breath whooshes out in startled relief as Barca steps aside and clears the path to the door, still smiling that faint smile.
Pietros ducks his head in silent, bewildered thanks and hurries back to the kitchen. He washes the olives thoroughly, despite the cook's demands that he hurry the fuck up, the gladiators are waiting.
He knows how to deal with the gladiators by now, but he has no idea what to do with Barca.
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October 16 2010, 18:47:23 UTC 1 year ago
October 17 2010, 20:55:20 UTC 1 year ago
(Working Title)This is for the scumbags - Ashur & Doctore
Ashur stared at the Doctore as he scolded him. Festering in a stinking sick bed, Ashur had been dancing with death ever since Crixus fucking betrayed him in the arena. His mood had been as ill as his body, but now, his blood boiled at the shit spewing from Oneomaus's mouth.All the African's words of honor and glory in the brotherhood rang in his ears as he remembered his leg cracking under Crixus' battle ax. Ashur had just delivered the mortal blow to the Bastard of Korfu. The Bastard had been making his last stand when his so-called partner slyly crippled him. The trickery was lost in the roar of the crowd and Crixus's butchery.
Ashur forced himself to look neutral even as his mind imagined blood. He told himself that he may be scum but he wouldn't be in his cast forever. Still yet, he would stand and Oneomaus would know the power of scum.
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October 16 2010, 18:48:47 UTC 1 year ago
October 16 2010, 18:49:21 UTC 1 year ago
October 16 2010, 19:51:42 UTC 1 year ago Edited: October 16 2010, 19:54:03 UTC
untitled - Lucretia/Batiatus
Lucretia twitched and stared, blood already cooling on the overpriced Phoenician tiles, at Batiatus's face as she fought encroaching death. The chamber swirled and dimmed in her vision. She saw Batiatus as he was when she was first brought to the ludus to be his wife. They were just so young and nervous but soon enough friendship and then romance blossomed between them. And, this is how it ends, she thought as a coughing fit jostled her out of her daze.No stomp of roughshod boots or screams of the richest of Capuans echoed in the halls anymore. A chill lingered in the air like the breath of Pluto upon her neck.
Lucretia inched closer to Batiatus as she tried to focus on the fond memories of the man who had truly loved her. Crixus had been beyond a false lover and she wouldn't waste her last moments on him. Her wound throbbed at the thought of him. Shedding tears, useless and silent, she looked into Batiatus's eyes, open and blank. They had been so happy, she thought, as she touched his cold hand.
They had been so happy.
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October 16 2010, 20:53:10 UTC 1 year ago
October 18 2010, 13:36:34 UTC 1 year ago
Shackles - Duro
He ran, frantic, following his brother's command to the house where their parents lived."Da! Ma! The Romans, they're heading this way!"
Their father, the village's blacksmith, rose from the chair and called his wife. "Gudrun, the horses quick!" He turned to his youngest son. "Where's your brother?"
"He joined the soldiers, Da, he's fighting the Romans."
They both shared a silent look. "I will join him, I just came to warn you."
"Don't, boy. You will die."
"I will protect Agron," he insisted.
"With what?," his father inquired. "You don't even know to hold a sword."
"Yes I do." Then he added, almost sheepishly. "I took yours at night and did drills."
"Duro..." His mother, back again in the house and aware of the conversation, pleaded.
"Go now. I will go to my brother and we will fight as one. I will not leave his side. Like you taught him to do with me."
His father walked to him and studied his face for a long moment. His eyes wore no trace of fury, but a mixture of sadness and pride. "The boy has become a man."
Duro's heart pumped in his chest.
"Go make us proud. Your brother proud. And be by his side."
A silent handshake to his father and a hug from his mother were the last moments Duro spent with them. Not stopping to see them go, he ran back towards the fight, holding with firm grasp the sword his father had given as a last gift.
He arrived too late.
Countless bodies were on the ground, the battle ended. In the distance, the Roman horses already heading for main camp. Closer to where he was hiding, his eyes caught sight of a small group of familiar faces, all shackled and tied to a rope. Duro swallowed as he saw his brother among the prisoners, and his father's words echoed in his mind. Go make us proud. Your brother proud. And be by his side.
Opportunity presented itself and Duro took the chance without sparing a thought. One of the soldiers, had remained behind to make report of the Roman casualties. A low rank guard, he thought, if they gave him the job of walking among the dead, putrid smell and maggots if he were to identify everyone. A brave deed would spare him from the task next time, and he would get to fight as a man.
Duro crawlled around him and, unseen, caught him from behind, the edge of his blade secured firmly around his neck. "Take me to the rest of the prisoners and I will spare your fucking life." He gave the man no chance to speak. The Roman stood still, frozen by the knowledge of his fate in the hands of that barbarian. "Take me to them." Duro wasn't asking.
"You have no chance to kill them."
"You misunderstand my words, pig. I want to be taken to them." He saw the metal fetters hanging from his belt. "Use the shackles and make yourself a hero." He pressed the blade. "Understood?"
The Roman nodded. Duro freed him slowly and stood, letting the Roman stand up and face him, still shaking and unsure to trust the young man facing him. Until he saw his calm face. Until he saw him throw his sword on the ground and extending his arms towards him, palms open and looking at the sky.
Shackled, Duro approached the group of prisoners, knowing his fate as a slave. "See the tall German at the end of the line? I am his brother. Make sure your generals know it. Selling two brothers will give them more coin."
And thus he walked away from freedom, knowing his brother would look at him in shame and sadness for disobeying him. But knowing he had stuck to his promise, and making an oath to himself. One day he would make his brother proud. One day he would safe Agron's life.
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