#stop disrespecting your elders I'll find you myself

[naradreamt]

I go on tangents in the x freaks discord sometimes

[melodyofmbaku]

In Between the Lines Chapter 2 (Erik Stevens x OC)

Teaser [1]

Prompt: “C'mon, I wanna hear you say it.”

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst... I can’t help it.

That was her problem.

Elloise couldn't see. So she liked to touch.

It was how she was able to experience the world. It was also the bane of Erik’s existence.

She was always fiddling & touching and it drove him right up the wall.

Didn't she know that some people would misinterpret her actions?

That’s exactly why he hung around her so much, she was entirely too trusting. And he didn't want someone with ill intentions to take advantage of her.

That’s what it was.

Not because he wanted her hands to be on him and him only.

Or because he wanted to see exactly what that mouth could do.

It was because she had a bleeding heart for every seemingly suffering individual and it would be her downfall.

That’s what it was.

As such he made it his mission to weave his way into her days because Elloise was one of the few people he actually liked around here.

He remembers the first time he met the woman who had ownership of his heart.

~~

It was 2 years ago when hehad just arrived at the palace. The place that was supposed to be his home. After he decided to work alongside T’Challa to better improve relations between Wakanda and the rest of the world it was decided.

He could learn more about his father, his birth place, and detach from his old hobby.

Killing people.

So when the young man approached him with a smile on his face and gesturing towards his gear he put a stop to it quick.

He still had some of his pieces on him and he didn’t want that getting messed with.

He rolled his eyes and mumbled an “nah I’m good boss” under his breath before walking around him.

The man began to follow him, looking intently at him with a confused look on his face.

“Do you need some help with your bags?” He gestured to his belongings once more.

“I’m good man.” He responded back again lowly. What was this dude’s problem?

Then he heard it. Her.

"Would you quit mumbling under your breath? If you have something to say, speak up, if not, you'd be better off shutting up".

He looked to the side and took in the woman who emerged from one of the many entrances that lead to the front hall.

She looked lithe and soft. She had dark skin and plump lips, wild coily hair, and a dress that accentuated her waist dangerously. Her cleavage was artfully on display and he was definitely taking a look.

This was the exact kind of woman he enjoyed whining, dining and bending over at the end of the night.

He would also probably do something wicked to that mouth…

He cocked his head and the corner of his lip lifted up in amusement.

“What you say ma?”

He watched as she walked towards him with intent and an odd aura of grace.

Interesting.

She stopped much too close to him.

"Erik... when you entered these grounds — the palace — my house — because that's what this is... my house — you consented to abiding to the rules of this household”.

"Some of which include forgoing your "I used to kill people for a living" vibe so that the differently abled individuals in the residence can comfortably get their jobs done".

What was she going on about? Differently abled?

She gestured to the young man who came to take his bags.

"James is hard of hearing. It helps that you speak clearly, and preferably facing him, so he can better assist you".

Erik turned to take him in. Then he saw it.

James smiled politely and gestured to the tiny hearing aid that was discreetly placed behind his ear.

Erik swallowed. He felt like a dick. He palmed the back of his neck.

"Nah uh... I'll carry my own weight." he responded after clearing his throat.

James nodded and looked back at the woman as if waiting for a command.

She turned to him "Thanks James, it seems like Mr. Stevens has it covered. You can go now."

The young man nodded and went on his was and Erik could’ve sworn he heard a snicker from him as he retreated. He glared at his retreating back.

"Can I touch you"? she asked tilting her head.

"What"? he asked confused.

She gestured toward his face. “Can I touch you? Your face specifically”. She repeated.

Erik squinted still trying to understand what exactly her problem was.

"Why the fu —". She never let him finish.

"We'll be spending a lot of time together now that you’re officially part of the royal family”.

“What’s that gotta do with you touching me?”.

"To save you further embarrassment, and a repeat scenario… in case you missed it Mr. Stevens... I'm blind". She pointed to her eyes to convey her point.

There was a moment of silence before Erik realized.

He wasn't sure how he missed it. He was getting comfortable and terribly out of practice.

She had done a very good job of presenting as normal as possible.

He ducked lower to her level to meet her eyes. True enough her deep brown eyes were unfocused and there seemed to be a gray film over them but they were brown nonetheless.

She repeated her question.

"Can I touch your face, so I know what you look like?” she gestured to him leaning forward invasively close.

“What if I say no”? He responded back defiantly. She wouldn’t catch him slipping twice.

“Then you say no”. she shrugged leaning back.

“I wouldn’t touch you without your consent, another one of our house rules that I hope you’ll remember”. She replied in a patronizing fashion.

He took offence.

“I’m a killer, not a rapist.” he spat out.

“That’s good to hear”. she commented before walking up the stairs encouraging him to follow.

“I’ll show you to your room, and it’s a pleasure to meet you Erik.”

And that was the beginning of their relationship.

~~

He idled about and nursed a drink in his hands and tried to look the least bit engaged at this donor dinner. He hated these dinners.

He’d have to watch Elloise on his cousins arm the entire night. Not to forget the attendees who were there for selfish political gain alone.

He watched closely as she made the rounds with T’challa around the room. She had chosen a deep green dress with a dangerous V that held his attention throughout the night.

T’challa paraded her around the room like the gift she was and he knew this was the part of him she fell in love with.

That’s why he was surprised to find her alone and still dressed to the nines in the palace kitchen in the middle of the night.

He had changed into his comfortable sweats and made his way over to decide on which concoction of alcohol would knock him out for the night.

She had a plate of lamb and potatoes untouched in front of her.

She didn’t startle when he spoke. She probably knew he was here based on his cologne or possibly just heard him when he came in.

“Midnight snack?” He paused and sat in the seat across from her.

“I got the chef to make me something then sent him away.” She spoke clearly. He heard the hardness in her voice.

She was upset.

He saw that the lamb sat on the play uncut and her hands lay in her lap.

“Let me get some of that.”He reached over for the plate and she stopped him.

“Erik. I like lamb.” She held onto the plate refusing to let up.

He sighed.

“Here, I got it.” He stretched his hands for the cutlery.

“I can do it myself.” She protested eyebrows furrowing.

“I know that.”

She still held onto the fork with hostility. She was upset.

“I like doing this so relax okay? You know it’s not like that.” he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and awaited her answer.

With that she reluctantly released the cutlery to him and folded her hands in her lap carefully.

She heard the fork and knife scrape against the plate as Erik cut it into pieces. She couldn't help but inhale a little bit deeper.

She liked the way he smelled. Erik always smelled like warmth..

She didn't know what to do with her hands. They were always doing something. Touching, feeling, studying, working.

She tried so hard to not be caught lacking, to be looked at as unable.

She would always have an excuse, because of her condition, but she pushed herself to insane lengths to never have to use it.

With Erik she was able to relax without being scrutinized, when it was just the two of them it was different.

This was... nice. She liked it.

"Potatoes too?" he asked wondering if he should slice up the baby potatoes that accompanied the lamb on her plate.

She shook her head — negative, she liked them whole.

"Thank you". she replied back softly.

"Don't mention it". He responded before carefully handing the fork back to her.

Her fingers lingered on his hand a moment before she pulled them away seemingly unaware.

Erik lived for moments like these.

He watched attentively as she speared the tender meat and placed it in her mouth and began to chew.

“Where’s T? Why isn’t he here with you right now?” He was sure he’d be tearing it up tonight. She looked that damn good.

She paused and looked down. “He… got called away for an emergency.”

They both knew what that meant. Erik wanted blood.

“You can’t let him get away with disrespecting you like this El. Tell somebody. The elders. Anybody.” He urged with subdued rage.

“Would they blame him? Or would his actions be chalked up to something else?” She shifted in her seat.

“Maybe how in more than one way I’m not enough.” She placed another piece of meat into her mouth and chewed slowly.

Despite the hot anger that flowed through his veins, he knew it was the truth.

He hated that it was the truth.

He despised his cousin for taking that vulnerable woman and turning her into this.

He was going to end him.

They weren’t that close anyways.

He could see it now.

He’d start from his left hip bone and do a clean cut — probably with something classic. Like a black pearl switchblade. Then he’d —

“You can’t say anything Erik.” she commanded. It was if she heard him plotting.

He scoffed.

“It’s not your right.” She said.

Her mouth was sharp as ever.

He hated that mouth.

He dreamed of that mouth.

He was the forgotten cousin. An honorary royal. Offered a position for blood ties and even then, it was decorative.

An outcast.

Maybe that’s why they got along so well.

She placed another potato between her lips.

He rose from his seat and stood behind her.

He began to remove the large decorated pins from her pressed hair. His fingers reached the nape of her neck and she finally released the tension that her body held.

“I didn’t say I was going to do anything.” He spoke lowly above her, focused on the task at hand.

She leaned into his hand and he snuck his fingers into her hair and found her scalp.

He rubbed at it gently, product would cling to his fingers later but he didn’t mind it.

“We’re the same you and I.” She hummed.

He cocked his head and continued his task.

He never understood her when she said that. But in fear of being scolded he kept quiet.

She was good. So good. He was bad bad bad.

He felt her shuffle to rise and he stopped his actions unwillingly.

She sat up and he reluctantly removed his fingers from her head.

She ran her palms down her dress to straighten it out before she looked in his direction.

“You’re harmless. ” She joked lightly before lifting her hand awaiting his arm to lead her back to her room.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Girl, you should be scared of me.” He murmured slyly.

She rolled her eyes.

He offered her his arm and she grasped it in a familiar fashion and let him lead her.

They walked leisurely through the hallways. When he didn’t get a response to his last statement he assumed his previous joke fell flat.

“Erik, when are you gonna go?” She asked softly. Her fingers added more pressure into his arms, concern lacing her tone.

She’s been pestering him for months to go to therapy — deal with his murderous thoughts.

He didn’t like the idea.

So he wasn’t going to do it.

“I’ll go when you go.” He shot back.

She sniffed and turned her face away from him.

He grinned cheekily, dimples shining through.

“You know why I can’t go. It’d be taboo for me. Plus, they treat me like an invalid.” he watched her mouth twist into a scowl.

He scoffed, and continued to lead them to her destination.

Their route was coming to an end and he knew she felt it.

As they got closer and closer to her quarters her grip tightened on his bicep. And he paused.

“Erik I’m scared.” she whispered.

“If he can do this. Openly. In our room. In our bed, then...”

“What’s next? What’s next for me?“ she looked in his direction — lost.

“If he don’t got you, I got you.” He crowded her space and bent down so he could be level with her.

She needed to understand that she could rely on him for anything. He wasn’t sure he knew just how deep his feelings went for her.

She lifted her hands to hold his face. It was how she saw. Her hands immediately found his beard. He saw the tears pool in the corner of her eyes.

“Anytime you get scared you call me. You hear me?”

Her gaze was downcast. This wouldn’t do.

“I’ll gut em. Like fishes. The whole lotta them.” He pushed out huskily.

“Erik...” she murmured disapprovingly.

“You believe me?” He asked.

“I —“

“C'mon, I wanna hear you say it.” He pushed lowly committed to making her see that she wasn’t alone, he was there.

“Yes Erik, I believe you.” She whispered lowly. She quickly wiped the tears that had slid down her face disobediently.

“Good.”

“Goodnight E.” She stepped back and turned to her door. He watched as she steadied herself.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets to stop himself from grabbing her and crushing her in his embrace.

He wanted to grab her and kiss away her fears.

Instead he subdued his wants and watched her walk through her door.

The door to the room she shared with T’Challa.

He spun around and began the familiar path back to the kitchen.

After knocking back the drink of the night he steadied himself.

Erik walked to his chambers in the same manner he did every night — longing for his cousin's wife.

Taglist:

@fd-writes @amorestevens @raysunshine78 @adreamsublime

__

Idek what I’m even doing with this story but lmk what you think 💜

If you want to be added to the taglist just comment.

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Mature [Blackmail]

Prompt: Masters

Summary: Magnolia House was an odd place. Owned by the reclusive madman Dreyar, and run by his supposed lover Freed, getting an invitation was seen as a death sentence. So when the letter arrived at Lucy's door after months of anonymous blackmail, she felt her life was over. How wrong she was.

Notes: This is the seventh submission for Fraxus Week 2021, hope you enjoy it. Check out @fuckyeahfraxus to see lots of other Fraxus content.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

The Masters Of Magnolia House

Year: 1835

Location: Athens, Greece

When you lived in the upper classes, there were certain unwritten rules that you needed to follow, particularly when you were a lady. You were expected to keep your emotions to yourself, nobody wanted a hysterical woman. You were to flirt with a man to keep his favour, if acting stupid got you there then you did that. You were to do as you're told and keep the equilibrium; sometimes leaving the room was better anyway. Men probably had rules that they had to follow, but Lucy didn't care to learn them. They would hardly help her.

But one rule, unwritten and without explanation, was true for men, women, and children. If you get an invitation to Magnolia House, you attend.

Master Dreyar was a reclusive lord, who had removed himself from polite society and crossed the sea to live on the continent. The stories of his person were ride-ranged and never complimentary. Some claimed him to be a prolific blackmailer, who could bring countries to their knees should the mood strike him. Others called him mad, with manners that could change with the wind and a temper that made him strike first and not apologise.

When the lord had left England, the gentry had held a collective sigh of relief.

That was until the first letter arrived.

Stories were wide spread and perhaps exaggerated. A young lord, known for drunken behaviour and general disrespect to the elders of the country, was invited to stay at Magnolia House in Athens for a week. His declined the request, apparently sending another letter claiming that 'the rule of Dreyar is over' and a multitude of suggestions on what the lord should do to himself; none of them kind. Within a month, a newspaper local to the lord's home had mysteriously gotten wind of the letter sent, as well as written testimonies from barmaids, shop clerks, housemaids and the youngest daughter of a nearby respectable home all showing a pattern of aggressive and forceful behaviour. The scandal was quick to take root, and spread like flames across oil. The lord's reputation was rightfully ruined, and a president was set.

The rule of Dreyar was not over, simply redefined. If Lord Dreyar sent you a letter, you took the trip or suffered the consequences.

Lucy had gotten such a letter, and as such was terrified.

For months, other letters had been arriving at her home. At first they were vague, requesting favours of her father with the hinted suggestions that her life would be in ruins if the orders not followed. She ignored them, but they kept coming. Each time, they were less subtle and more overt with what would happen. Lucy's… affair with the daughter of her father's valet – Cana Alberona– would be made public. And then when the threats became more personal, more vicious, the other letter came. A letter demanding Lucy's presence in Greece for the last two weeks of July. Dread had overtaken her, and she was slightly ashamed to admit she cried that night in her lover's arms, but now her head was held high and her spine straight. She would hold her dignity throughout this if nothing else.

As she approached the front door to the austere, white stoned house, it opened, and a man walked through it. He was tall, had long flowing hair that rested below his waist, and wore a suit Lucy expected to be uncomfortable given the heat. He walked to her with a professional smile, footsteps long and confident.

"Miss Heartfilia, I presume," The man spoke with an accent not quite English, but not quite Greek either. "May I take your bags?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," Lucy spoke a little higher than she normally would, and put on the slightest show of struggling to hand them to him, so he could feel better about himself when he lifted them. She would do this with dignity, yes, but she would not be ashamed of trying to find some solace in the situation. If someone was on her side, that was at least something.

"Thank you ma'am," The man said as he took the bags and turned to the door. "If you'd like to follow me, I can show you to your room."

"Thank you, very much," She smiled, and batted her eyelids.

The man seemed more patient than flattered in his responding smile, and Lucy could guess why. The man was handsome, and no doubt had women fawning over him; all the more reason to flirt, Lucy thought. It was better to flirt with a man uninterested than to not flirt with a man who expected it and would act with anger and a raised hand if he didn't get what he wanted. When he started to walk to the house, Lucy followed in step and kept pace, looking at the admittedly beautiful building that would be her home for two weeks.

"During your stay here, if there's anything you need assistance with, I'll be happy to oblige as best I can," The man spoke again, and Lucy glanced to see him looking forward with a polite smile. "My name is Freed Justine. I am the master of the home."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Lucy said on instinct, then confusedly she continued. "I thought Lord Dreyar was the master of the house."

"He is," Freed nodded. "Perhaps I was misleading, the terminology for my job doesn't exists in polite society. I am the master of this house in the same way a butler is the master of their house. I control what happens, to suit the Master Dreyar's needs. I am his mouthpiece to the staff when needs be, when the master is unavailable or unwilling to make a decision about day-to-day goings on then I will speak in his place, and, as you can tell, I am the personal representative for the house, hence why I'm greeting you today."

"That sounds like a lot of work," Lucy said, blinking as the shadow of the house hit her. "I must admit, I can't quite see how that differs from a butler."

"There are more aspects to my job. I also act as the master's valet, a job with which I take great pride," Freed's smile grew a little, Lucy noticed. "But I suppose the greatest difference between a butler and what I consider myself to do if obedience. A butler follows his master's word to the letter, unquestioningly and without complaint. I do anything but."

"Oh," Lucy said, not entirely sure what to say to that. "That's… agreeable to Master Dreyar?"

"Agreeable? No, not agreeable," Freed laughed a little. "But he's long since stopped trying to argue the matter with me. He knows when I'm right."

Lucy saw no further road for the conversation, though her interest was piqued. Lord Dreyar was someone she knew more by reputation rather than by interaction, and she had made the man into this monolithic beast who would tear others down for his own amusement. That seemed to be what all of England thought of the man, and yet a member of his staff claimed he was accepting of criticism and would amend his ways. Even if untrue – which it probably was – Lucy would have expected anyone working for the Lord Dreyar she believed in would be scared to death of making such a comment. If nothing else, this would be an eye-opening fortnight.

The inside of the building was as beautiful as the outside. It had many large windows that let in the sun, plants were strewn in pots with calculated haphazardness, and it seemed like a conscious rejection of Englishness. It was rather beautiful.

Freed walked to the grand staircase and climbed it, and Lucy kept pace with him, resisting the urge to look around and sate her curiosity about Greek culture. There would be enough time for that during the next two weeks, and she was still making her first impression with the supposed master of the house. If Freed were as close to Master Dreyar as he suggested, the mouthpiece aspects of their relationship may work both ways. Freed might be greeting the guests to get a good sense of them on his master's behalf.

Within a few minutes, Lucy was escorted to what would be her room for the next two weeks. Freed placed her bags beside the bed, and two maids seemed to appear out of nowhere to unpack them. Before her clothing could be seen, Freed stepped out and stood beside the door; perhaps as not to see her underthing's. Lucy joined him, rather than getting under the maids' feet.

"I might need to rely on you to show me around," Lucy laughed falsely. "It's something of a maze."

Freed paused for a moment, and Lucy wondered if she'd made a mistake.

"Miss Heartfilia, if I may speak candidly, you needn't do that here," Freed spoke, the professionally rigid tone slipping a little. "Many people come to Greece to get away from the confines of England. Be that the confines of the people, the culture, or even simply the weather. I suggest you take the chance to shake off the restraints of English culture."

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"It probably won't shock you to know we've looked into you," Freed smiled. "And in our research, we found you to be an incredibly intelligent woman. Well read, intuitive, and quick to solve a puzzle. You're not in England, you're in Greece. For two weeks. It's a grace period for you. For these two weeks, you're an unknown person living with a madman. Prioritize yourself how you wish, not how society wishes."

Was this a test? It felt like a means to an end, not an offer. "I'm still not sure what you mean, Mister Justine."

"You may be whoever you wish to be while you're here, Miss Heartfilia. Batting your eyelids and acting the naïve darling to flatter me isn't as important as it would be at home. If you wish to be intelligent and advertise your intellectual superiority, then do so," Freed smiled, stepping from the door and walking across the hall. "In the spirit of that, you will have free reign to use this room however you wish."

He opened the door, revealing what Lucy could only describe as a library. It was hardly larger than a bedroom, but with high shelves of dust-less books covering almost all the space. A small table and cushioned chair sat by a window, and a teapot and teacup were placed atop it. It was idyllic, with the sun hitting it.

"Goodness," Lucy breathed as she walked inside. "The Lord of the house must enjoy reading. I wouldn't like to intrude on his private space."

"You wouldn't be, he hardly uses the place," Freed said, standing by the door. "These are mainly for me, but I'm happy to share them with you. I've read them all twice over; I should perhaps insist on him buying me something new."

"Are you sure this is okay?" Lucy asked, eyes looking over the spines of books she wanted to attack. "I'm a guest here."

"I chose the room allocations, I put you here so the books would be at your convenience," Freed assured here. "They're yours for your time here."

Lucy found herself inclined to argue the point further, but bit her tongue. This house was already a completely different place to what she had been expecting, as was the Lord's reputation. She had been thrown to the mouth of a beast she could not understand, and she expected her life to be ruined by the end of it all. If she was going to be offered a library of books that she'd never be able to read at home as a consolation prize, then she would damned well make the most of it.

But of course, that could wait. She had eyed three particular books that she would read first – two in English, one in French – and could probably finish them within the first two days. She turned to Freed and smiled.

"Thank you, Mister Justine."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Heartfilia," Freed smiled, though it dropped a little. "I feel it only fair to warn you, we've another guest who will be arriving next week. He's not got the most stellar reputation, I must say."

"Oh?" Lucy asked.

"He'll most likely behave while he's here – he's known to be snivelly, you see – but only to those he sees as his better. To people he sees as inferior, he can be insipid. That includes, unfortunately, every woman but the Queen herself."

"I've met men like that," Lucy admitted.

"I'm sure you have," Freed sighed. "He's rather a dog backed into a corner right now, so he may be unpredictable. If I can offer you advice, don't be alone with him. He won't touch you, but he'd dangerous in other ways."

"Then why is he here?" Lucy asked, wondering if Freed would be offended. He apparently wasn't, so perhaps his request that she not act like the fool was genuine.

"You've heard the stories of this house," Freed smirked a little. "This is where the cruel and untouchable meet their fate. He's here to be brought to heel."

"And what am I here for?" Lucy asked, meeting Freed's eye. Freed smiled.

"I can hardly tell you that," Freed said, voice going professional again. "Think on what I've said. This is an opportunity to put your best foot forward, don't squander it."

"I intend not to."

"I'm delighted," Freed smiled. "I hope you enjoy your stay, Miss Heartfilia."

Freed turned and was walking away, and Lucy could only watch, not entirely sure what to think of the house, the man, or the lord he served.

---

Meeting Lord Dreyar came the next morning, and in the most unexpected of places. The first day in Greece had been spent mainly alone, as Freed had informed Lucy that the Lord had been called away for the day and wouldn't be seen until the late hours of the night. Most of the day had been spent in the library, though she had ventured into the nearby town square and taken supper at a restaurant; she got a thrill at the fact she hadn't even asked if a meal had been prepared in the house for her, and instead had just went.

In the morning, Freed had woken her at the time she'd wanted, given her time to ready herself for the day with less makeup and more comfortable clothes, and had then asked her to accompany him to the kitchen. She had done so unquestioningly, though the oddness of the request did strike her.

When they'd entered, the Lord Dreyar had been sitting at a small table, eating eggs.

Lucy had been blind sighted, and immediately decided that this was some sort of ambush. Lord Dreyar was an odd man, but he was rich, and the rich never entered the kitchen. He should have spoken to Freed, and Freed would speak to the cooking staff on his behalf. He shouldn't be eating while surrounded by cooks. The Lord was there because it was the last place Lucy would expect her to be, and this would wrongfoot her.

"Master Dreyar," Freed said in greeting, getting the attention of the man. "Your guest is here to take breakfast with you."

"Of course," The man spoke, voice a low grumble. "Please, Miss, take a seat. Freed, your excused."

"Yes, Master," Freed nodded, then he removed himself from the room.

Lucy looked around for a moment. She was slightly shamefaced to admit that she hadn't spent much time in kitchens in her life, and there was something of a spectacle to be in one. There were so many devices scattered around, all for different purposes that she couldn't guess. And the three cooks – two women and a man – scuttled from counter to counter, preparing food with a level of proficiency that Lucy found awe-inspiring. She felt like she could watch them for hours, but a quick glance towards the Lord refocused her attention.

The Lord was younger than she expected, though just as intimidating. He was incredibly tall, incredibly broad and had an impassively mean expression. The scar across his face gave Lucy pause, as did the peaking line of ink that slid up his collarbone. Hardly befitting an English gentleman. She quickly took a seat at the table before she could anger the man.

They sat in silence for a moment, the Lord eating his breakfast and Lucy waiting for hers to be brought to her. Lucy was waiting for him to speak, as a Lord must always speak before a Lady, but no conversation came. It was only when she forced herself to remember Freed's words that she spoke.

"I've never eaten in a kitchen before," She spoke without wavering in her tone. "Is it a Greek custom?"

"It is in this house," The Lord shrugged. "Don't know about the other houses, don't really go to other people's houses if I can avoid it, certainly not for breakfast. But in this house, I always prefer eating in the kitchen."

"Right," Lucy said hesitantly. "May I ask why?"

"You may," The lord shrugged, but said nothing more. He took a bite from his plate, chewed, swallowed, and looked to Lucy again. "Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Ask me why."

"Oh, that," Lucy frowned. She had asked him; he was being obtuse. "Why do you eat in here, my lord?"

"Blurs the line between my position and there's," He nodded to the staff. "England likes to keep the rich and the regular split, I don't. This is a little way for me to keep everything a little more balanced," He smirked then. "And there's also the fact I know damn well the way I take my eggs is the best way for them to be prepared. Guests aren't as brave about complaining about that when the chefs in the room holding a knife."

He had a slightly manic grin when he said that, and Lucy found herself amused rather than scared. It was an attitude she couldn't have in this place, not when it was likely that the man sitting across from her was the blackmailer. Although, what would the great and powerful Lord Dreyar need from her father of all people?

"That's quite the reason," Lucy said, and the Lord nodded.

They sat in silence again, and Lucy watched as the Lord ate. It was… interesting. A gentleman worth his salt would have been trained from birth how to eat with precision and class. They wouldn't scarf down eggs, then drag a chunk of bread over the plate, cover it in the remaining sauce and then bite into it like a street child.

The Lord didn't seem to care that he was being watched, and raised a glass of orange juice which he finished in a single upturn. Lucy was half disgusted half fascinated, and was quickly coming to understand why the Lord had left England. Everything he'd done since Lucy had entered the room would leave him shunned and outcasted from the polite society of England; no wonder he was quick to leave it.

Around her, the chef's seemed to be cooking her meal, and she found her eyes wandering towards them. Their movements were quick and fluid, and Lucy wondered if she could ever learn to do that. She might have to if Lord Dreyar was going to do what she thought he would.

"Why am I here, Lord Dreyar?" She asked, and the Lord stopped eating for a moment.

"You're here for two weeks, you'll figure it out by the end of it," Was all the Lord said, but Lucy didn't want to finish the conversation there, so he pushed.

"I'd rather know now."

"Sure you would, but that ain't how this house works," The man grinned at her again, and Lucy didn't know if it was amused or malicious. "Two weeks, and it's all over. I'm sure you can wait that long."

Lucy didn't think she could, but she felt no reason to argue the point. She needed the Lord in her favour, and not annoying him would do wonders to help that.

Before she could think of a conversation to bring up, one of the three chefs in the room placed a plate of eggs – prepared as an omelette, placed on toasted bread, garnished with parsley and salt - and a set of simple, inelegant cutlery was put beside the plate. It was hardly how she would have had her breakfast if she'd been given the choice, but an omelette done well could be nice. The glass of juice she had been given was at least fresh and vibrant looking. She picked up the cutlery and cut a small piece of the omelette out for herself. As she brought it to her lips, the Lord spoke again.

"How do you have your eggs?" He asked, apropos of nothing.

"Excuse me?"

"Your eggs, how would you have them if you'd been given the choice," The Lord pushed.

"I thought that you had the art of eggs perfected?" Lucy asked, deciding that a light, joking tone was best to get out of the oddness of the situation. "Why wouldn't I want to try them if that's true."

"Because they've got garlic in them, and you're allergic," The Lord smirked a little, and Lucy halted, dropped the fork, and left the chair, looking at the plate of food that she was, indeed, very allergic to. Laxus kept up the expression as he spoke. "If you ate that, you could've died."

"Yes, I could have," Lucy uttered, anger flashing though her.

"And all because you didn't wanna argue with me," The Lord said, reaching over, taking the fork Lucy had dropped, and ate the egg impaled on it. "See, that's what England does to women. Puts them in fancy dresses and tells 'em to look pretty. Makes 'em impassive and quiet, tells them to shut up because they're weak and don't have anything interesting to say. That's all they get, and even the strong ones eventually start believing it all. Fucking country."

"What's the point of this?" Lucy demanded, still looking at the eggs.

"The point is, you can push back against things sometimes," The Lord sighed. "Everything you did before you became fifteen showed you as a fighter. Then you grew up, your father saw you as a way to expand his empire through marriage, and you became docile," The blonde smirked a little. "But fuck him. Be a fighter, push back against bullshit, and take yer damn eggs how you want 'em."

Oh. That was not at all what Lucy had expected, and she couldn't quite think of what to say to the advice. It was good advice, not entirely practical given her situation in life, but the urge to fight back against English constraints had never really left her. Still, had nearly killing her been necessary for proving his point.

She hadn't smelt the garlic though. Normally her nose was rather good when garlic was involved.

"Was there really garlic?" She asked, and the Lord smirked.

"You think I'm the type of man who'd risk poisoning someone to make a statement?" The lord quirked an eyebrow, and Lucy didn't answer. That made the man laugh. "Call me Laxus from now on, you've earned it," He then looked to one of his chefs. "Get the woman what she wants."

Lucy then smiled, sat back at the table once the plate was taken away, and looked to the waiting chef. "Two poached eggs. With salmon."

---

Four nights into her stay, a ridiculous urge for a glass of milk struck Lucy in the middle of the night. For a few minutes she tried to fight it – she was a grown woman for heaven's sake, not a child with no impulse control – but forcing herself to think of other things just made it worse. Perhaps it was Greece's fault; the heat was making cold drinks seem more refreshing and therefore more appealing.

She tried to make as little noise as she could, the landing of the building's upper floor creaking slightly as she walked down the hallway. She winced a little as the stairs cut through the silence, but she continued on, walking to the kitchen. She quickly found the larder where the milk was stored, poured herself a glass, and began her walk back to her bedroom, hoping she would be quieter.

Apparently, it was a baseless hope, because each creak and squeak was louder than it had been before.

It almost didn't matter, but when she was quietly walking down the hallway and she stood on a particularly loud floor panel, the door to Laxus' office opened, and Freed walked out. He was wearing his usual suit, looking as well put together as always though with slightly heavy breathing and the smallest of flushes on his cheeks. They looked at one another for a moment, Freed closing the office door behind him so the only light illuminating them both was the candle that Lucy was holding. Freed spoke first.

"Miss Heartfilia," He was gentle in his tone, quiet for the time of night. "You're up rather late."

"I was having trouble sleeping; getting accustomed to the new environment I suppose. My throat became dry and, well," She raised her milk in explanation. Freed nodded. "You seem rather awake too, what time do you sleep?"

"Normally, I'd be asleep by now, but Master Dreyar is keeping me up," Freed explained, smile bordering on a smirk. "He's, well, he's a little tied up at the moment. Work gets on top of him, you see, and the stresses sometimes can be overwhelming. I do what I can to keep him sane."

"You really do whatever it is you can to help him, don't you,?" Lucy laughed.

"I take great pleasure in my duties," Freed said enigmatically. "You should get to sleep, Miss Heartfilia. I believe that the lord plans to take you to a nearby village tomorrow, you'll need to be well rested."

"Of course," Lucy agreed. "Goodnight Freed."

"Goodnight Miss Heartfilia," Freed responded.

Lucy walked back to her bedroom, still trying not to be loud as not to distract Laxus from whatever work he was doing. As she climbed into her bed and nestled herself into the covers, she found herself wondering what Freed's odd smiles and slight state of disrepair meant. Were this any other house, she might have believed that Freed was sneaking into Laxus' study to do something illegal – it wasn't unheard of for butlers to turn on their masters – but Magnolia House was different. Freed seemed devoted to his master, and that devotion might go both ways. She didn't think for a second that Freed would betray the man.

Eventually, she would have to leave this house, and she had to wonder if she would understand what the hell was going on in the place. She hoped so; she loved nothing more than a puzzle and everything about this place raised more questions than they answered.

Maybe the other guest would have the answers when he came.

---

"We'll be taking dinner in the dining room today, Miss Heartfilia."

Lucy turned to look at Freed, who had approached her as she walked to the kitchen. She halted slightly; it had been a week since she had arrived at the house and her meals had always been taken in the kitchen, or outside of the house somewhere. She honestly hadn't been sure if the house had a dining room. It would have been in keeping of the week for Laxus to have taken the dining room and replaced it with a horse's stable or something equally absurd.

She followed Freed towards the dining room, deciding not to ask why. Both Freed and Laxus seemed to enjoy giving non-answers to anything she would ask, and ass such she'd given up trying. It was best to just allow herself to be swept up in everything.

The dining room itself was a small place, sparsely decorated but pleasant. Plants bordered the room but didn't encroach on the table itself, and despite being perhaps the most formal room in the house that Lucy had seen, it made every dining room in England seem stuffy in comparison. She walked inside, allowing Freed to pull out a seat for her and taking it. Only when she looked up did she see that not only was Laxus sitting at the table, but another man, someone who Lucy had known very well for most of her life.

Jiemma Orland.

Another member of the aristocracy, their paths had crossed many times. During the dances she'd been forced to attend in her childhood, Lucy had often found his daughter Minerva and they'd spent nights playing and laughing. He had always scared Lucy when she was young – he seemed nasty, vindictive even – and she'd avoided her when she could. It had been years since they'd seen each other, but that chill still ran down her spine.

He must have been Laxus' other guest. Was it a coincidence?

"Lucy," Laxus greeted, sitting at the head of the table. "This is Mister Orland; I believe that you-"

"Lord Orland," Jiemma corrected, and Lucy saw Laxus narrow his eyes slightly. "Not mister."

"Right. As I was saying," Laxus spoke again with a growl. "The great and respectable Lord, Mister Orland, is the guest that I was telling you about. I think you might have met him a few times in your past, your circles seemed to have intertwined."

"They have," Lucy agreed, forcing her fake smile on again. Her cheeks hurt; she hadn't smiled like that for the week she'd been there. "Hello Lord Orland, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"And you, ma'am," Jiemma responded, not even trying to sound polite. He turned towards Laxus, face a scowl. "As I was saying, I hardly see why you want me here, Lord Dreyar. This is quite the imposition."

"I'm glad," Laxus grinned. "And you do know why you're here, I think. But that's for the end of the week, so try not to torture yourself about it now," The grin turned a little nasty for only a moment, but the normal smile returned when he looked back to Lucy. "How's your day been? Freed informed me that the two of you decided to visit the Parthenon toady. Was it what you expected it to be?"

"It was beautiful," Lucy smiled a little. "Freed's very knowledgeable about its history, and quite the storyteller too. I hope you don't mind that I took him away from the house for the day."

"Of course not," Laxus smiled. "What sort of a man would I be if I couldn't survive a day without my manservant. Hardly a man at all."

Laxus looked directly towards Jiemma when he said that, and the older man tensed, and his face became thunderous. He made a wave of his hand and a well-dressed man who Lucy vaguely remembered seeing around Jiemma's house when she'd visited Minerva nodded and left. Lucy was almost certain that he was Jiemma's manservant. She laughed a little too loud, and quickly schooled herself. Jiemma turned his glare to her, but Laxus spoke before he could say anything.

"The city really is a sight to behold this time of year. The tourists can make it a little crowded, but the history seeps through either way," Laxus said, and a plate was placed in front of him. "I typically leave the summer months without having guests so I can better enjoy myself. The two of you should feel quite honoured."

"Hardly," Jiemma muttered almost imperceptibly, but both Lucy and Laxus seemed to have heard him.

"Speak up, man," Laxus demanded, looking into his eyes without wavering. "How can your words be respected if you're not standing with them, but hiding behind them?"

"You don't think I stand by my words?" Jiemma snapped, and Lucy halted slightly, not wanting to make her presence known. She had been aware that Jiemma could be a bully, but never witnessed it. Laxus didn't seem bothered.

"I don't," Laxus grinned. "And I think you should be cordial to your host, no?"

"Cordial. You of all people wish to speak to me about how to act in polite society," Jiemma was shouting, and his anger seemed to come so abruptly that Lucy felt knocked down by it. Freed had mentioned that Jiemma was backed into a corner, of course, but this level of anger bubbling up without much provocation was disconcerting. "You, a man who leaves society for your… your perversions, have the gall to say anything. And not only speak down to others, but to demand the presence of others at your home half way across the world. To hold half the respectable country to ransom for your sick enjoyment. And yet you speak to me of cordiality, Mister Dreyar."

"It's Lord Dreyar, actually," Laxus corrected, grinning.

Jiemma looked ready to storm to Laxus and strike him, and Lucy found herself grabbing the side of the table just for distraction. Laxus and Jiemma were having an argument with their eyes only, Laxus all but goading Jiemma to do anything that might give him cause to attack. Lucy didn't know what to do. Passive aggressive dinners were one thing, but openly yelling was unheard of.

Freed walked into the room holding a plate of light food, and placed it in front of Lucy. She looked to him for reprieve, and he smiled at her handsomely. It was a comfort, and she whispered low enough only for him to hear.

"What's happening between them?"

"Mister Orland's character is being tested," Freed whispered equally quietly, adjusting the plate so to elongate his time near her. "Everyone who comes here undergoes a test of some time. They can get rather explosive, as you can see."

"I wasn't tested," Lucy frowned.

"Not in a way that you noticed, no," Freed smiled again, taking a bottle of wine from a cooler and filling Lucy's glass with it. "If the two of them start to overwhelm you, feel free to dismiss yourself and say you need to powder your nose or something of the like. Laxus won't be offended, and I suspect Mister Orland won't care for you either way."

"Thank you," Lucy whispered, smile a little weak as she wondered what her 'test' had been.

"Of course, though I recommend you see it through to the end," Freed suggested as he placed the wine back into the cooler. "You might regret it if you don't."

Freed was out of the room within a moment, and Lucy was left floundering as to what that meant. The letters she'd received hit her again, and dread filled through her as she remembered all the stories she'd heard from people who had been to this house. This was the house where reputations were ruined, and lives were upended. She had become complacent, but this had been the reminder she needed to know that this house wasn't safe.

Maybe Freed's words had been a threat, or maybe they'd been a warning. Either way, Lucy needed to be careful in this place, and not allow herself to make a mistake.

---

"Why the hell are you here?"

Three days into the second week of her visit, Jiemma hissed the words as he stormed into Lucy's room. He was swaying slightly on his feet, face flushed from alcohol and jaw tight and rigid. Lucy shot up, covering herself with her sheets on instinct as the man thrashed into her bedroom. She looked at him frozen for a moment before she regained her senses and spoke.

"I was invited by Lord Dreyar," She answered, blinking away the remains of sleep.

"He is not a Lord," Jiemma shouted, and Lucy had to flinch back when he stormed to her bed. "He left England and left his title with it! He had no right to call himself that name. Has no right to act like he has power. Like he's too good to be English but still has influence over us. He can't."

"Mister Orland-"

"I am a fucking Lord!" Jiemma roared. "I am a Lord of the realm, woman. Respect me!"

"Lord Orland, I don't know why I have been called here but you need to leave my bedroom this instant," Lucy said firmly, trying not to let her voice waver as he took another step closer. He was a large and brutish man, and drunk out of his mind. "This is most improper and if Laxus or Freed are woken up then I expect they'll not be please."

"You need to leave now," Jiemma demanded. "Get out of this damnable house this instant. It's manageable without you, so leave. Get out of here and don't show your face. Then we can sort this out."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lucy stammered slightly.

"You need to get the hell away from me and leave my daughter alone," Jiemma growled, lurching forward, and grabbing hold of the sheets Lucy held to her chest. "You're all the same, looking for your next-"

"Mister Orland," A curt voice cut him off, and Lucy looked to see Freed standing at the door, well dressed despite the time of night. Lucy felt safer with him there, and Freed quickly stormed into the room with barely restrained anger. "It is three in the morning, and you are in bedroom of an unmarried woman who clearly does not want you there. There is no justification for such actions, and I won't give you the time to attempt it. You're to return to your room and repent for your actions immediately."

"What," Jiemma turned to Freed and walked into his space. Lucy tried to recover her breath, eyes a little wide. Was Jiemma going to hit Freed? He looked as though he was. "You think you can order me? A houseboy? Not even a man, neither of you are, not with what you do together."

"Return to your bed, Mister Orland," Freed repeated sternly. "If you don't, I'll have no choice but to leave you to the streets tonight, and let me tell you that the authorities here have perfected the art of dealing with an English drunkard and they do so with great enthusiasm."

"Make me," Jiemma taunted, leaning forward, and breathing right into Freed's face. Lucy could only guess how horrid a smell that would be.

Freed placed a hand on Jiemma's shoulder, probably to guide him back to his bedroom. Jiemma immediately shrugged Freed off him, taking a stumbling step back and looking to Freed like he was dirt. Freed kept the man's gaze without blinking, and Lucy watched in panic, not knowing what else to do because Jiemma was angry and drunk.

"Return to your room," Freed spoke firmly. "Or I will do just that."

Jiemma scoffed, but stumbled past Freed while barging his shoulder against Freed's. The door was slammed behind them both, leaving Freed alone with Lucy. She watched as Freed untensed himself, either out of relief or because of dwindling adrenaline. Lucy quickly reached for the candle that lay on the counter, striking a match and lighting it to replace the light lost from the hallway. Freed was looking at her with professional concern when his face was lit again, the moment of anger gone and his impassive looks back again.

"Are you okay, Miss Heartfilia?" He asked, voice calm again. "He didn't touch you, did he?"

"No, just scared me," She admitted, looking down slightly. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine, Miss," Freed dismissed the question without giving a moment to think. "If you'd prefer it, we have a smaller bedroom for you to sleep in for tonight. If you can give me a few moments to make the bed for you, it might be a better fit. It's closer to Lord Dreyar's room and has a bolt on the door, for your safety."

"That won't be necessary," Lucy answered, even if she was tempted. "Those men are all the same. Drunkards like acting strong, but they're not. He'll be stewing about how you stood up against him. He won't bother me again."

"If you insist," Freed nodded. "If you change your mind, just call for me and I'll have the bed ready for you."

"Thank you, Freed," Lucy smiled a little, relaxing as she placed the candle back onto her bedside table. "I must say, you don't seem to ever sleep. This is the second time in as many weeks that you've been ready for an issue in the night."

"It's my job, Miss," Freed dismissed. "I must say, I did expect that Mister Orland might come back in a drunken state and do something regrettable. I thought it would be against Master Dreyar, given their antagonism, but he seemed to focus on you. I'm terribly sorry it took me so long to come to you."

"Don't worry," Lucy assured him. "He just scared me, nothing more."

"As you say," Freed agreed. "I'll leave you to sleep. Master Dreyar might wish to speak with you both tomorrow morning after this. I'll wake up if he does."

"Thank you," Lucy smiled. "Goodnight Freed."

"Goodnight Miss Heartfilia."

---

"So, I think it's time we all have a talk."

Laxus was the first to speak, breaking the silence that had befallen the small office. He was sat behind his large desk in a leather chair, with Freed standing beside him and to his right: they looked every part like the Lord of the House and his ever-present shadow. Lucy was sat at the other side of the desk in one of the smaller chairs provided, nervously fiddling with the lap of her dress, and occasionally glancing towards Jiemma, who sat at her side in another of the chairs.

After the interruption the night before, her sleep had been uneven and broken. She had been half tempted to take Freed's offer for the other room, but by the time the decision had been made it was nearly four, and that wouldn't be fair on the man. She'd instead jammed the door with a chair and done her best to rest.

When she'd been told Lord Dreyar wished to speak with her, she had been happy to oblige. She was less happy when she saw Jiemma sitting there as well.

"I need to leave," Jiemma said in retort. "I don't understand why you dragged me here in the first place. After the way your houseboy spoke to me last night I don't see why I should suffer the indignity of being here a moment more."

"Rather eloquent, aren't you?" Laxus posed the question with a smile. "Not quite as eloquent when you're drunk though, are you? I heard what you were saying last night. I suspect that half the city did the way you were yelling. Hardly behaviour that befits a lord, I don't think."

"What are you implying?" Jiemma demanded.

"That you should shut your mouth because I have something to say," Laxus grinned a nasty grin. "Can you agree to that?"

"I've a hotel booked for the rest of my stay," Jiemma said firmly. "I intend to be there within the hour."

"This won't take too long," Laxus assured him. He looked towards Freed for a moment, who walked to one of the sets of cupboards lining the walls to the room. Lucy followed the man's actions, but turned back to Laxus when he spoke again. "You've both been asking why you were invited here. I don't doubt you both know the reputation that this house has; particularly that I invite people here because I have a problem with them. That's true."

Lucy found her breath caught in her throat. She had known this would happen, of course she did, but had expected it to take place on the last day of the trip. Maybe that was the intention, but Jiemma's activities the night before had pushed them into action.

She was just going to have to deal with it. That's all she could do.

"I believe that this might be enough of an explanation as to why you're both here," Laxus continued, taking a single piece of paper from Freed and placing it on the table. Lucy went to look at it, but Jiemma snatched it away. Laxus didn't seem bothered, and allowed Jiemma to look at it for a moment. "You seeing my point, Mister Orland?" Jiemma didn't react, his grasp on the paper tensing. "You've known from the moment you saw Miss Heartfilia, didn't you, so no need to hoard the letter. Hand it to Lucy, please."

Jiemma looked like he was going to argue, but did as he was told indignantly. Lucy looked down to see a handwritten letter, and frowned. It was apparently Jiemma's response to Laxus' request for his visit. A polite but curt letter than didn't seem important.

It took Lucy a few moments to see the significance, and bile rose in her throat when she did.

The handwriting. It was the same handwriting as the letters she'd been getting threatening to expose her relationship with Cana. Jiemma had been the one doing it.

"You?" She asked, voice quiet. "You're the person who's been harassing me?"

"You're sick, all of you," Jiemma growled, standing up and looming over Lucy. Panic gave way to anger, and she felt her blood rushing throughout her body as she looked at the man who caused her so many sleepless nights. "Queers, perverts. You couldn't even be trusted to do a simple thing, to speak to your father and tell him to sign a damn contract. No, instead you turn to that bastard," He turned to Laxus, who was stone-faced now. "You all work together don't you, it's disgusting. I should have never let my daughter near you!"

Months of fear and anger and looking over her shoulder seemed to strike Lucy at once. This man – this power-hungry brute who drank too much and held his lordship above all else – had been the one to torture her for months. That… that…

Without thinking, she picked up a decorative crystal from Laxus' desk that seemed to be keeping his papers in order. She brought it up and slammed it hard against the man's head. He yelled in pain, and Lucy saw blood spurt from where a jagged edge slashed at his forehead. He staggered back, and she did it again because it had felt good, and it had felt deserved. This man had hurt her, she deserved to hurt him.

He stumbled, and Lucy watched as he crumpled to the ground. She dropped the crystal and began to kick him, leaning on the desk so she could slam her shoe into the man's stomach again and again. It felt good, and she didn't recognise a cathartic scream parting her throat as she did it.

Freed pulled her away after ten or so kicks, and Laxus looked ready to intervene further if Freed needed it. Lucy let it happen, panting as tears she didn't know had fallen fell down her cheeks. The man who had been the tormenter of her life for months was in front of her, crumpled on the floor, struggling to get up, couching and spluttering and bleeding. He was pathetic and yet he had caused so much strife for her.

"What the hell is the point of this?" Jiemma coughed, leaning on the desk to stand up again. "Just to insult me. To have the bitch attack me. I'll have everyone know about you and that barmaid within a week's time. Your life is over."

"No it isn't," Laxus said firmly, and Jiemma glared towards him.

"You can't stop me."

"I can, actually, but I don't need to," Laxus smirked. "You see, if you do it – and you won't – then nobody's going to believe you. I don't waste my time, you understand. The moment we met I knew you were exactly the type of man I thought you'd be. Aggressive, cruel, without restraint nor respect. You think the fact that you've got a lordship to your name gives you permission to take anyone down if it's advantageous to you. So, the moment we finished eating, I sent the word to England to have your true self exposed."

"What does that mean?"

"It means what I said, Mister Orland," Laxus laughed. "Every nasty side of you will be the focus of gossip for weeks to come. Your bullying attitudes towards your staff, to women in general actually. Your failure as a businessman and how you need to blackmail people. I was particular with the latter piece of gossip, not to give names as to whom you've blackmailed. Because there's been a lot of people who you've threatened, and they'll all be happy to back up the gossip if they think it's them being spoken about."

"It won't be believed," Jiemma growled, looking towards Laxus with a glare.

"It will. You throw enough shit at a wall and some sticks," Laxus' glare became particularly nasty at that. "Especially when people want so much to hate you. That's the problem with being cruel; people don't forget it. They'll jump at the chance to hurt you. They have, and it won't end."

Panic flushed over Jiemma's face, and he flushed red with anger. "I'll still tell everyone about her."

"Doesn't matter if you do, nobody's going to believe you," Laxus laughed, sitting back down. Lucy watched with fear, because Jiemma was panicked and angry and would do anything. People would believe him; he was still a lord. "I sent a letter to some of my friends back home, explaining what happened last night. With a few amendments, of course. The respectable and kind Miss Heartfilia, only daughter of the Heartfilia family, politely refused your unwanted advances. You, in a drunken haze, stormed into her room in the dead of night to do who knows what to her. You wouldn't leave her room, were acting aggressive. It took a member of my household staff to drag you away. That's akin to a pot of gold to the gossips of our country, and it will spread like wildfire," Laxus leant back in his chair, smirk nasty and wide. "You saying anything about Lucy will be the words of a stilted, embarrassed old man who got turned down by a young woman who could do better. Who would take anything you say seriously?"

"You… you demon," Jiemma yelled, and Lauxs actually laughed at him. "I should have you thrashed on the streets. You liar. Slanderer! No wonder you left the country, no man like you could exist in a land of honest men."

"Honest men who blackmail women? Who beat them and seclude their children from the world," Lucy snapped, because she felt safe now. Jiemma turned to her, but she didn't cower. "You're not an honest man. You're a parasite."

"Where's this voice come from, girl?"

"It's come from people like you treating me like some doll they can play with to suit their whims," Lucy yelled, and didn't miss when Laxus moved the paperweight out of reach. "I hope you can never show your face in England again, you bastard!"

"How dare you," Jiemma growled and walked towards Lucy. Freed stepped forward, holding a letter opener that caused the man to halt. "What kind of a place is this?"

"A place you should leave," Laxus answered, standing up again and opening the study door. "Freed, escort the man out of the house please."

"No," Jiemma argued, but Freed approached him, holding the knife up and brandishing it. "I won't go."

"You will," Laxus dismissed him. Freed took the old man by the shoulder and pushed him forward with a jerk. Jiemma growled, but when the knife was pushed further into his back, he allowed himself to be pushed. Freed halted when he was at the door, forcing Jiemma to look towards Laxus. "If you do say anything about Miss Heartfilia, and I find out about it, I'll make sure you regret it. Do you understand me?"

"You've already slandered me, what else could you do," Jiemma snarled. "Bitch's affair will be all over the country by August."

"The people I employ will slander, as you put it, the aristocracy for a very small amount of money," Laxus taunted. "What d'you think they'll be willing to do if I offer them something more substantial."

Lucy watched as the knife was pushed further into Jiemma's back, and the man hissed as he was pushed forward again. Lucy only watched as the man who had been her tormenter was marched away, hopefully for good.

---

"How did you know?" Lucy asked Freed as he sat opposite her at the patio. "What he was doing, I mean?"

"Miss Cana Alberona contacted Master Dreyar around a month ago," Freed explained, pouring them both a cup of tea as the evening sun began to set. Lucy took the cup that was offered to her with a confused frown. "She and Laxus used to drink together when he lived in England, I believe. She asked for his assistance in dealing with the problem of your letters. Laxus took some time to discover who was to blame, eventually found a letter with handwriting matching the letter Cana sent to him as an example, and decided that he would settle things himself."

"Cana did it?" Lucy exclaimed, frowning. "Why wouldn't she have told me?"

"I suspect she didn't want you involved if it could be helped. Given Laxus' reputation being somewhat unpalatable, him acting on your behalf could have been unnerving," Freed smiled as he drank his own tea. "Laxus however thought you might want closure, which was partly why he invited you here in the first place."

"Partly?"

"Laxus cares very strongly for the people he loves, and Cana is one such person," Freed looked somewhat wistful about his employer. "He wanted to make sure you're a good enough person for her. He's somewhat cynical about members of polite society, as you can expect, so he wished to see you for himself," He laughed a little. "Why he couldn't trust my judgment on you I don't know, he's rather headstrong, but he's given you his approval."

"He has?"

"He has," Freed parroted. "The first breakfast you shared together was enough for him to be sure of your character. No doubt he'll offer you a permanent room here, should you like to visit with Miss Alberona. The Greek are much more accepting of a relationship such as yours."

"How do you know that?"

"Laxus and I have been seen together multiple times," Freed shrugged, and Lucy turned towards him with shock. "It's why we chose to live here. Much less fuss."

"You and the lord? You're in a relationship."

"Of course," Freed nodded, smiling.

And that, it seemed, was that.

[meds-and-typewriters]

Warnings: giving up on life, betrayal by a loved one, very very vague mention of 'evil' doing

The girl stood in shock and confusion. She traveled all this way for the Goddess of Vengeance, to only be met with a peaceful old women humming to herself while tending to her garden.

She felt her hands clench but tried to loosen them. She'd read many stories of more powerful Gods and Goddesses shape-shifting in the past, it wouldn't be suprising if she was strong enough to shift, Vengeance wasn't a thing to be reckoned with. But now she had to think of how to approach the Goddess, she had brought some offerings so–

"oh! Hello dear, is there something I could help you with?"

Her head snapped up at the sound of a wobbly and dry, yet warm voice. So stuck in her thoughts she hadn't realized the elder had noticed her. Well, guess introducing myself now is a better time than never,

"I apologise for intruding on your gardening, my name is Ellise," she bowed her head a little in respect "no disrespect, but it's it possible you are Vengeance?"

At the name the old woman's eyes melted from simple wonder and invitation to something more of understanding and a whisper of sadness.

"Ellise, a beautiful name," the woman slowly stood up on two old knees "I was just about to make some tea, would you care to join me dear?"

Ellise nodded and followed, she wouldn't lie, tea sounded wonderful, and if this woman was Vengeance, she wasn't about to deny a Goddesse's wish.

"make yourself at home, I'll be there in a moment."

The little cottage was a clutter of herbs, yarn, and candles. Everything you'd find in any old woman's house.

"sorry for the wait dear, I hope chamomile is good"

"no problem, and yes anything is fine," she graciously accepted the cup.

Once Ellise had cooled it to her liking she took a sip and let her eyes close at the blissful warmth of the liquid.

"I'm going to go ahead and guess there's a reason you're here," at Ellise's nod she continued "then you must be confused to see an old lady in her little shack in the middle of the woods"

The elder let out a soft laugh as Ellise nodded once again.

"well then, I hope you're up for a story"she didn't wait for a response though,

"Many years ago there was a young girl with so much love and passion to give. She was very well known in her village, always giving coins to the poor, smiling and getting everyone as they passed, and doing small errands for people when needed,"

Ellise want totally sure where this was going, but the old woman seemed to be list in thought,

"she lead a simple life, but was very content and happy, she was pretty sure she couldn't want anything more.

But like most stories go she met a man, and fell in love, and those months with him she was the happiest she had every been.

That is of course, until she came home one evening to him with another woman,"

The old woman's face filled with an expression of bitterness and a hint of betrayal,

"after that she swore to never love again and had made it her goal to make that man feel the pain she felt.

And at the time, she would have never admitted to it, but she did horrible things. Horrible horrible things, yet when he finally broke, she was still left unsatisfied. For the next year's of her life she ruined anyone who wronged her, hoping to fill the hole. Nothing worked.

It was a long long long while ago when she finally gave up and left to the forest, maybe 15 millennials ago. She had planned to make it her final resting place. And it was, just not in the way she planned. It has been two years and she was still not passing on to the next world. So in anger she stomped outside,

And was surprised to see some wild flower had grown around the cabin, and, well, before she knew it she had a garden. Then a fixed up cottage, and than contentment once again. And she realized, that she felt fulfilled and that's when it dawned on her. Moving on is the best type of revenge. The power to know it's the past and not let it stop you from being as happy as possible."

"and to this day, she stays her, helping the souls who were once like her..."

After being greatly wronged, you seek out the Goddess of Vengeance to give you advice in your quest for retribution. When people told you tales of Her, you always imagined a powerful warrior, sitting atop a throne made from the skulls of Her enemies. Instead, you discover a kindly old woman tending to a garden outside of a cozy cottage in a peaceful meadow.