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bastardsonofday · 6 years

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Look at Yourself

MAJOR WARNING: ABUSE. LOTS OF IT. I AINT JOKING AROUND YALL

Prompt: Abuse.

I wrote this because of the video posted by PajamaParty Doodles ‘My Mentally Abusive Father.’ Please, if you watch her video be warned it is extremely dark (as it should be, she went though a horribly dark thing. I am so proud of her strength to rise above what happened to her). But she made a lot of good points that I want to expand on those things. This is written to speak about the abuse that Lucien went through because it is never gone into in the series. This is something that needs to be said. I don’t want to… compare these experiences, I am aware that PJ’s experiences actually happened and in no way do I want to minimize or trivialize what she went through.

I am basing most of his mentality off her video, since I am someone who has no basis (thank god) for such a thing. I am not, nor have ever been abused.

If you find yourself in an unhealthy situation, please get help.

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233

National Child Abuse Hotline: 1-800-422-4453

Day One Crisis Hotline: 1-866-223-1111

Crisis Text Line: 741741 (from anywhere in the USA)

Pathways to Safety International Toll-Free: 833-SAFE-833

HotPeachPages list of European Crisis Agencies and Hotlines

Stay Safe <3 You’re not alone, and you deserve help.

Slight stylistic change ahead. Reminder you can still comment/dm me a final prompt for the upcoming (only one more then this one left!!!) prompt in this series: Wild Card.

This is also by far the longest prompt! Netting 4k+ words!

ao3 bingo prompts series ko-fi commission me

When Lucien was little he thought that his father was supposed to protect him. When Lucien was little he thought his father was supposed to care for him. When Lucien was little he thought his father was supposed to set a good example.

Then, Lucien grew up.

Lucien sat on the roof, watching the lights of Velaris dance in the distance. It wasn’t so cold up there, just a light chill from the night. Lucien pulled the blanket he had grabbed around him tighter, and watched the festivities.

Lucien heard the door open, and heard the steps that came closer and closer. He could smell the perfume of paint and ginger cookies… A smile lit his face. He loved ginger cookies.

Feyre sat next to him. She nudged his arm and he handed her one end of the blanket. She snuggled close to him, breathing him in as he breathed in her.

Ginger…

Ginger-

Her words broke him from his retrospective haze and he was grateful. Because, while Feyre didn’t know it, his memories weren’t the place to be on holidays and he needed something to keep him anchored, especially on this night of all nights—The Autumn Equinox.

The day when night and day are equal. The day everyone in the Night Court and Day Court danced and were merry, for it was a day of friendship and love and comradery. A day when friendships and non-romantic relationships were valued on high. Not a day for flashbacks. Not a day for sadness.

At least, not in the Night Court.

“What are you thinking about?” Feyre asked.

Lucien shrugged. “Nothing.”

“C’mon, tell me!” Feyre insisted, nestling in. After all, they were friends, were they not? And friends shared thoughts. “How about this, it’s a game Rhysand and I play: a thought for a thought.” Feyre said.

Lucien ran his fingers through Feyre’s hair, gently. “Alright. I’ll bite.”

“You go first.”

“Why do I have to go first?”

“Because, I asked you first.”

“Fine.” Lucien said slowly… what could he tell her? He certainly couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t tell her about how the lights in Velaris below were so close to those he could still remember from home. The smell of cinnamon and cocoa and pumpkin and ginger and-

The smell of ash.

“You smell like ginger.” Lucien said softly.

Feyre smiled. “It’s the cookies Mor and Elain made for the dusk-meal.” A customary feast, then everyone parties all night (in the Night Court) and have their last meal at dawn before they crash and sleep through the shining day. The festivities are the opposite in the Day Court, Lucien knew. Since the fall equinox wasn’t a big deal in the Spring Court Lucien and Tamlin had once been invited to Day for the nightly feast. It had been delicious. Though, he had to give props to Morrigan, she had certainly put together a stunning meal. She had even convinced everyone to put aside their differences and come to the feast, and it was no weak feat to manage to get Lucien, Elain, and Nesta into the same room. “She had some left over and I was hungry.”

“Exhausted already?” Lucien asked with a laugh. “The night isn’t even close to finished.”

Feyre giggled. “Definitely not! Just in need of refueling.”

Lucien grinned at her, squeezing her hand in his. Then he looked back off the roof, and his smile vanished.

“What’s your thought?” Lucien asked, though he felt as though he wasn’t the one controlling his own mouth.

“I’m worried about you.”

That… hadn’t been anything close to what Lucien had expected. “… What?”

“I’m worried about you… Lucien, are you okay? Because all night you’ve been-”

“I’m fine!” Lucien snapped. He wasn’t fine, and all these questions she was going to ask would only make him worse. “I’m fine! Of course I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be? I’m fine.”

Feyre glared at him, her jaw steely, her eyes hard. “Say it one more time and I’ll believe you.”

Tears bit at Lucien’s eyes. “I’m cold. I think I’ll head in.”

“Lucien-!”

“Good night, Feyre.”

Lucien stood, leaving the blanket with his friend, and walked back into the House of Wind so he could head to the ground and then to his apartment.

Feyre wondered what she’d done.

When Lucien chose his apartment he was encouraged to decorate it any way he liked.

Lucien hadn’t known what to do.

As he stood in the apartment after leaving Feyre on that roof he looked around, glad for the dull greyscale theme he’d ultimately settled for. Color was bad. Color incited thoughts. Color made him feel… things.

He walked to the bed. He could still hear the pounding of parties through the walls. When he peeked out the window facing the Rainbow he could see friends in merriment. He closed the shades.

Brothers were supposed to take your side. Brothers were supposed to stay with you when your parents fought. Brothers were supposed to keep you safe from your father when they needed to.

That was what he was always told by his friends. Rhysand and his sister. Tamlin and his brothers. Kallias, Thesan, Helion—they had all had someone to care for them and to care about. A sibling they could and would protect even when it hurt.

Lucien walked over to his dresser and opened it. There, amongst his cross-Court attire (for business usually), sat his Autumn costume.

He called it a costume because that was really what it was. Another part of his character of Lucien Vanserra. The suit he wore with the mask of the Fox Boy. With a burnt auburn base and autumn colors for decoration: the embroidery; pattern; beading; trim; etc. He’d always had one commissioned, no matter the Court he’d ended up in. Just in case. The colors: red and gold and yellow and brown, they swirled around in his head making his temples burn and his eyes water and-

Lucien shut the drawer with a slam. Think happy thoughts, his therapist had told him, something to center yourself.

But how could Lucien be happy, on today of all days?

Lucien dressed in his pajamas (Night Court style, as an unconscious purge of all Autumn), and climbed into bed.

His first mistake was closing his eyes, and his second was not opening them when the thoughts and memories inevitably came to him.

You’re useless.

Lucien was eight. He sat on his father’s knee, watching the High Lords argue incessantly in front of him. The High Lord of Night threw a vase, and the High Lord of Winter ducked. From his spot in his father’s lap he could see Rhysand behind his father. Rhys winced at every shout, and flinched when his father would raise his hand.

Lucien smiled. Rhysand was just like him. Maybe he would want to be friends?

But no, he reminded himself, Rhysand liked to hang out with the Big Boys who would torture Lucien until he left them alone. Lucien sighed. At least he had Tamlin.

“Lucien,” Beron whispered into his ear. Lucien felt himself puff up in his chest, sitting upright. Lucien had been very good to land the seat on his father’s lap. He had worked all year since the last conference, he had made his father breakfast and shined his shoes and done all his chores and had never spoken out of turn. Lucien had gone a whole month without being yelled at, too! That was a record! “What can you tell me about their relationship?” He asked, pointing to one of the High Lord of Dawn’s consorts and the Winter minor lord he was side-eyeing.

Lucien concentrated. The Dawn consort’s pupils were enlarged. He kept shifting in his seat, one leg over the other and then back. His eyes would occasionally dart to his High Lord, making sure the High Lord couldn’t catch him. The Winter lord wasn’t making eye contact. Instead he boredly lay his head on the table, drawing lazy swirls on the surface. No blush on his cheeks, no looking at the consort, though his eyes did roam. Sometimes he would sit up and mutter something to one of his cohorts before stretching himself back on the table.

“The Dawn male is in lust with the Winter lord, but the Winter lord is oblivious to it.” Lucien whispered in his father’s ear.

Beron snorted. “Fine. What about them?” Beron indicated another couple of Fae in the room.

Lucien concentrated. He watched their mannerisms, their micro-expressions, studied their faces and bodies… and finally he told Beron that one was the other’s illegitimate father but the child didn’t know whereas the father did.

Beron’s face stayed stony and for a second Lucien worried he was wrong and that he would be punished. But he wasn’t.

Beron sneered. Back then, Lucien interpreted it as a smile, the first smile his father ever gave him, but now he remembered it clearly as a sneer.

“You’ll do just fine. So long as you continue to be useful.”

Lucien vowed he would never be anything but.

Nothing Lucien could ever do was good enough. Lucien was in his early forties, and had just finished giving in a rather good report to his father, if he did say so himself. His handwriting had been clear, his information had been simple. His advice was easy.

And yet, Lucien knew what his father would say.

“Please! This is child’s work!”

“He’s useless, Eris! Like we couldn’t figure all of this out on our own!”

“He’ll never been a good ruler! Nor a good spy!”

“Useless! Unreliable! Unforgivable!”

Of course, Beron didn’t need to say these things to Lucien’s face, which was good for him because he hadn’t spoken to his son face-to-face since their spat a year ago about blackmailing a minor consort on her sexual history with a different Court’s High Fae.

But the words still came to Lucien.

Lucien’s brothers would whisper them in the halls.

Lucien’s mother would scream them back at Beron.

Nobles from other courts would feel the echos and amongst them the gossip reigned.

Lucien was useless. Nothing he ever did was good enough. His talent for making friends and seeing things others couldn’t meant nothing, not to Beron—not anymore.

Lucien had done everything he could to stay sane. He ignored the whispers. He bit back the tears weak, he was weak, real males didn’t cry, especially princes.

Useless.

He could hear his father’s rebuke wherever he went. It followed him like a bad smell.

Lucien would close his eyes and try to bring that smile sneer he had seen on his father’s face from his memory. “I’m just pushing you to be better. Don’t you want to be better?” His father used to ask when he was little. Yes father, of course father. Anything for your approval, father. Lucien was the useless seventh son, begging to be worth something, to have some kind of value—any kind, Lucien wasn’t picky. “You’re useless. You can’t see anything helpful? Anything we can use?” He just wanted approval. Just wanted value.

If he wasn’t of use to Beron, what could he possibly do to prove his right to live? To exist? He had to be useful. He had to.

“You’re nothing. You can’t do anything. You never loved this family, otherwise you would bring me something to use. You are letting us down. I could kick you out, you’re too much work as is. I have six other children, who would care about Little Lucien—who has no use.”

Tamlin cared for him. Lucien had just run away from Autumn Court. Tamlin was his friend, never asking for anything in return. Never requiring a value of him. So when Tamlin offered him as a job as an Emissary, Lucien was overjoyed to start working for him. Anything to be useful, he didn’t want Tamlin to look at him like his father did, and think it was time to get rid of him. That he was too much—too much to feed, too much to clothe, too much trouble.

Lucien stayed low maintenance so that his profits would out weigh his costs. He was useful. Every compliment from Tamlin was like honey in his mouth, like water after days without anything to drink. Lucien craved it. And it was all because for once, he was being useful.

You’re a liar.

As long as Lucien could remember he had been a liar. It was especially bad when it came to his family. He would lie about if he’d had dinner. He’d lie if someone asked him what happened to his eye or leg or arm. If he didn’t lie his family would be mad at him: telling the truth would have brought someone else into their affairs. The Vanserras were private, Lucien had to understand that.

The Vanserras were also particular. Had Lucien cleaned his room? “Yes,” he lied. He wanted to play with his friends outside. Had Lucien eaten all of his meat? “Yes,” he lied. Lucien was disgusted by all the meat they ate in his house, he would always give it to his brothers when his father wasn’t looking. Why couldn’t he eat vegetables? Lucien liked vegetables. Had Lucien betrayed his friends? “Yes,” he lied. He hadn’t done it—he couldn’t, Kallias was so nice to him, he couldn’t pit Kallias against Helion just for the sake of Beron’s entertainment. Had Lucien whispered behind the High Lord of Summer’s back? “No,” he’d lied. He hadn’t been the one spreading rumors, and certainly not on his father’s behalf. Lucien was a good boy, he would never do such a thing.

Was Lucien seeing anyone? “No,” he lied.

Was Lucien in love? “No,” he lied.

Was Lucien’s father hurting him? “Never,” he lied.

Did Lucien want to run away with her? “Never.”

All he had to do is stop seeing her. Would he do that? “Yes.”

What was her name? “Veronica.”

Where is she? “I don’t know.”

Is this her? “No.”

Tell the truth! Is this her?

Lucien looked up at her body, bloodied and broken. They knew, he knew they knew, and they knew he knew they knew.

“Please don’t hurt her!”

Is this her?

He saw her blink at him. He swallowed and closed his eyes. Maybe if he told the truth she’d be saved… Maybe they’d be able to stay together… Maybe they’d be safe… Maybe they’d be alive…

“Please… I’m begging you… leave her alone… please… hurt me instead...”

Is this her?

Broken, tired, cold, pleading: “Yes.”

And then came the snap, and betwixt Lucien’s screams he vowed to never tell the truth ever again.

Lucien was a liar.

Lucien! Oh Mother, that looks bad! Are you okay? What happened to your arm?

“Nothing. I fell.”

You cheat.

Lucien was a cheater.

He betrayed friends. He betrayed enemies.

He was known to all as a fox, and sometimes Lucien thought that nickname was apt, because it was the only animal that came close to his treachery.

You had to be a cheater, didn’t you? To do such horrible things and to get away from them, unscathed.

He seemed sweet, he would get close to people but then when he took what he needed for them what his father needed what Tamlin needed he dropped them, and their lives were ruined, yet somehow he cheated people into believing he wouldn’t hurt them again, wouldn’t turn on them again, and they continued to trust him. He cheated them from their lives and their privacy, and yet caught nothing in punishment.

He cheated death when all Amarantha took from him was his eye.

He cheated Feyre of happiness when he didn’t help her when she needed it.

He cheated Tamlin, of friendship, of love in his time of need and in prevention of what he ended up becoming.

He cheated Jesminda of life.

He cheated Elain of a Mate who she could have loved.

He cheated his father of a son who could have listened. He cheated Eris of a brother who could have been his partner in crime and everything else. He cheated his mother of a son she could have been proud of.

Worst of all, he cheated himself of a life he could have had, of love and happiness and pride. Of all those wonderful things, because he couldn’t accept love from his friends, and give up on people who hurt him. It was worse, because he cheated himself and he had vowed that was the one thing he would never do. He was the only person he could rely on and he cheated himself of all these things because he thought he didn’t deserve them—knew he didn’t deserve them. So he cheated himself, just so he could finally feel as though he received what he deserved. A fox didn’t deserve happiness.

You’re a villain who ruins the lives of others.

Lucien had to run. There was Tamlin at the border. He held a hand over and Lucien grabbed it. He was safe now, he was in Spring, and anyone who crossed the border would be attacked. Please don’t cross the border, please don’t cross, He begged them in his mind. But his brothers kept coming. The cold wind burrowed between them and even the Spring air was cold tonight, the chill of Autumn crept in with Lucien.

“Run! Down!” Tamlin shouted. Lucien dove into a flowerbed of pansies as Ash and Aiden ran at Tamlin. Tamlin roared, changing into his beast form. Lucien screamed but Tamlin was stronger than they could ever be, and he was already tearing them apart.

Then Lucien saw Ignatius creeping around the back. Ignatius was always the quiet one, but just as deadly as the other brothers, if not more. Tamlin didn’t see him, all Tamlin saw was Ash and Aiden and red.

Lucien couldn’t lose another friend, not someone else he loved, not now, not again.

“Tamlin! Get down!” Lucien screamed, and Lucien let the fire fly. Ignatius used his own fire to shield himself.

“This! This is all your fault!” Iggy snarled. “Why couldn’t you just stay in your lane? Why couldn’t you just break up with her? All you had to fucking do! Was! Break! Up! With her!” Iggy sent out a volley of fireballs with every exclamation.

Lucien dodged each one of them. The fire that burned in him… “I love her!”

“You ruined everything! All of us! We were a happy family until you came along, making trouble for everyone!” Iggy grabbed Lucien by his collar, burning it. The smoke filled Lucien’s nose and the smell of sweat made Lucien’s eyes water. The fire consumed his clothes slowly, Ignatius was one who loved a slow, painful death—making death by burning perfect for him.

That was Ignatius’s mistake. “Then just leave me alone!” Lucien closed his eyes and let all of his magic out. Even though Lucien didn’t know it, a bright light burned from inside him along with his fire. When Lucien opened his eyes all that was left of Ignatius was a charred skeleton.

He’d killed his own brother.

Tamlin turned to him, bloody and covered in innards.

“Ready to go?”

Three down…

Three to go.

Lucien vomited.

The laughter of children… He could hear it for the first time in years. He was the villain. Every night when she vomited her guts out in the room next door, he was the one who didn’t comfort her. The one who didn’t notice, and the one who didn’t care. He saw her grow thinner, he saw her grow pale, saw her wilt and curl into herself until she was nothing but a shell of the Cursebreaker she had been that he had forced her into. He’d ruined her. He’d chased her when he should have defended her, wanting to put her back in that… Situation. He’d betrayed Tamlin when he’d run away with her. Elain was forced into a relationship with him that she didn’t want. He was behind her turning into a Fae, and Nesta too.

He had ruined their lives, and had enabled Tamlin when they had both ruined Feyre. He was a villain to the Archeron Sisters. Ruining their lives one interaction at a time.

He was the villain to everyone, not just the Archerons, if he had to be honest. The one who hurt people and the one who ruined them. He imposed himself on others.

It was him who Feyre had to save in the Second Task.

It was him who caused the deaths of three of his brothers and the love of his life.

It was him who caused his father to hate Lucien’s mother like he did.

It was him who had caused all the trouble in their lives, the one who had made them all miserable.

It was all his fault. All his fault.

You’ll never amount to anything.

He was nothing. No title. No Court. He ran from everything he’d ever been, and had nothing left. He was curled up on his bed crying for Mother’s sakes!

“Hey,” She said softly.

“Hey.” He responded.

They cuddled together, eyes gooey and bodies entangled. She kissed his cheek and he giggled and they were all that they needed in the world. “What’s on your mind?” Lucien asked Jes.

Jes chewed on her lip coyly and Lucien kissed her, because he had to. Jesminda grinned. “What do you want to be? You know, when you grow up?”

“… What?” The mood was shattered.

Jesminda’s eyebrows pulled together. Lucien pulled away from her on his their bed. She didn’t know it would be a serious question. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Jes asked again.

“I… don’t know.” No one had ever asked that of Lucien before. He’d always just done what he was supposed to do-what his father told him to do.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’? Didn’t you ever have aspirations? Hopes? Dreams?” Jes asked, pulling her long red hair up into a ponytail.

Lucien opened is mouth, but said nothing. He was at a loss for words, for the first time of his life.

“I’ve never… thought about it before.”

“How?”

“I’ve been… I mean, I’m the son of a High Lord-”

“The seventh son though, you’re not going to be High Lord. Surely you had-”

“-I’ve always been… busy. I have royals to spy on and befriend, and politics to deal with, and everything… I just, I never thought about… ambitions, you know?”

“Well, think about it now. What do you like to do?”

“You.”

Jesminda flushed and giggled. She slapped Lucien’s arm playfully and soon they were in a tickling battle, rolling across the bed. When they finally calmed down, Lucien’s head on her breast, did she resume the topic. “Seriously,” she said softly, playing with his hair, “what do you like to do that could conceivably be a profession?”

Lucien shrugged. “I’m… a befriender. I befriend people. Which is ironic, because I hate meeting new people-”

Jes laughed.

Lucien laughed himself, “-but, I don’t… think I know how to do anything else. I’ve never done anything else.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Fine.” Jes said triumphantly. “Then, I guess we’ll just have to try everything until you have an ambition.”

Lucien looked up at her. “You-You would do that? For me?”

“Of course, Lucien. I love you.”

Jesminda smiled, and Lucien did too. And then the door burst open, and there stood Lucien’s brothers and father, and the rest… was history.

Lucien would never accomplish anything. Here he was, years later, and no job. Two friends, only his friends because they all were alone in the world, with no one to hold onto, no future for any of them…

He would never be anything.

He never was anything.

You’re better off dead.

Here he was, curled up on his bed. He cried himself through his flashbacks on the Day of Friendship because the lights throughout the city reminded him of the bonfires in Autumn. The way they shone had reminded him of the holiday as it was back there. The day of brawls. Of drunken anger and seductions. The night he’d met Jesminda; the only Equinox there he hadn’t been beaten within an inch of his life. The only time he’d never felt useless, or hurt, or like he would have been better off dead.

He met her by a bonfire. She’d been dancing with some friends, and the alcohol had given him the courage. He’d walked up to her, all bravado and strength lies all lies and she had smiled and taken his hand in hers.

She was so soft and kind red lipstick, he could smell roses… no… Jesminda hated roses…. Her life was so strong and vibrant. She used to love to dance with him, and though she couldn’t carry a tune she loved to sing. She loved to kiss him. Her lips so gentle and when she touched his bruises she was always kind the priestess wasn’t, every kiss rough and left him bleeding, every thrust left him black and blue but they had to do it. She would kiss his neck, and whisper how much she loved him. He would whisper how much he loved her.

She was the opposite of everything Ianthe was.

The slapping of skin on skin and muscle on muscle. He could feel the magic explode from them, but the priestess didn’t stop, they were no longer obligated and yet she didn’t stop!

The opposite of everything Tamlin was.

The opposite of everything his father was.

Why was he still here? The question burned in his mind. Why was he still here? Why hadn’t he gone away once she had. It made sense, so why hadn’t it happened?

Why wasn’t it happening?

Lucien opened his eyes. The voices in his head end it end it end it it can end just do something right for once and eND IT-

“I’m so glad I have you Lucien… I’m so glad you’re alive… I love you.”

“You’re better than Tam, Lucien. I don’t blame you. You were a victim just like me.”

“My baby boy, my sweet boy… it doesn’t have to be this way.”

It didn’t have to be like this.

He could survive. He would survive.

Look at yourself. He thought. Lucien’s eyes traveled down to his hands. His hands came to his face and he came to his feet and ran to the bathroom. He looked at his face. I’m here. I’m strong. He felt it beneath his fingers, the scar, the ridges and curves of his cheekbones, the hair of his eyebrows, the indention of his lips…

He didn’t want to feel like this anymore.

I’m still here, and that is why I am strong. I got up.

If I could get up… I can do anything.

I am strong.

I can end this cycle.

I can end it.

But he couldn’t do it alone—he needed help.

It was so hard, he could never do it alone. because he was so useless he couldn’t even save himself couldn’t even SHUT UP!

Lucien grabbed his coat and shoes and pulled them on. He ran to the House of Wind, not looking back because he was afraid he would lose that strength that he felt. When he arrived at the House of Wind he found Feyre and Mor in the living room.

Feyre frowned at his entrance, standing. Concern on her face. “Are you okay, Lucien?” She asked.

Lucien shook his head. He fell to the ground and the women ran to him, holding him tightly as he wept.

“I-I know you have no reason to-to help me. I-But I can’t do this alone-I don’t-It’s not so bad-”

“Shhh… Lucien…” Feyre cooed, holding him so close he thought she would never let go. “Shh, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. If it does this to you, makes you feel like… this. It’s bad enough. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

“I don’t-deserve this-this kindness of yours I know-”

“Yes,” Feyre whispered. “Yes, you do. Of course you do-”

“I can’t give you anything-anything in return,” he hiccuped between tears, “I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay. We forgive you for everything.” Feyre responded.

“You don’t need to give us anything.” Mor added.

“I need help.” He whispered to them between sobs.

“Then we’ll get you help.” Feyre whispered as she pressed a kiss to his hair. “Because, that’s what friends do.”

#diana writes #diana writes lucien vanserra #jesminda #tamlin the tampon #tamlin the tool #lucien vanserra #feyre archeron #eris vanserra #beron vanserra

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