#Mill-wheels are silent

[thefishbread]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestylehotels]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestival]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[socialifestyle]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestylearticles]

New Post has been published on Lalka

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[funfashionlife]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifebg]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[istanbul-history]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[foodtravels]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestylechangebg]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[burgasholidays]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[mapofistanbul]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[yurstarc]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestival]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[hederasgarden]

Protego te

Summary: Macrinus’s ambition brings you and Lucius to the Colosseum. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: 18+ only, mature themes. Brief attempted SA (nothing graphic), brief descriptions of violence and blood and Lucius being protective. A/N: This story takes place between Ab Initio and Post tenebras lux. Thank you to @ryebecca for beta'ing! Based on this request by @aninnai. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

The open-air carriage rattles as the wheels struggle over the uneven, dusty road. The rough ride forces you closer to Lucius and you lay a hand on his chest to steady yourself. He glances at you briefly, his fingertips brushing your hip in a subtle, silent reassurance. Outside the metal bars the crowd mills around, some pressing closer to catch a glimpse of the gladiators traveling with you. Lucius doesn’t acknowledge them, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

It’s clear he’s waiting for something, his breath steady, but shallow. The cart lurches and you gasp in surprise as the Colosseum appears. It’s larger than anything you've ever imagined, its imposing structure dwarfing everything around it. Despite the circumstances that have brought you here, you can't help but marvel at its grandeur. It’s nothing like anything you’ve seen before. 

Lucius seems less impressed by the sight, his expression darkening as he turns to face you. He tucks his head gently against yours, his breath falling warmly over the shell of your ear as he speaks in a low murmur.

“It will be different here,” he warns. “There will be other gladiators — men who don’t belong to Macrinus. Some won’t recognize my claim on you.”

You nod and the fear that’s always simmering just beneath the surface flares up again, expanding, spreading through you. It’s kept in check only by Lucius’s presence beside you. His touch grounds you. 

“I understand,” you reply quietly.

“You cannot be alone here,” he continues. You feel the tension in his grip, the unspoken warning laced in his voice. “You must always be with me or one of the men here.”

You glance up at the group of gladiators riding with you. All of them are seasoned fighters who’ve trained with Lucius as long as you’ve known him. While they don’t openly welcome you, there’s an unspoken understanding between you and them. They fear and respect Lucius enough to leave you alone. And Lucius believes that will extend to protecting you on his behalf as well. You feel less sure but keep that doubt to yourself.

When you arrive at the Colosseum, Macrinus is there to greet your party, a broad grin on his face as he claps Lucius on the back. His voice is animated, excitedly discussing the upcoming games the twin emperors plan to hold to celebrate their birthdays. Like always, his words are filled with a fervor that feels both unsettling and expectant.

He doesn’t spare you a glance as Lucius leads you forward. Your gladiator’s hand stays firmly planted on your lower back, a silent reminder of his claim on you as you pass others. As you are drawn deeper into the bowels of the arena Macrinus departs with a short, bald man in fine robes and a young boy appears to lead your group. 

Torchlight flickers, casting long shadows on the stone walls as you continue down the narrow, winding corridors. The air grows heavier and despite the steady pace, you can feel yourself losing track of where you came from. You knew the Colosseum was massive, but the underground world is a labyrinth, blending together in a disorienting maze. If you were left here, you’d never find your way out, you realize. That thought unsettles you and you grasp at Lucius’s tunic. 

He responds with a low, comforting sound and his hand briefly touches yours in reassurance. You continue on, the feeling of disquiet lingering in the pit of your stomach until you begin to ascend once more. Daylight filters through the gaps in the stone and with another sharp turn you find yourself in a large room with a high ceiling. 

Gladiators line the long wooden table in the center of the room and the rumble of their conversation dims when they notice your group’s arrival. The young boy steps forward, announcing to the gathered crowd that Lucius and the other gladiators belong to Macrinus. Most of the seated men size up the competition but enough of them stare openly at you that you feel Lucius’s hand shift to the back of your neck, his fingers curling around the soft skin there. 

Without a word, he pulls you roughly forward, bringing you closer to the table. His shoulders square and his presence seems to dominate the space as all eyes fall on him. His gaze is colder than you’ve ever seen and you swallow nervously, the shift in his demeanor catching you off guard. The Lucius you know, calm and calculated, seems to vanish, replaced by someone else. Someone dangerous. 

“This concubine belongs to me,” he announces. “Touch her and I will take your hand as payment.” 

A low mummer passes over the table but no one challenges Lucius. He stares at the group with his unblinking gaze for a moment longer before he turns away and strides down the length of the table, pulling you in his wake. He takes a seat at the end and the other gladiators with him follow suit.

“Bring me wine and food,” he commands you loudly. 

You hurry to do as he asks. The young man who guided you earlier steps forward to help and his hands shake as he assists you in loading the plate with fruit, bread, and a thick, straw-colored soup. It’s obvious he’s terrified of Lucius and you wish you could offer him some comfort but you know better than to show any overt sign of sympathy. Your safety depends on their fear of Lucius. 

When you return to Lucius’s side, he draws you into his lap and wraps a possessive hand around your middle. As he begins to eat, you hesitantly look up, your gaze drifting down the long line of faces. Most of the men immediately avert their eyes, but there are a few who meet your gaze head-on. One of the largest men smiles, tilting his head slightly as he watches you with unnerving interest. The scar along his jaw pulls taut, becoming more pronounced as his lips curve upward, giving his grin a vicious edge. You quickly look away and rest your hand on Lucius’s forearm, feeling the powerful tendons flex beneath your palm when he adjusts his hold on you.

–

The first few days after you arrive at the Colosseum pass without incident and you quickly learn the rhythm of life here. The slaves mostly keep to themselves, speaking with you only in brief exchanges. Their eyes are wary, but there’s an unspoken understanding between you all, a shared burden of survival. You find yourself speaking to Rufus, the serving boy you met when you first arrived, the most. He’s so young that it breaks your heart to realize that this is the only life he’s ever known.

There is only one other concubine in the entire arena, a woman who belongs to Emperor Geta’s prized gladiator. You’ve only heard whispers of her, but you’ve never seen her. From what you gather, she spends most of her days locked away in her gladiator’s cell, out of sight and out of mind. You try not to think of her too often, all too aware she likely does not have the arrangement you do. 

With a sigh, you push the troubling thought away and busy yourself with preparing Lucius’s evening meal alongside Rufus. You’re ladling a thick soup into a wooden bowl when the door slams open with a suddenness that makes you start. A young slave you don’t recognize rushes in, his face flushed. He spots you immediately, calling your name urgently.

“Hano calls for you,” he says breathlessly. He gestures for you to follow, his hand trembling slightly as he beckons you closer. “Hurry, he is hurt.”

Without a word, you gather your skirts, abandoning the meal on the counter. Fear claws at your chest as you follow him through the dimly lit corridors. What has happened you wonder, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. Another more selfish part of you panics at the thought of losing his protection and strength. Lucius has become the one thing in this chaotic, brutal world that feels somewhat certain. Your survival, your very existence, is tied so intrinsically with his that without him, you are truly lost. 

But beneath that fear lies another, more troubling one. You realize, with a jolt of surprise, that you care for him, beyond what he could offer you. You quicken your pace, your mind so focused on reaching him that you do not see the looming shadow until it is too late. Strong arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back against a firm chest. The stale smell of sweat and something rancid fills your nose. The man’s hold is unyielding, his grip like iron as you thrash in his arms while the young slave stares at you. 

“Leave us,” the man behind you orders, his voice rough and commanding. “Your work is done here.”

A gold coin spins through the air and lands with a dull clink at the young slave’s feet. It glints in the dim light, but he doesn’t move. He hesitates for a moment, watching you before he picks up the gold coin and scurries away. 

“Take your hands off me,” you shout but the man only chuckles darkly, his grip tightening around you like a vise. The force is enough to squeeze the breath from your lungs. It feels as though your ribs might crack. 

“Your gladiator is not here,” he rumbles, releasing his hold on you to shove you forward violently. 

You hit the dusty floor with a sharp gasp, the impact stealing what little air you have left. The stone floor is cool beneath your palms and you scramble away from him but he advances on you quickly. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing, pinning you to the wall with a hand around your throat. 

“I am curious to see what all the fuss is about,” he leers. “You must have some cunt on you to make Hano so possessive.”

His vulgar words send a wave of revulsion through you and you claw at the hand around your neck. Your nails tear at his skin, leaving deep bloody marks but he doesn’t even flinch. Instead he nuzzles the side of your face, his sour breath nearly suffocating. In desperation you kick out, trying to break free, but it’s useless. You’re at his mercy.

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying to any deity that will listen to deliver you from this nightmare. But just like all the times before, your plea falls on deaf ears. Your dress is ripped from your shoulder and a heavy hand paws at your chest. Tears leak from your eyes and you realize with a hollow sort of horror that the fate you’ve long avoided has finally found you. 

But then, through a blur of tears, you see a flash of movement. The man before you cries out, an agonizing guttural sound that’s almost deafening. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the wetness on your lashes and bring the world back into focus. You stare at the bloody tableau before you, your mind struggling to process the scene. The gladiator is sprawled on the floor, clutching his forearm as the hand that was around your neck now lies in the dirt between you. 

Lucius stands over him breathing heavily, his features twisted in rage. The tip of the bloody sword rests lightly against the dirt but his body is coiled tight, ready to strike again. 

“Lucius,” you breathe, throwing yourself into his arms. 

Relief sinks into your skin, easing the terror that’s consumed you. His free arm wraps around you, pulling you tight against his chest, and you bury your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat and skin. You cannot stop the way your body shakes, the tremors coursing through you as the adrenaline slowly fades. 

“I am here,” he murmurs, holding you to him. 

Over his shoulder, you catch sight of Rufus, standing a few paces back, watching the scene unfold with wide, uncertain eyes. 

Lucius turns to him, his voice brooking no argument as speaks. “Get Ravi. Tell him what has happened.”

Rufus takes a hesitant step forward, his worry obvious in the way he glances at you before his eyes return to Lucius. You manage a shaky smile, trying to reassure him, even though your own heart is still racing in your chest. The smile is small and fragile, but it seems enough and Rufus nods before he leaves in search of Ravi. 

Your attacker still lies on the floor, bloody and defeated. You turn away from the scene, focusing on Lucius. He looks like Mars personified, tan, fierce, and unwavering, his body filled with the potential for violence. 

“I warned you about the cost of touching what is mine,” he says to the man writhing in agony. “I keep my promises. If you survive, you will do well to remember that.”

♡

Also part of this series:

Ab Initio

Post tenebras lux

Finis

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife.

[vivwritesfics]

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Twenty Two - Poor Milo

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

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Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

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Milo was miserable, that much was clear. But there wasn't much his mother could do about it. It broke her heart every time she dropped him off and picked him up from school. If she could have, she would have sent him somewhere better, would have put him in school with Olivia, but she simply couldn't afford it.

"Hey Munchkin," she said as he climbed into her car. Milo had stopped using the far seat when he started school. He buckled himself into the back seat and they set off.

He was silent for the entire journey to Daniel and Olivias house. Even when his mother tried to ask him questions, he wasn't answering. Her heart was entirely broken.

She wasn't the only one that noticed it. Daniel tried his hardest to converse with Milo, but he still wasn't answering. The only one of them that could get any kind of reaction out of him with Olivia. Olivia, who took him off so that they could play. Olivia, who got the hint and didn't talk about school.

As soon as dinner was done, Olivia took Milo up to her room to play. Daniel turned to Y/N as she put the dishes in the sink. "Milo is..."

She slipped back into her chair and her head fell into her hands. "I know. Danny, I know." She said, biting her lip to hold back her tears.

Daniel pushed his chair back and patted his thighs. Wordlessly, she climbed into his lap and let the sobs shake her body. "I'm still more than happy to pay for Milo to go to school with Olivia," he said and she shook her head.

"I couldn't ever pay you back, Daniel," she said between sobs.

He kissed her temple and rubbed her back. "I don't want you to pay me back," he said, but she still couldn't accept it.

The next day at school, Mill was clutching his stomach as he walked to the car. "Munchkin, what's wrong?" His mother asked before he could climbed into the car.

"Headache... tummy hurts..." he groaned.

Y/N frowned as she pressed her hand to his forehead. "We'll, you're not burning up," she said. But then she crouched to his height. "Try it for me today, Miley. If you're really feeling sick, tell your teacher to give me a call and I'll see if I can get Daniel to pick you up."

Reluctantly, Milo nodded. He climbed into the car and Y/N got into the driver's seat. If she could have, she would have kept him home with her, but she couldn't afford to take the day off to look after him.

The drive to the the school was silent, aside from the music playing on the radio. When she pulled into the car park, she unbuckled her seatbelt, but Milo was already out of the car, walking into the school.

She took a minute to sit in her car. Her head was against the steering wheel as she sucked in a breath. Her heart hurt as she gathered the strength to drive off to work, calling Daniel as she went.

It was maybe two hours into her shift before she got a call from the school.

She immediately picked up her phone and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Oh, Hello. Is this Mrs L/N? Milo L/N's mother?" Came the voice from the other end.

"That's me."

The woman on the other end of the phone let out a light cough. "We've got Milo here. He's not been feeling too well. Is there anybody that could come and pick him up?"

"Yeah," she immediately replied. "Yeah, I'm going to try and get my partner to come and pick him up."

"Can we get a name?"

"Daniel Ricciardo," she said.

The woman from Milo's school fell quiet. Y/N knew what she was wondering, whether it was the Daniel Ricciardo or not. Finally, she answered. "Okay, that's all sorted. We'll be waiting in the office with him."

She said her goodbyes and hung up, immediately calling Daniel.

Daniel, who picked up the phone the moment she called. Daniel, who stopped his workout the moment she told him what was happening. Daniel, who talked her through her tears as she cried at her desk, all while driving to pick up her son. Daniel was one in a million.

He drove straight to Milo's school, jumped out of his car as soon as it had stopped moving and strode into the office.

The collective gasp from the women that worked there was unsurprising. It really was him, they all thought. As soon as he saw Milo, sitting on the uncomfortable chair in the corner of the office, he walked over to him. "Hey, Milo," he said, getting down to his height. "Your mum sent me to pick you up."

Milo nodded. He climbed out of his seat and grabbed a hold of Daniels hand. Quickly speaking to the women at the desk, he signed them both out and walked Milo to the car.

He climbed into the back seat, sitting where Olivia normally did. "What's up, kiddo?" Daniel asked him as he began driving. But Milo stayed silent, holding his stomach. "Are you hungry?" He asked, and Milo nodded. "McDonalds?"

They went to McDonalds. Daniel took Milo inside, got him a kids chicken nuggets meal and an ice cream. The two of them sat in a booth, Daniel sipping his drink while Milo ate his nuggets and chips. "Feeling better now?" He asked.

"Yeah," said Milo, reaching for his own drink. "Thank you, Mr Ricciardo."

Daniel put his finished drink to one side. "You can call me Daniel," he said. By this point it was clear that Milo wasn't actually feeling unwell. Daniel didn't think he was lying, though. More likely, he was so anxious that he thought he really was sick.

"Is it school?" Daniel asked as Milo bit into his last nugget piece.

Milo hesitated before he nodded.

"I thought so," he mumbled, stealing a chip.

Milo finished his own drink and pushed the empty cup away. "I know my mummy can't send me to a different school," he said. "I know I can't go to the same school as Olivia, but I hate it so much," he said. "I've got no friends and the kids are mean," he said.

Daniel really felt for the kid. The first time he'd met Milo he'd been a shy little thing, and Daniel couldn't imagine that starting school couldn't have been easy for him. He didn't blame him for wanting to be at school with Olivia.

"Come on," he said when Milo finished his food. They stood up and Milo took his hand as they headed back out to the car. "We can watch cartoons until we have to pick up Olivia."

***

Y/N was the last of them to arrive home. Well, it wasn't her home, not yet. But it would be, Daniel knew. One day soon. She used the key Daniel had given her and walked into the house.

"Hey," said Daniel as he strode towards her. "Milo is upstairs with Olivia. He's feeling better now," he said.

She let out a breath and let her bag fall to the floor. It was been an exhausting day, even if she'd barely gotten any work done. All day she'd been so worried about Milo, her hands had been shaking as she tried to type at her computer.

Daniel could see it written on her face. "C'mere," he said as he walked towards her and placed his arm around her shoulders. "I've got Chinese food on the way."

"You're wonderful," she said through a sigh, stopping her walking to wrap her arms around him.

He did the same and kissed the top of her head. "We do need to talk, though."

They were the scariest six words she had heard since the beginning of their relationship. Daniel took a hold of her hand, kissed it, and took her through to the kitchen.

He sat her down at the table and sat opposite her. "Milo wasn't sick today," he said. "I think that he thinks he was sick. I think that he was anxious, so anxious that he felt sick." Daniel reached across the table, grabbed her hand. "Y/N, you can't send him back to that school. He's miserable, and if he keeps feeling so anxious that he's sick, he's never gonna get any learning done."

She squeezed Daniel's hand. "What can I do, Danny? I can't afford to send him to school with Olivia, and I don't have time to drive him out to any of the other schools."

"Let me pay for it," he said and she immediately shook her head.

"No, Daniel. I could never pay you back."

"I don't want you to pay me back." He said it so quietly she almost didn't hear it. "I love you and I love Milo. Let me look after you as best I can."

But she was still shaking her head. "Danny-"

"Okay, no. Let me do it for Milo," he said as he stared into her eyes.

She swallowed and nodded. "I am gonna find a way to pay you back," she said as she stood up and walked around the table.

"I'm sure you will," he said with a grin, pushing his chair back to pull her into his lap. His hands were on her hips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

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