Venusvixen20 - Just Here For The Serotonin

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When Zestial gets fed up

A Truth Universally Denied - CH. 2

Lucifer x F. Reader

When a struggling, reclusive, but wealthy single father calls upon the help of a governess to help tutor his coming-of-age but unruly daughter, one has no choice but to accept the most gracious invitation of employment. Especially if your new employer is the King of Hell. (aka if Hell, but if it was set similar to Victorian Era England, so like circa 1830 to 1900 A.D.)

“As I mentioned previously, it is wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

Well, this was certainly a surprise. Not only was Y/N’s employer a wealthy recluse, but the wealthy, reclusive King of Hell. The ruler of the Underworld, who was once beloved and well-known, kept away after the tragic disappearance of his wife a year ago. Such a sorry state the family would be in, she thought after hearing the news, and after meeting Charlie, it was evident that there were familial damages. 

It was evident in her eyes the state of shock Y/N remained in, Alastor off in the corner with that self-satisfied upturn on his face. Of course, his letter neglected to mention any name or evidence of her new employer, a tactic she assumed was on purpose. A sly demon the red deer was, and while Y/N had not known him for long, she knew he would do anything for his own amusement. 

After fixing her expression and a quick clear of the throat, Y/N gave a small curtsey towards Lucifer. She could feel her eyes rake over her form, taking in every detail. The muted blue of her dress, the cracked lace embellished hem, and the burnt umber color of her boots. Simple, plain, ordinary. Something Lucifer felt the need to remedy, though he also found a strange comfort in. Surrounded by niceties every day, often, even the finest of things often become lackluster. Seeing something so contrary to his everyday was…nice for a change. He could not help his eyes from trailing the new governess as she took her seat right beside him.  

“Truly, the pleasure of this meeting is all mine, Your Highness. I am grateful for your offer of employment.” 

“Of course. I heard you were the best. Now please, sit—“

“Dad! Dad! Did you know Miss Y/N taught me a magic trick? Here, let me show you!” 

As if on cue, Charlie mustered all her power, eyes scrunched in deep concentration. A flickering gold light filtered from her hands, and with a puff of sparkle, a small daisy appeared in the small girl’s hand. Her excitement was nothing short of positively adorable, at least Y/N thought so. With a giddy smile and squeak, little Charlie presented the delicacy to her father, who took it with a gentle hand and grin. 

“Why, it’s beautiful, apple pie. Your new teacher seems to be starting early with her lessons–” 

Y/N’s face flushed a deep shade of rose at the compliment, though she quickly busied herself with her napkin, brushing it over her lap as if crumbs had gathered there, though not a single one had.

“Oh, well, it’s nothing really. A simple parlor trick I was happy to give the secret to.”

 Lucifer’s eyes scanned Y/N once more, his attention drawn to her near-mute comment. Noting her modesty with a passing thought of admiration, a rare trait these days, he nodded softly before returning to fawning over his daughter. Y/N remained reserved, though scrutinizing every moment between the pair. Both Charlie and Alastor had expressed…thoughts on Lucifer’s absence and its effects, yet here he seemed so loving. Was it all a charade, some false act put up to appease her before shrouding himself in mystery again? Whatever it was, she was wary.

The rest of dinner passed in elegant quietude, punctuated only by Charlie’s occasional chatter and the clinking of cutlery on fine china. The food was divine, unlike anything Y/N had ever tasted in her modest, mortal life. A medium-well duck stuffed with orange and rosemary, cutting through the otherwise gamey flavor with a chestnut sauce to accompany. Rich, garlic asparagus in a balsamic glaze, paired with a sparkling Harvey and Osborne sherry*. Each bite seemed tailored not only for the palate but for the soul, a richness that made her feel, somehow, unworthy. Even the water tasted like it had once been kissed by stars. Lest she forget about dessert, a three-layered chocolate cake delicacy that seemed only could have been made in Heaven when Y/N saw it was topped with a strawberry cream. 

As the plates were cleared and the last of the wine sipped, Charlie, drooping slightly in her seat, yawned behind one small, gloved hand. “I think someone’s ready for bed,” Y/N said gently, rising from her chair, placing her napkin folded on the seat, and offering the girl a hand. Charlie took it without protest, rubbing at her eyes. Lucifer gave a nod, a soft expression playing across his features.

“I’ll see you both in the morning,” he said, voice low and warm. It rolled like thunder in the distance, promising rain but not yet bringing it.

“But I don’t wanna–”

“Charlie, my dear, what do…um…ducks do when they are sleepy?”

“They snuggle!”

“Right, now, how about we snuggle upstairs like fluffy ducks, mhmm?”

Y/N guided Charlie up the stairs with a gentle hand, offering a knowing smile back to Lucifer, winding through the candlelit corridors until they reached the child’s chamber. It was grand but not cold, warmed by plush pillows and soft toys that looked lovingly worn. As Y/N previously noted, red apples and golden leaves decorated even the furnishings of this room and every other. A common theme, an obsession perhaps? Though she supposed it made logical sense for His Highness to refer to Charlie as ‘apple pie’ with the way the house was decorated. Charlie climbed into bed with a drowsy smile, a small red and black lamb stuffed animal tucked snugly in her arms, murmuring something incoherent. 

“Good night, sweet duckling,” Y/N whispered, brushing a strand of golden hair from the child’s forehead.

“Miss Y/N?” came the sleepy reply.

“Yes, dear?”

“How long are you going to stay?”

Y/N tucked the sheets around her with a soft chuckle.

“As long as you’ll have me.”

Y/N turned down the lamp, casting the room in shadows and warm gold. She lingered for a moment, watching the little girl’s chest rise and fall, peaceful, untouched by the grief that still seemed to cling to every inch of the manor. Then she closed the door softly behind her. The hall was quiet now, except for the occasional groan of the old wood underfoot. She made her way back toward her room, arms loosely folded across her front, her thoughts already drifting toward rest when—

“Oh! I–I’m sorry!” she gasped, nearly colliding with a tall, familiar figure rounding the corner.

Lucifer stood there, one hand lifting in mild surprise, the other tucked behind his back. His smile was calm, almost boyish, though something far older rested behind his eyes. “No harm done,” he said smoothly. “Though I imagine I startled you.”

She nodded, blinking. “Just a bit, Your Highness–”

“Lucifer will do,” he offered with a small tilt of his head.

There was a beat of silence, long enough for her to notice the faint scent that clung to him, like spice and cedar smoke, something deep and earthy. Rarely did Masters give permission of their given name; usually, the use was met with sharp reprimand. And yet, he was here, the literal King of Hell, allowing a governess to use his first name. A peculiar man, Y/n thought as she studied him further in her shock. The sharpness of his jaw, the carved elegance of his features. A dangerous thing to dwell on.

“Well… good night, L–Lucifer,” she managed, voice catching slightly.

“And to you, Miss Y/N,” he replied, his smile widening just enough to show the faintest glint of fangs. “Sleep well.”

She turned away, trying not to trip over herself in the effort to walk naturally. Her heart beat just a little too fast, though she wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or…

Click. A sudden, singular sound broke the hush. Her head snapped to the side.

From the other end of the hall, Alastor stepped into view as though peeled from the shadows themselves. The radio demon’s ever-fixed grin was in place, but there was no warmth in it, only that manic sharpness, like a blade made of teeth.

“My, my,” he drawled, voice curling through the air like smoke. “A midnight stroll with royalty, Miss Y/N? That’s rather bold of you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he held up a hand.

“Let me spare you the effort. Don’t. Say. A word.” The cheer in his voice had gone brittle. “I do hope you’re not getting comfortable here. It’s a dangerous thing, darling, to cozy up to kings. Especially ones with hearts still rotting from grief.”

“I wasn’t—” she tried again, only for him to step closer.

“They all start with good intentions,” Alastor said, eyes glowing faintly red beneath his brim. “But everyone who gets close to Lucifer Morningstar ends up broken. Or worse.”

Y/N swallowed, unsure whether it was the words or the glint in his gaze that chilled her more.

He stepped back, his grin relaxing again into something faux-friendly. “Just a word of caution, dear. Good night now.”

With that, he disappeared, swallowed again by the shadows as easily as he'd emerged from them.

Her legs felt stiff as she walked the last few steps to her door. Once inside, she locked it, more out of instinct than fear. What did that skilamalink** of a man mean? Surely, it could not be so bad as to have a kind word or look towards the Master of the House. Of course, make no mistake, there would be no scandal. Lucifer could barely afford to even look at her that way, much less would he even be inclined to do so, plain as she was. 

The rain had begun to fall outside, a soft pattering against the tall, arched windows. Thunder rumbled far off, and in the silence of her room, it echoed and seemed to shake the very foundations of what seemed to be an immaculate manor. She undressed slowly, folding her clothes with care, trying not to let her mind spiral. A simple white nightgown seemed to match the embellishments of her housing, much to Y/N’s agreement, but just as she pulled the covers up and lay her head on the pillow, a noise reached her ears. Subtle, almost unnoticeable to anyone other than a skilled governess.

A soft creak from above. She froze, straining to listen. Did Charlie awaken and wander to the attic? Again, a sound. The faint groan of something shifting… something moving in the attic. Her heart thudded once, painfully. The one place she is forbidden to enter. But no further noise came. Only the rain, steady and indifferent, whispered across the roof like a warning.

A trick, a play of an old house on a vulnerable woman. Y/N let out a mild chuckle, eyes still shifting wearily around the confines of her room. As if the curtains might come to life and strangle her. The musings of a woman tired from travel and mingling, Y/n determined. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Tomorrow…tomorrow would make it all right. 

It was a drear and dismal evening in the city of Pride, the kind of night when the rain, in its persistent descent, seemed to gnaw at everything. Lucifer Morningstar sat alone in his study, a heavy glass of brandy cradled in one long, pale hand. Cast in white marble, adorned with dark, almost velvety oak floorboards and bearings decorated in gold leaves and feathers, and alabaster and maroon furnishing, it was a cavern of solitude for the weary ruler. The hearth crackled behind him, but he afforded it no glance; his gaze was fixed upon the long, arched window before him, and the vast city stretched below in an opulent sprawl of crimson light. It was his. All of it. Every tower forged from brimstone, every gas-lit avenue, every sound of revelry or agony that echoed through the infernal streets, his dominion, his rule. And yet…

What ailed him? What hollowness dared take root in the chest of the Morningstar? He could name it, of course—he was no stranger to truth, even when it stung like salt in a wound. Lilith. It had been a year since her absence. It was a scandal to be sure, the complete disappearance of her from Hell itself. A search party led on for about a month before it was called off and a single purple ribbon had been brought back to the manor as the sole evidence found. 

A year ought to suffice to forget, or at the very least to grow numb. And he had Charlie still, bright, foolish, impossibly earnest Charlie. But even she, in her stubbornness, could not quite drag him from the abyss of his own discontent. He had to do better. For her, if not for himself. Yet each day the manor grew colder, heavier, a mausoleum clad in marble and gold. He hadn’t even brought himself to remove the mourning curtains from every portrait of her in the house. There was barely a use for them anyhow, her gaze burned through the coverings into him. 

His thoughts turned then to the new governess, what was her name again? Ruth? No, that had been the last one. Mary? No, she had quit in tears. Perhaps… Y/N? Yes, that seemed near enough to the truth. He had barely spoken a word to her since her arrival, save for a few polite formalities at supper. She had smiled, genuinely, no less, and unlike her predecessors, had not once scolded Charlie for her peculiarities. That in itself was remarkable. Perhaps she would prove a balm to this household. A softness amidst the steel.

He even allowed her to use his rightful name, his given one! How absurd she must think he is breaking formal protocol. He had barely known her for two hours! Damned lonliness crept in his throat when he saw how she gazed at him in the dark, the candlelight doing her features some good. By no means was this new governess beautiful, he could outright admit that. But something was off, nothing wrong per se, but in the darkness, she almost looked like a dream. A woman out of a monumental still life***. 

But the stillness did not last. A sound, sharp, rhythmic. The tapping of clawed raptors upon the marble floor outside the study. Lucifer did not startle; he merely exhaled, slow and with growing irritation. He turned. The shadows by the hearth twisted, stretched, and from their centre, like a sinuous thread drawn through the eye of a needle, came Alastor. The man, if one might call such a creature that, stepped forth from the gloom with the unshakable grace of a stage actor making his final bow. His smile, a ghastly fixed thing, was already in place.

“Master,” he said, voice slick as oil, “a fine evening to drown one’s thoughts in rain and brandy, is it not?”

Lucifer did not answer at once. He sipped his drink, turned again to the window.

“You're early,” he said at last. “I summoned you for the morning.”

Alastor chuckled, a sound like bones dancing in a lacquered box. “And yet I found myself drawn here, compelled by curiosity, perhaps… or concern. The new governess?”

Lucifer’s lip curled slightly, but not in mirth. “There is. She seems… competent.”

Alastor’s grin widened—impossible though it seemed. “Competent? My, my. That is high praise, coming from you.”

“She’s kind to Charlie,” Lucifer said, more sharply. “That is what matters.”

“Of course,” Alastor drawled. He moved closer, the shadows whispering at his heels. “But tell me, do you not find it dangerous? To let someone new into the fold? Into her orbit?” He leaned closer, voice a shade quieter. “Into yours?”

Lucifer turned toward him then, eyes cold as the storm lashing the glass. “I am not so soft as to be threatened by a governess.”

“No,” Alastor replied, not backing away. “But even the softest things can wear through stone, given time.”

Lucifer did not answer. He turned back to the window, to the city that burned and shone beneath his feet, to the kingdom forged by will and wrath. And yet, as the thunder rumbled and the rain traced long trails down the glass, he felt the weight of Alastor’s words settle, bitter and steady, in his gut. Perhaps it was foolish, this hope he’d begun to nurture. This flicker of curiosity. People, in the end, always disappointed. Always betrayed. Still… she had smiled.

And perhaps, he thought, perhaps disappointment was a price worth paying for the illusion of warmth.

FOOTNOTES———————————————————————————

*Harry and Osborne = Harry and Osborne was a popular wine company in the 1890s **Skilamalink = Tricky or dishonest person ***Monumental Still Life = Typically, still lives focus on inanimate objects with no human focus, but monumental still lives or genre pieces are the exception.

I like most of these. (Sashays away in my tie dye and bell bottom jeans)

I just realized that I’m not following enough blogs, so…

Reblog if you like/love any of the following:

Little Women

Anne of Green Gables

The Lord of the Rings

The Chronicles of Narnia

Doctor Who

Steven Universe

Gravity Falls

Amphibia

The Owl House

Percy Jackson

The Beatles

The Beach Boys

The Monkees

Pink Floyd

Queen

Anything 60′s or 70′s related

transfemme and transmasc solidarity! (prints, stickers, digital download, and tattoo tickets available)

[Start ID/ Digital art of two hormone vials that have been repurposed as flower vases sit next to each other. On the left, there's lavender sprigs sprouting from the estradiol valerate vial and on the right, purple pansies sprout from the testosterone cypionate vial. /end ID]

On celebration of the new Vil card u decided to give Pomefiore Bounding a try.

027

One of the first Lilia’s I drew! I’m still cooking up a nice drawing for yall

you know, I've been thinking about it, and there is actually one single scenario in which I would be okay with not getting a big ol' "Silver Vanrouge" out of Lilia.

(just kidding, I still need some "call me Silver, Mr. Vanrouge is my father" in my life, please don't let me down on this one Twst)

Just Lilia being cool.

yeaaahhh 

20 Lies Your Character Believes

(These can shape their behavior, choices, and arcs... until they’re forced to confront them.)

✧ I’m hard to love.

✧ If I don’t succeed, I’m worthless.

✧ People only stick around if I earn them.

✧ If I show weakness, I’ll be left behind.

✧ Everyone eventually leaves.

✧ I’m just like my father/mother—and that’s a bad thing.

✧ I’m too broken to fix.

✧ Happiness isn’t meant for people like me.

✧ The worst thing I ever did defines me forever.

✧ If I’m not useful, I’m disposable.

✧ My anger is dangerous. I have to bury it.

✧ If people really knew me, they’d leave.

✧ I don’t deserve forgiveness.

✧ Love is weakness.

✧ Control is safety.

✧ I can fix everyone else but not myself.

✧ I owe it to them to suffer.

✧ If I rest, I’ll fall apart.

✧ Hope is a trap.

✧ This is the best version of me they’ll ever get.