#✦ broken yet unbreakable ; vanity

[sleepylixie]

6k words, Romance (Fluff/Angst), Royal AU, Enemies to Lovers, Beware of swearing

Crown Prince! Lee Minho X Crown Princess- Fem! Reader

 Dear SKZ, with love with @districtninewriters​

Music: Dynasty by MIIA, Ashes by Celine Dion, Speechless by Naomi Scott, Reflection by Christina Aguilera, My Tragedy by Taeyeon

A/N: HELLO I have been so excited to post this EHEHEHEHEHEH- Do let me know what you think of this fic, I’d love to hear feedback !! ONTO THE FIC!

Three soft knocks sounded outside your bedroom doors, prompting you to sit up and slip out of bed in a heartbeat. Sleep hadn’t been your best friend for a while, but there was a sense of peace in the mornings that couldn’t be found otherwise that had you waking up early anyway. The birds had just begun chirping with the sunrise, the first stirrings of the maids and servants causing quiet rustles outside your door.

Pulling a satin robe over your nightdress, you opened the door and ushered Han Jisung into your bedroom, taking a seat at your vanity. “What brings you here so early, Ji?” “This came in for you a few hours ago,” your closest confidante and cousin murmured, pulling out something from inside his jacket pocket and handing it over to you.

 You studied the envelope you were holding, flipping it over a few times in your hands. The quality of the paper was nicer than normal, almost like whatever was inside was more important than just a regular letter. You weren’t expecting anything, let alone important or special. But it was definitely your name on the front. In a forcefully familiar, neat cursive you had been trying all too hard to forget. “It’s from Eriant’s crown prince.” Jisung sidled closer to you, his eyes glazed in simultaneous sleep and concern. Your eyebrows arched in mild annoyance as you frowned. “I thought I told the Court of Letters to burn anything from this sender.” “It…came with another letter. From Eriant’s King. ” Your ears perked at the weary concern coating Jisung’s rounded syllables. Nodding at him to speak, you let your fingers trace over the handwriting, momentarily thrown off by the memories that came flooding back to you with the sender- “Your father the King had you betrothed to the Crown Prince to repay the war debts.”

An outraged screech escaped your lips before you could reel it in, your lips stretching back in a furious snarl. Jisung strolled to the tea table for some hot chocolate, absolutely unfazed; he was expecting things to be thrown so this was a rather tame reaction in retrospect. Your hands crumpled the letter despite the weight and thickness, the scrawl disappearing in your clenched hands. 

“The day men stop controlling my life is the day I will wipe my hands clean of them all.” You hissed between deep breaths. “Who does he think he is? Does he think he can coerce me into taking him back with a sham of a marriage?”

Ripping open the crumpled envelope, you pulled out the single leaf of heavy paper parked with the Eriant crest and the Crown Prince’s coat of arms- so he’d truly deigned to write to you himself. Jisung leaned closer to read the words in the letter, eyes narrowed and then wide as they scanned the contents.

“Apologies for the inconvenience… Betrothed to be married…moving to the castle… IN 2 DAYS?!” Your voice creaked and broke at the pitch of your furious scream, Jisung flinching from his proximity to your anger.

So much for peaceful mornings. 

//

“The Eriant party is here, Your Majesty.” The Prime Minister whispered to your father, your ears perking at the heads-up. So, it was time. Court was well underway, the sun reaching the highest point in the sky outside the arched windows, the air dotted with murmurs and conversation.

“Allow them in,” The King responded before his sharp gaze landed on you. “Behave in a manner befitting of the future queen, daughter.” A blank stare was what he got in return, an eyebrow arched in polite derision. Despite making it abundantly clear that you were not interested in marrying the Eriant prince and would do everything in your power to put the wedding to a standstill, your father had refused to oblige. 

“You were courting the prince but a year ago, daughter,” your father shouted, the maids in the corner cowering from his dangerous timbre. But you stood tall, teeth bared in a snarl of your own. “Things change in a year, father!” You exclaimed, the first embers of desperate anger sparking alive. “He’s aimless, a man of pointless rebellion. I don’t wish to be shackled to a man like that, especially one who will be my king, Velairen’s King!” “The Crown Prince has reformed his past rebellious ways. I’m sure you of all people understand reform and poor judgement, daughter.” A wildfire quickly spread across your head, your heart, burning your cheeks and fingertips and spine- “You will NOT dangle my past over my head and I will NOT marry Lee Minho. He is below me.” There was not a chance in hell that you would allow himself to be wed to him, not after everything that happened-No. No- But your father had pulled himself to his full height, the king’s authority ringing darkly in the wood panels of his study like an unbreakable decree. “You do not have a choice.”

“What do you mean, father?” you sneered, taking no small amount of delight in the quicksilver fury that passed by his eyes. “I am but a gift mare in your lost game, am I not?” 

“You-” “Presenting the Princes of Eriant and their travelling party.” The herald’s loud voice cut across your father’s likely vicious response and you turned away to face the Courtroom.

Your back straightened against the back of your throne, skirts rustling quietly as you crossed your legs, wayward thoughts eddying and swirling in your mind. There was no way you were letting this accursed wedding happen, damn your father and his decisions-

The large double doors loomed open at the other end of the courtroom, revealing a group of people dressed in the navy blue, brown and silver- Eriant’s colours. The party moved into the hall, walking down the centre aisle to you, stopping a few feet shy of the steps to the thrones. There was an oddly heavy silence that rung through the walls of the Courtroom, almost like the attendees were holding their breath.

At the head of the party stood two young men, both wearing identical smiles of sheer irreverence. One was taller than the other, his hair a mess of inky black against his forehead. Quicksilver eyes met yours for a split second before your gaze met the other- your heart skipped a beat.

He was exactly as you remembered, but somehow older. The same sharp nose and jaw, but his stance was no longer hunched and defensive- he stood tall, shoulders straight, chin up… like a king. He had dark chocolate coloured hair now, parted messily to reveal one part of his forehead. Charcoal eyes that twinkled exactly the way you remembered- no. You wouldn’t remember. Never again.

Princes Minho and Seungmin stepped in front of the party, bowing neatly to you and your father. “Welcome to Velairen, Princes.” “The pleasure is ours, Your Majesty.” Seungmin’s smile widened as he bowed his head to you. “And you, Your Highness.  Your agreement to this union is a matter of great honour for Eriant.”

Your eyebrows knitted scornfully, a soft scoff escaping your lips before you could control it. However, the words that left you were light in their countenance, easy and amused and just the right amount of coy. “One would think I was marrying you, Prince Seungmin, and not the Heir apparent who is yet to speak for himself.” The court and the Eriant party dissolved into amicable laughter, and the silence was broken. A small smile curled your lips as Lee Minho’s eyes landed on you. You held his gaze, deliciously cold and unfamiliar. You would not appear weak, not in front of him. Never again. “Heir apparent and your future queen’s betrothed.” The King stood from his throne amidst surprised gasps, the court’s attention now speared on him. “Because 3 months from now, your crown princess will be wed to Eriant’s first prince, a historical union between two ally countries-”

Before he could speak further, the court erupted into joyous celebration, the sounds of happiness ringing in your ears. You smiled widely, the picture-perfect bride-to-be and queen-to-be as you stood up and bowed to the revelling crowd.

From an outside point of view, the betrothal definitely did look like the dream alliance come true. Velairen and Eriant had been allies ever since the inception of the two countries, controlling the continent’s coastline together. During Velairen’s war with the inland desert tribes, Eriant sent troops and funds from their depthless coffers to aid Velairen’s victory. While your country won the war, the lands suffered from famine, bad trade and mourning- no way to repay Eriant for their loan….so here you were, pretending to be the blushing paragon of a happy bride. Pretending that you wanted to marry a snake in a fancy crown.

Sighing internally, you smoothed your skirts out as you sat down again, barely listening to your father’s emotional and thankful speech in honour of the many times Eriant has come to your country’s help and now, you get to repay them in kind with the hand of Velairen’s future queen. A hand that would never touch the prince’s, if you had anything to do with it-

“Thank you for the welcome, Your Majesty.” Lee Minho’s voice was like a jolt of recognition you would sell your soul to forget. “In honour of our betrothal, I have a small gift from Eriant’s treasury, for the newest jewel of our family. May I?”

You could have sworn you heard the ladies-in-waiting sigh dreamily amongst the courtiers, but all you could feel was belated disgust. Despite your inner turmoil, you smiled sweetly at him as your father nodded and let Minho walk up the steps to stop in front of your throne- where your skirts stopped. Too close for comfort.

You gulped as Minho’s clove and mint scent surrounded your senses, painfully familiar. Going down on one knee in front of you, he opened a black velvet box to reveal...fire. Your breath caught in your throat as you unconsciously put a hand out to run your finger over the row of twinkling red gemstones were inlaid into the white-gold ring…This ring had bottled a wildfire in it. “This is beautiful…” You breathed despite yourself, almost forgetting who was to slip that ring on your finger until-

“Of course, I chose it.” Minho grinned up at you, razor-sharp and devious- and you were brought back to reality. This wasn’t a true engagement. It never would be. You were nothing but one acquisition of many for Eriant, a conquest for its unruly crown prince.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you murmured soullessly amidst the merrymaking that had ensued throughout the court at the sight of the two young royals together. You didn’t pretend to sound like anything you didn’t feel like- there was nobody listening anyway. Minho’s eyes darkened as he saw your enamoured expression shutter into a blandly happy mask as he slipped the ring onto your left hand.

“Glad you like it.” He said as he got to his feet, bowing his head to you and you raised your eyebrows, a small smile still playing at your lips. To anybody else, it would have looked bashful and happy, but Minho knew better- that smile was a promise of dark things waiting to happen. “What’s another ring in a queen’s trousseau?”

 //

 “Why aren’t you ready yet?” Jisung’s exasperated voice sounded from outside your bedroom, prompting you to giggle aloud as you reclined on an armchair fully dressed, an open book placed on your lap. You had been reading and oh, how unfortunate that-

“It’s only a meeting with my betrothed, cousin dearest,” you responded, closing the book and getting to your feet. “I’m sure he can wait for me.”

“You’re almost an hour late!!” your cousin exclaimed, pounding on the door once more. “I’m not going to be fired by Uncle for your impertinent behaviour, so you better haul your royal ass out before I pick the lock and drag you downstairs by your ears!”

“Tsk, such a killjoy.” you purred, walking to your bedroom door and pulling it open, smile only widening at the sight of a red-cheeked, annoyed Han Jisung. “After his betrayal with this betrothal, I could ask for moon cheese and my father would have to oblige. You’re stuck with me, cousin dearest.”

“You and I both know you’re stalling because you’re scared of looking Minho in the eye, so drop the act, will you?” Jisung responded brusquely, rolling his eyes. A shiver tracked down your spine, unbeknownst to your cousin. He wasn’t wrong.

The Eriant party had taken up comfortable residence in… you guessed it, the princess’ wing. Your wing. And yet, you had managed to avoid Minho over the past week as he got accustomed to his new temporary residence and explored the capital city. Seungmin had caught your eye a few times, bowing his head and smirking as you passed him by. Minho, however… if anything, you were fairly sure he was avoiding you himself, judging from how atrociously easy it was to avoid him despite living in the same wing.

“A queen doesn’t act; others are just judgemental.” You scoffed dramatically, looping an arm around Jisung’s, giggling at the exaggerated huff that left your cousin’s lips. “The things I do for family.” He grumbled, letting you drag him out of your drawing room and into the corridors, a grateful smile quirking your lips.

Jisung had been your closest friend since you could remember- he had seen you grow up from an unruly, spiteful little princess into a dignified royal. At least for appearance’s sake. He knew how pained you were after the events that began your enmity with Eriant’s crown prince, the nights you’d spent staring into the night with nobody but the moon for company. You knew he had your best interests at heart- Jisung would not watch you hurt because of Lee Minho again.

“The Princess is here,” Jisung announced as you stepped into the room, your gait slow and casual. Instantly, you could sense the frustration the Crown Prince was exuding- you coughed a giggle into your hand at the sight of Minho’s furrowed brows and gritted teeth.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” you apologised airily as you slid into a chair, nodding to Seungmin and the blonde boy you recognized as the Eriant ambassador to Velairen, Lee Felix. “I got caught up in a prior commitment.” Jisung took a seat next to you, leaving you seated between him and Seo Changbin- the Minister of the Treasury and another of your close friends. The Eriant princes and Felix were seated opposite to the three of you on the long conference table, Minho directly opposite to you. Changbin dropped a quick kiss onto your cheek after you settled yourself onto the chair.

“Was the commitment of a literary nature?” he murmured, prompting you to laugh heartily. “Oh, you know me too well, dearest.” The incredulous glare Minho was giving you wasn’t lost on you- he was making no attempt to hide his emotions, it seemed. “Can we get the proceedings started now?” You asked pleasantly. “Unlike some crown princes who can loaf their lives away, I have places to be.”

The stab of amusement that tingled your spine at Minho’s affronted expression was too satisfying to let go of. He made it too easy, offending him. Seungmin coughed into his hand, a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, his silver eyes twinkling in amusement. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said, his voice deep and as pleasant as yours.

“Before anything, can we drop the honorifics? If we are to be family, honorifics mean nothing.”

A scoff escaped Minho’s lips at your request and you levelled a stare at him, bordering on ice cold. “Of course you’d want to drop the honorifics, Princess.” Minho’s voice matched you for bland pleasantry- “You’re getting married above your station after all, to a country bigger and better than yours will ever be.” And finally, the snake spits its venom.

Before you could snarl a furious response, Jisung and Changbin’s hands caught each of yours, squeezing in a warning. Not now, they seemed to say. Not now, you can rip into him later.

Teeth gritted, you turned your attention to Felix, who seemed to be cursing his luck for getting him caught in this royal crossfire. “You were saying, Ambassador?” You prompted him, pointedly ignoring Minho’s jab. Felix started and sat up straight, clearing his throat. “Yes, so, this meeting was to figure out your public appearances for the next 4 months.” Oh, stars. “Jisung and I will be managing your appearances and schedules for the next few months. On an average, you two will have to be seen together at least thrice a week- balls, charities, union meetings…wedding shopping.” He choked out and almost instantly, Minho rolled his eyes.

“Judging by the…animosity, can being cordial to each other in public be an acceptable request of the two of you?” Felix’s eyes flitted between the two of you nervously. Poor boy, he must be getting paid handsomely to put up with these rich brats. A pleasant smile lit up your face, reaching out to pat Felix’s hand where it was resting on the table. “Don’t worry, Felix. I’m not much trouble. I can manage myself in public.” Almost instantly, Felix relaxed, an uncertain smile passing across his features- “Of course she can, pretending is the only thing she does decently.”

Changbin’s hand tightened around yours, while Jisung’s grip loosened. Minho was treading the line between impoliteness and disrespect and it was clear that Jisung already had had enough of him. Still, you continued to ignore him, opting to turn to your cousin.

“What’s the first schedule we have together?” Saying the words left such a bitter taste in the back of your tongue. “Your mother The Queen’s picnic with high society at high noon tomorrow. That’s your formal introduction into the society, princes,” Jisung nodded to Minho and Seungmin, before turning to Felix. “We’d appreciate it if we get this meeting over with as soon as possible, we have a meeting with the ministry right after this.” You pursed your lips in amusement; Jisung really didn’t like Minho. You didn’t have anything scheduled after this but a peaceful afternoon in the gardens.

Minho coughed into his tea, a jeer barely hidden behind the teacup and this time, you let your chilling stare bore into him, an eyebrow raised. “Do you have anything to say that contributes to this conversation?”

He smirked, setting his teacup down. “You’ve not changed a bit, have you.” Changbin’s eyes narrowed at the disdainful undertones on his voice, but you surreptitiously patted the top of his hand before steepling your fingers on top of the table. “What makes you think so, Minho?” “You’re still the people pleasing little girl who waltzed every night away with different men. You’re still no better than a lowly courtesan, vying for a richer man’s attention-“

A gasp cut off his venomous words, his eyes betraying the pure rage coursing through his system at the sight and sensation of cold tea soaking the front of his clothes but before he could say another word- A resounding smack sent his head reeling to the side, the sheer force leaving his ears ringing. You knelt on top of the table in front of him, your teeth gritted in a barely restrained anger- the sheer fucking audacity -

Jisung, Changbin, Seungmin and Felix had shot to their feet in shock, only watching as you caught the front of blazer and brought him closer to your face, eyes not leaving his. “You never knew anything about me, Lee Minho,” You murmured softly. “You never did, you never will.” Jisung and Changbin had reached over to catch each of your shoulders, gently hauling you back from Minho but your fingers tightened on the lapels of his blazer, pulling him to his feet and halfway over the table with you. “So don’t sit there with your holier-than-thou attitude and think that I will take it lying down. I am not your doormat, but I have no qualms making you mine.”

Minho collapsed onto his seat as Jisung and Changbin dragged you over the table and set you on the floor, your chest still heaving slightly. Almost immediately, Jisung pulled you towards the double doors you had entered through, Changbin bowing before heading behind the both of them. Seungmin coughed when the doors closed behind the three of them. “That’s her, huh.”

Minho let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, a hiss escaping his teeth when his brother’s cool fingers prodded his cheek where she’d slapped him. She was just as he remembered- a spitfire with unexplained elegance, a hurricane barely contained in human skin. She was exactly as his dreams painted her to be for the past year, so fiery and real…a human embodiment of the ring he had gotten made for her. The regret that had racked his system for a year pricked the back of his eyes and he blinked aggressively, willing the emotions away from his face.

She hated him for his reckless behaviour. She would never trust him again after the way he had behaved with her back then- betrothal, marriage or a shared crown be damned. “Yes, that’s her.” //

 “Felix, you are excused. Ji, I’ll drop by your chambers later. Leave us alone for a bit.”

You growled the second your drawing room door closed behind the both of you as well as Jisung and Felix. The four of you and Seungmin had been at the Minister of Foreign affairs’ charity ball that evening, so you were all dressed in Lord Hyunjin’s chosen dress code- black and gold.

Minho had been watching you rather oddly at the beginning of the night but you’d chosen to pointedly ignore them, as you always did. Hyunjin had swept you into his arms for your first dance, the most gracious host honouring the lovely crown princess. He had held you close as you chuckled and laughed against his shoulder, thoroughly enjoying your childhood friend’s talent in dance and his innate ability to set the most stressful situations at ease.

When you turned back to your…your fiancé, however, he had taken up residence in the midst of a gaggle of ladies, all giggling and preening around him. You had pushed down the raging fire taking root at the pit of your stomach and stalked to him, asking for a dance- only to be ignored, dismissed with nary but a second glance from Minho. You had been saved from humiliation by a dark-eyed Jisung, who had swooped in and taken your outstretched hand, leading you into an easy waltz. What happened next, however…

“I’ve about had it with you for the past month, you prick,” Turning and advancing on Minho, you pushed him back with two hands on his chest. He stumbled and quickly straightened himself, a haze of anger numbing his own senses.

“Well, you really want to duke it out now, fine. Let’s talk.” Minho crossed his arms. Your face burned with a barely restrained annoyance and for a second, Minho’s heart sank. Had he crossed a line today?

The past month had been torturous for the ‘happy couple’. Velairen was overjoyed to see the queen-to-be and her beloved fiancé stepping into the limelight almost every other day, their love a picture-perfect union. You had laughed and smiled at Minho, let your fingers brush his knuckles and grip his arm, let him lead you in dances and feed you cupcakes at every ball and celebration you could humanly attend together.

Minho, to his credit, had played along. He never failed to offer you his arm on walks, always helped you fix your outfits, dropped ‘secret’ kisses against your cheek and temple, soft and loving and the paragon of a fiancé in love.

But little did Velairen know, the war that the ‘happy couple’ waged behind the scenes. How your hands would always clutch Minho’s bicep a touch too roughly, almost enough for him to wince. How you would deliberately step on his toes mid-dance and giggle airily, apologizing and shying away like a bashful bride. How Minho would trip you on walks and then proceed to catch you, cursing the cobblestones in the most gallant manner. How he would butt into your conversations with dukes and have ‘politely flirty’ conversation with the fawning ladies-in-waiting. Tonight, however…

“Do I really have to go over how much of an absolute ass you looked like in the ball tonight? How you undermined me?”

Minho scoffed, rolling his eyes.  “You were the one simpering and falling all over that Lord Hyunjin.”

“He’s like my brother, you possessive idiot!” You threw your arms up in exasperation. “And I can’t bring myself to care about you going around behaving like a man whore. Just try to be a little discreet about it, will you?”

Deep down, your words hit Minho with shards of hurt. Was that how low you thought of him? Despite the bile and nausea that rose to his throat at the thought, he swallowed, before speaking again.

“If that’s not your concern, then what is? The tripping? Surely you’re not that juvenile. You had your revenge on my toes for that-“ “You undermined me in front of the FUCKING MINISTRY!” Your voice rose to a yell and Minho pursed his lips. He truly had crossed a line tonight. You continued, your voice still loud and furious.

“You told the fucking Minister of Education that the only reason I have a crown on my head is because of my blood and not my capability.” You fumed. “I should have you thrown into the dungeons for your thoughtless impertinence.” And the anger came rushing back to his body, replacing any semblance of regret he harboured for his (albeit) false words.

“You don’t have the authority to do that, princess,” he spat out the last word like a mockery of it’s meaning and you stiffened, your vision going red.

“The only thing royal about you is your royal ego, Minho.” You snarled at him. “You’re in my palace. My turf. I can do whatever I wish to you, short of pulling your tongue out.” “Like you can afford to hurt me in any way,” Minho scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Eriant would have your head if I went back disfigured.”

“That’s what you do best, don’t you?” You grinned mockingly, crossing your arms. “Hide behind your country’s prestige like a little boy.” Minho’s eyes darkened, his jaw tight in anger but you found yourself still talking, letting the words slip out of you unrestrained.

“You don’t know a thing about the power you hold other than lording it over people’s heads, PLEASE,” you spit, prodding his chest with a finger. “don’t think, even for a second, that I will ever take you or this sham of an engagement I’m trapped in seriously.”

Turning your back on him, you stalked to the low tea table and poured yourself some water in a bid to calm yourself, when Minho let out a derisive laugh behind you. “There it is. You’re trapped in this engagement? Do you ever think about the unfortunate souls that have to deal with your narcissistic self?” Your fingers tightened around the glass; you would not respond with the anger he was asking- no, begging for any further. “Everything is about you, isn’t it? Your betrothal, your crown, your country, your ice-cold heart and your inability to love-“

Judging from the way your body stilled, he knew he’d touched a nerve. But when you turned to face him, Minho was not prepared to see tears lining your red-rimmed eyes. He didn’t expect the sight to affect him the way it did, feel like his heart had just dropped a thousand feet, heavy and regretful.

“Is that what you think?” “I-I just-“Minho sucked in a deep breath, an attempt to calm the ice-cold panic that was seeping into his veins. “That crossed a boundary. My apologies. I did not mean to say that.”

You only scoffed tearfully in response, a…no, that wasn’t a smile, that was an unfeeling curl of your lips that couldn’t be deigned a smile. “You wouldn’t have said that had you not thought it true, Minho.”

Suddenly you weren’t the headstrong, stubborn, reckless girl Minho was used to seeing, the one with a viper tongue and wolves’ claws. Suddenly, you were the teenager who was used to getting what she wanted, even in the realm of love- the young girl who laid her eyes on men and ladies who fascinated you and did all you could to claim them. Suddenly, you were the young princess who had laid eyes on a young Lee Minho and had instantly wanted him- the blooming young lady new to high society, having eyes only for the rebellious, sharp-tongued, young prince with a smile that could fell kingdoms.

The queen-to-be who never really stopped having eyes only for the king-to-be.

“You found it so easy to dismiss me as a player, a royal rake with no human feeling whatsoever, didn’t you?” You laughed humourlessly, brushing past Minho to flop on the drawing room couch. His eyes followed you, his place at the edge of the rug still unchanged.

“You made it easy to do that, princess,” Minho murmured, his voice soft, placating, hesitant- almost like he was treading a thin line between setting off your anger or god forbid, hurt you again. “Your reputation preceded you.”

“My reputation painted me without virtue, without honour but it didn’t paint me without a heart, prince.” To that, Minho had no answer. The fight left his body, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His body steered him to the armchair next to you, sinking onto the plush cushions. “You’re right.”

“You heard a part of one conversation I had with a lady-in-waiting who wanted to bed you and instantly assumed you were yet another conquest for me.” You pulled your body upright, your tear-streaked face at odds with your pin-straight back and upright chin. This was a future queen in front of him, Minho realized. A queen who had stood trial for her poor decisions in the past and had never shirked into the darkness in fear of being wrong.

“I told her you were my conquest and that you were already crawling into bed with me so that she wouldn’t hound you. Because-“ you gulped, before spitting out the words that choked you on the way out. “Because I was jealous.” Oh.

“I was jealous because I saw you dally with that lady-in-waiting before…before we began courting. I didn’t want you to see how- I didn’t want you to see all the beauties Velairen had to offer and decide I wasn’t it for you. And that thought terrified me.” Oh. Oh.

“I’ll admit, I- I courted you only out of curiosity for your pretty face- But I swear, when I spoke to that noble, I already knew I was in love with you. Had been for a while. Those 3 months of courting you was probably the most- the only time courting felt right.” Well, damn.

Every cruel word he’d thrown at you after eavesdropping on that fateful conversation and the past month…it was all for naught. You had never been the rake, the rebellious player that rumor and reputation painted you out to be. His insult to your character a year ago was what pushed you away from him, unhesitatingly having chosen yourself over a prince who clearly didn’t know enough about you. “I love you.”

A sharp intake of breath was the only response Minho received in response to his blurted confession, your eyes wide with disbelief. “You what?” “I love you. I always have.” Minho’s mouth worked on instinct now, pouring out the words that had been brewing in the back of his mind for a year, weighed down by guilt, regret, embarrassment-

“I panicked when I heard you tell that noble that I was nothing but a conquest. I thought I was more to you. I wanted to be more to you, but there you were, making it abundantly clear that you weren’t. I panicked. The things I said, I didn’t mean a single word of them. Not a single one of them.”

Minho risked a glance at you, Your jaw was slack in surprise, your eyes still wide, fingers still clutching your dark skirts tightly, like you were struggling to stay in reality. The expression enough was almost enough for him to mentally slap himself to shut up, but he was beyond silence now-

“This betrothal was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. It brought me back to you. But when I saw the hatred you still had for me…I didn’t know how else to respond to your jibes. I’m truly sorry about all of it.

“I know my apology doesn’t take back all the absolutely shitty things I’ve said. I won’t expect you to take me back after everything. But could I…could I ask you for another chance?” and out of instinct, his body moved to kneel on one knee in front of you, a choked sob escaping your lips. “Minho-“

“Let me prove to you that I- I mean what I said. Because I do, I really do.” Minho’s hand curled around yours, the hand you wore the ring Minho had given you. “Will you…will you let me prove it to you?” A beat of silence turned to two, three, ten… “Yes.”

//

 “JISUNG! Seungmin’s shadowing us!” You called out, chuckling when you heard the amused groan from behind the curtains. The second Eriant prince slinked out and threw you a two fingered salute, his eyes twinkling. You responded in kind, winking at him as he slipped out of your drawing room, just as Jisung walked in from your bedroom, arms laden with boxes. “Stay out of the bride’s room, best man!” Jisung yelled to the open drawing room door, only getting a distant chuckle and a resounding NO in response.

“He idolizes your rake phase.” Jisung grumbled, carefully placing the boxes on the tea table as you laughed aloud, crossing your legs. “And here I was, thinking he was just spying on me for his brother.”

“Well, that too.” Changbin grinned as he walked into your drawing room with Hyunjin, each with a gift box in hand. “My my, for all the love I’m receiving, I should have gotten married earlier!” You grinned, rising to pull both the Ministers into a hug. “Don’t flatter yourself, this is only going to last for the next hour.” Hyunjin stuck his tongue out, ruffling your hair affectionately. “When you get back from Eriant after the tour, you’re going to be treated as woefully normal. As Queen and not Minho’s Wife.” Minho’s wife. The words still sent a giddy jolt down your spine.

True to his words that night, Minho had proved his love to you, a little by little, day by day. This time, there was no misunderstanding and oh, the way his love bloomed. He greeted you with love letters with your morning tea and later, forehead kisses and lazy cuddles in bed.

He had taken his word very seriously and stoutly refused to speak against you for another month until you goaded him into banter again, stating that his sharp tongue was just another thing you adored about him.

Which was why you didn’t have to hesitate when he proposed marriage to you yet again, in the royal garden amongst red roses and white lilies, moonlight striking your happy tears as you said the magic word- “Yes.”

Life was a little brighter now. Not from hate, no. This time, from love. From Minho.

//

Taglist: @aliceu @decembermoonskz @seraplantery @rebecca-noona @decembermoonskz @straykidsownmysoul @stellarmonsterr @soya-zz @fylithia @bythesunnotbythemoon @luminois @moonlight-hyunjae @illicit-roses @cotccotc @unsaidhj @popisdead @sungieshines​

Network Tag: @inkidz @districtninewriters @starryktown @bystay

Thank you for reading! Do let me know what you think! -Elliana

[benes-diction]

bricks in the wall.

Tagging @adrian-tepes666​ for the inclusion of his tol and his assistance with beta-reading this to make sure I got the Wall’s personality down.

Again and again and again.

It was a living nightmare, not knowing what was going on, who was behind everything. There was no way a lone woman in Eorzea could have known about her family escaping without someone informing her. Celia knew she’d been careful. There was no godsdamned way someone could know unless they had people in the provinces still under Imperial rule or someone in Garlemald proper.

She couldn’t help her family where she was, but she could find who put them in danger.

For all intents and purposes, she was no spy, but still, she somehow managed to hide herself in the Thanalan brush overlooking a camp she’d followed that woman to.

She hated the desert nights. Compared to the heat of the day, it was like stepping into Ishgard. Before, it had been a relief. But now… Now, she was worried the cloud of her breath might alert someone below her. And as though that wasn’t enough… it did nothing to quell how overheated she felt, how the anger twisted and turned in her chest.

Her breath escaped her lips in a tiny puff. They could go after her all they wanted. They could hurt her. Hell, they could even hurt Caius for all she cared. But her parents? Her aunt? That was unacceptable.

That was war.

In the little circle of tents, very little was going on, as far as Celia could tell from her vantage point. The woman she’d attacked before had ducked into one of them with a small group—with a hat covering that decent-sized bald spot, Celia noted with a smirk—and had been there for… a few bells, if her internal clock was correct. A few other people—all members of that woman’s group, she assumed—milled about, doing menial tasks.

“Come on,” Celia hissed under her breath.

She just needed proof. Proof of who the rat was. Proof of… anything, really. Anything she could get.

She was drawn taut like a wire about to snap, she mused. She was desperate for a target to direct the fallout on.

Perhaps a better spot? Her eyes glanced over the rocky outcrops around her. Sure, they provided less cover, and put her more at risk of being caught, but if they were all hiding their true actions out of her sight…

Celia gnawed on her bottom lip, weighing the risk as she shifted her weight on the balls of her feet, and once she made up her mind, she began to slowly edge away from her hiding spot, knees scraping in the dirt, rocks and pebbles jabbing into her skin. The dry thicket latched onto her clothing and arms, leaving small, red scratches in its wake.

As quietly as she could, she clambered down the mountain path that had led her up there to begin with, the moon shining bright in the sky above her. The almost-vertical trek left her with even more scraps and scratches, and briefly, she was almost grateful that to some extent, she’d kept up with the fitness regime Arduro had showed her, even if her eating habits hadn’t received the same amount of attention.

Once her boots were on stable, horizontal ground, she dared to pause a moment, brushing the dust and grime from her clothes and skin. A soft breeze picked up, rustling across the sand, and the short ends of her cropped hair tickled the back of her neck, reminding her of what she’d done, what she’d begged Audrey to do.

It was vanity that made her eyes sting with tears, she told herself. Vanity and sand. Hair would grow back. It was just a precaution. Once everything was taken care of, she could furiously scrub all that dye from her hair and see about coaxing some sympathetic mage to jumpstart the growth so she wouldn’t feel…

No. She wouldn’t think like that. If anything, forcing herself to cut her hair, to convince Audrey to take her precious pale locks and turn them dark as night… It was a punishment. Punishment for not knowing that someone was feeding information about her family into the wrong hands, for not knowing that she was being stalked like prey, for being… herself.

An imbecile. A broken doll.

It always came back to that, didn’t it?

At least she had far more self-control with her self-loathing than Caius did.

With another huff of air, she straightened up, forcing her thoughts back to the task at hand and pushing her hair back from her face.

It was then, with her face lifted to the night sky, that she heard the crunch of gravel.

Her hand went to the push dagger sheathed at the small of her back, listening to the sound as it got closer. A sentry? A patrol? Some innocent, unaffiliated passerby?

She could handle one person—and judging by the steps, it seemed to be only one person—and if she truly had to, she could outrun someone, surely. At the least, she could squeeze herself into a small space and prevent them from following her. Had she seen any small crevices on her way there from Ul’dah? She couldn’t remember. But she’d deal with it. She’d deal with anything that got thrown at her. She was a Benes. She was a Benes. She was—

The source of the steps finally appeared over the nearby hill, just in her peripheral vision—a hulking figure in dirty, worn armor.

Familiar armor, weathered by battle, and coated in the grime of the road, rustling with a familiar, determined stride.

Just like when she’d met him once again in Ala Mhigo, it was not unlike watching a ghost march his way back to her.

Celia let her hand fall from her knife’s sheath as a small fraction of the tension eased from her muscles, watching as Arduro’s steps faltered as he took a good, long look at her.

Eorzean gods… Would he even recognize her, changed as she was? Was she no more than a stranger to her tol? Her hair was short and dark, and she knew that the bruises and scratches on her face from fighting with that woman had yet to heal. And not just that. She’d lost weight. The stress, the fear, the paranoia had sapped the appetite from her almost completely; even sweets had failed to tempt her.

Even as some part of her racing heart leapt for joy—her told had returned to her—the rest of it leapt into her throat. In fear? she wondered. Out of shame for him seeing her like that? Revulsion at how damned weak she really was?

As her heart and mind raced and raced, Arduro reached up and pulled off his helmet, tucking it under one arm as he raked stray strands of his hair from his face. Did he have more gray streaking thorugh that jet black? Gods, it had been so long since she had seen him, it felt, she couldn’t remember. But she remembered the steely gray eyes that focused on her. They’d haunted enough of her dreams, after all, scorching her very soul. Those pale eyes darted over her, taking in every detail, it seemed, but revealed nothing.

The silence felt like an iron curtain between them. Some tangible barrier that kept them in their separate worlds. And the longer it persisted, the more she wanted to scream.

Say something, she wanted to shout at him. Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me my body is ugly or that I’m stupid for getting hurt. Tell me you’re shocked. Tell me you’re disappointed or that I’m weak.

Most of all, she just wanted to run to him and tell him all that had occurred in his absence, to have him take the burden on his shoulders so she could no longer have to suffer it alone.

But that was a luxury she didn’t have. Not now.

This was her fault. It was her family. Her family, her burden, her punishment. If she couldn’t handle one thing on her own…

“Celia?” Arduro finally asked, rumbling voice gravelly. “What are you doing out here?” A faint layer of dirt from the road mottled his chiseled face, and sweat had created small streaks through it.

She attempted to straighten her spin, glaring at him. “It’s none of your business.”

Even to her, she sounded defensive, and from the chiding look in Arduro’s eyes, he thought so, too.

“What happened, then?” he continued, stepping closer.

“It’s none of your damned business!”

She could deal with it. She had to deal with it by herself. She had to rely on herself.

His shoulders shot back, his whole demeanor stiffening as his brows drew together. She blamed his prolonged absence for not being able to read the emotion on his face, but deep down, she knew it was just because… he was himself. The Wall, unbreaking and unyielding.

He took another step toward her, boots grinding into the loose sand. They were caked with mud and… something she could only assume was the spattered blood of some unfortunate fool who had tried to rob the caravan he’d been protecting. “Celia,” he said again, voice lower, more commanding, but still rough. She wondered briefly how often he’d had to bark orders at people or other guards, directing them to hide or alerting them to threats on the road.

Had he been making sure his canteen was filled with clean water?

It didn’t matter. It… mattered a lot. But there were more pressing things for her mind to focus on.

“I’m not one of your soldiers who will just jump to attention and follow orders at a moment’s notice,” she snapped at him. Why was she letting her venom loose on him? He wasn’t the object of her rage. He hadn’t even been around for anything that had happened. He didn’t…

Eorzean gods, he didn’t even know that Audrey’s pimp had made a move on her.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to worry about her. She had everything under control.

“I have things handled,” she muttered under her breath.

As she started to storm around him, he held out an arm, blocking her path. She felt his eyes like a tangible heat on the side of her face. Part of her wished he’d draw her into his arms like the love interests in all the novels she’d read, but that wasn’t his way.

The Wall didn’t crumble like that.

“Why are you avoiding my questions?” he asked her. With how close she was now, she imagined that she could feel that deep baritone rumbling in his chest like thunder.

“Let me pass.”

“Celia—”

“Let me pass, or I will move you myself.”

“Benes,” he snapped, gripping her by the arm as he spun her slightly to face him. “What happened to you?”

“Something I took care of. Something that I am taking care of.”

He shook his head. “I need more detail from you than that, Celia. Talk to me.”

Why was everyone coddling her so? Everyone who had seen her now all seemed to just… scold her. Scold her for being stupid, or taking things on by herself.

Why couldn’t they just let her deal with the consequences of her own inadequacies by herself? She’d ask for help when she needed it. Hadn’t she done that already? Hadn’t she practically gotten on her knees and begged Audrey to dye her hair to give her an added layer of security? Hadn’t she suffered through Caius looking at her with that pitying expression, like she was some kicked puppy that had happened to crawl onto his doorstep? Hadn’t she endured Laelia’s scolding, the ice in her tone? Sure, the good doctor had apologized later, but… apologies didn’t change the past. And Jac… She’d even had Jac shoot down her protests, and he and his growing family had far more to deal with than little old her.

Why couldn’t they all let her live out her just desserts and stay the fuck out of it?

The hatred toward herself bubbled up in her chest, the wire drawing tight within her, and as she tried to tamp it back down, she yanked her arm from Arduro’s grasp, feeling her heart once again jump to her throat.

“I told you, I have this in hand. Now let me through.”

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on, Celia?”

The wire tightened.

Snapped.

“Because I can’t rely on you!” she half-shouted, whirling on him.

For a brief moment, she thought she saw hurt flash through his eyes, but just as quickly as it came, it was hidden behind that wall.

“You can’t rely on me?” Arduro echoed, voice low and dangerous now as he once more gripped her arm. She wondered if he took that tone with Caius. It wouldn’t shock her. But unlike how he was with Caius, he was careful with her. He didn’t hold her tight enough to hurt.

“No. I can’t.” She couldn’t rely on him. She couldn’t rely on anyone. How was she going to learn not to let her guard down if she just let everyone else deal with her problems?

The curtain of silence fell between them once again as he simply… stared. No… Glared. His eyes were burning. He had a dusting of stubble across his face. She wondered if he knew. But of course, he knew. It was Arduro. The Wall didn’t crumble like that.

“You think I’ve been out here doing nothing?” he demanded after it seemed the silence had stretched on for eternity. “That I’ve been out here because I want to be out here?”

“I—”

“No,” he snarled, interrupting her, and Celia half-shrank from the cut of his voice. Had he ever taken that tone with her before? “I have been out in this damned desert for moons now, working myself to the bone for your family, when most of my own doesn’t even give a damn whether I live or die. I could be getting money to get them out of Garlemald. But no. I’m working to protect yours. And you think you can’t rely on me?”

“Let go of me,” she hissed.

And he did, releasing her in favor of pulling a large pouch of gil from within his coat, dropping it into the dirt at her feet. “It was all for you. Do with it what you like.”

As she stood there, momentarily stunned, he began to stride off, armor clanking, and she could only stare after him. And that wire tightened and tightened.

She bit her lip hard enough that she tasted blood.

“I didn’t ask for this!” she shouted at his back, scooping up the pouch from the ground to launch it at him, hitting him square between the shoulders. “I didn’t ask you to do anything!”

With all sense of stealth thrown to the wind, before she even knew what she was doing, Celia was in motion. She was running at him, the heat of her own failings burning in her as she launched at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, squeezing as tight as she could, attempting to get him into a chokehold.

But she should have known better.

He stumbled for only a moment, perhaps taken aback at her… well. If she was honest with herself, it was a mindless, angry assault. It didn’t make sense, really, to the part of her that clung to sanity. To the rest of her… it was proof. It was an attempt to prove once and for all that she didn’t need to rely so heavily on her tol. But her little victory was short-lived. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw motion, heard the clamor of his helmet as he threw it aside, and before she could react, his gauntleted hand had closed around the collar of her sleeveless jacket, unceremoniously pulling her off his neck and over his head.

She hit the ground harder than she ever had in any of their previous sparring matches, the air leaving her in a whoosh as a sharp rock dug into her shoulder, and she actually thought that she saw stars before she focused on her new position, glaring up at him. She’d managed to dislodge some of his hair from its binding, and the locks brushed against his face.

Gods, why did he have to be handsome when all she wanted to do was punch him hard enough to make him think she was strong?

“I told you,” she spat at him, pushing herself to her feet, “I can handle this by myself.”

He didn’t say a word to her, but she could almost imagine him scowling at her and telling her to prove it.

She flew at him again, drawing upon all the things he had ever taught her, seeking out the parts of him that weren’t armored to hell and back, seeking out any place where her little fists could find tender flesh that could be bruised or harmed.

But gods… Damned Eorzean and Doman and Dalmascan gods…

How could anyone that large move so fast?

No matter where she struck, he was moving to block her. Like his namesake, he played defensive, dodging her, raising his arms to protect himself from her frankly flimsy blows. But she kept on.

She kept trying to land one solid blow.

And the more he got the better of her, the more frustrated she became.

Why was she weak? Why couldn’t she just take care of things on her own?

Why couldn’t she just win, dammit?

Without thinking, she reached behind her for her push dagger, and it was then that Arduro actually made a move rather than just defending. Before she knew it, he had twisted her wrist unless she couldn’t help but yelp in pain, but still she tried to hold on to her blade, desperate to prove her point, to prove anything at all, to him and to herself.

But down it fell, clattering onto the rock.

On instinct, she whipped her other fist around, landing a solid sucker punch against his cheek.

And—on instinct, too, she assumed in the fraction of time afforded to her—Arduro responded with one of his own, hitting her with an uppercut to her jaw hard enough that she thought her entire skull rattled.

For a moment, she actually blacked out, but when she came to, she was there.

On the ground.

She was sore. She was dirty and covered in scratches. She was disgusted with herself.

And worst of all, she was defeated.

She didn’t try to get back to her feet this time. Instead, she stayed there, giving Arduro the victory, curling into herself as she fought away the tears that came unbidden to her stinging eyes.

She couldn’t even win a fight against her tol. How did she expect to singlehandedly save her family when she couldn’t even beat someone who tended to go easy on her? Perhaps it was because he was an armored behemoth and she was… not. But that didn’t matter. She’d end up having to defend herself against someone bigger and stronger and with far more resources than she did, one day. She had to learn.

She had to.

So much for her original plan of actually accomplishing something. Instead, there she was. Lying in the dirt and crying, likely with any semblance of stealth thrown out the door like refuse.

She felt a gentle touch against her shoulder, the rasp of a gauntlet against her skin, and she finally dared to push herself to a sitting position, keeping her eyes on the ground, on her scraped knees, as Arduro knelt beside her. Even when she attacked him with no sane reason, even when she was losing her damned mind, he was gentle with her.

She didn’t deserve him.

Celia bit down on her lip, managing to keep from sobbing even if she couldn’t stop her damned tears. And Arduro didn’t say a word. She was afraid to look at his face, lest she see something she didn’t want to—anger, hatred, disgust… Anything that meant he would leave. She didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want to be abandoned.

Too many people had left her behind because of who she was, what she was.

“It’s my fault,” she breathed, afraid to speak any higher. She curled her hands into the dirt, watching the sand slide between her fingers. “It’s all my fault. I have to fix it myself. I have to learn to rely on myself.”

She heard Arduro softly exhale, his hand briefly tightening on her shoulder. “Your choice of wording leaves much to be desired sometimes, marshmallow.”

Marshmallow. He called her marshmallow again. She could have sobbed with relief. Even as she knew she had to grow up, to toughen up, to stop being soft and remind herself that people were terrible and cruel, she couldn’t help but want to hide herself in Arduro’s arms. She wanted to be his marshmallow, a safe place for him to go to, not another battlefield he had to navigate.

And even after all that, she wished for more.

Eorzean gods, why did things have to be so complicated?

Biting her lip harder, Celia reached up, grasping Arduro’s forearm tight, trying to sap his strength, his steadiness, from the limb through her fingertips. “A lot has happened since you’ve been gone.”

“Clearly.”

“Will they be leaving again soon?” The caravan. Of course, the caravan. He had a job, and even if he had thrown the money to her feet like it was nothing, she knew him. He didn’t leave things half-finished. Even if she wanted him to shield her, he wouldn’t move on until his job was completed to his satisfaction.

“My contract ends when they get to Ul’dah tomorrow. After that��” His hand tightened on her shoulder again, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw his other arm raise, drawing her close. Celia’s nose wrinkled. He didn’t smell like ceruleum and armor polish like he usually did. He smelled… like someone who hadn’t had the opportunity for a decent bath in ages. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

Don’t tell him anything, some part of her hissed. Bundle it all inside and deal with it yourself. Don’t reach out. Don’t beg for help. Don’t be weak.

But the world—her world—was crumbling apart around her. And her tol was going to be home again.

She really was a weak, soft marshmallow, wasn’t she?

“After you take a good, long bath,” she relented, finally looking up at him. Something in her chest ached as his face, those stormy gray eyes, came into view. “You smell, old man.”

[depulsorpg]

WHATS IN YOUR FILE.

NAME: Bellatrix Black. GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cisfemale, she/her. HOUSE & YEAR: Slytherin, 7th. BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood. AFFILIATION: Death Eaters.

WHAT DO THE RUMORS SAY.

POSITIVES: Fascinating, Intuitive, Alluring. NEGATIVES: Amoral, Sadistic, Manipulative.  LOOKS LIKE: Elizabeth Gillies.

WHAT IS THE TRUE STORY.

The firstborn, and the perfect heir for her parents.

Used the Cruciatus Curse for the first time at age eleven.

She is entirely loyal to her Dark Lord, and is his lieutenant. 

Betrothed to Rodolphus from age fourteen, but has been fighting the wedding off. 

One of the most formidable duellists in the wizarding world.

SHE WAS TOLD TO GROW A SPINE AND GROW ONE DID SHE EVER —

The product of Druella Rosier and Cygnus Black, Bellatrix was nothing if not the apple of her mother’s eye, and something that produced a source of pride for her father. They say she came out; kicking and screaming into this Earth; with molten eyes and a smile made for war. Her parents demanded perfection, and so it was perfection that she would bring. She might have been the eldest child, the favoured in her father’s eyes — but that did not mean his immediate respect and love. No, she had to gain it like another. And it was under her father’s hand that she moulded to become the perfect little soldier. One that grew up to learn the art of war in lessons taught by her father. Whilst other heirs may have learnt to become the proper pureblooded child, she was taught the extra step. And whilst she may have looked like any other, beneath her charming smile and lilting words lay the beating heart of one who was made for much more. She would be the pride and joy of her family; pushing the Black name to the forefront of high society.

Yet in the midst of Bellatrix’s tutelage to become the heir that her father so demanded, she had come to adore her younger sisters; the pair that she had come to cherish and treasure. They were the one flame that she would not snuff, and they were what she sought to protect. Her father had often taught her that family came first; and that was more than apparent when it came to the eldest Black and others. If anyone dared to come near her Andie or Cissa, they knew that they would be risking the wrath of Bellatrix, the one who would swoop in to save either in their times of need. Perhaps the only things she loved in this world, but it suited her. She would become steel for them. Unbreakable, resistant to all harm, in order to be their shield. And at the end of the day, they were the only people that she would risk everything for — perhaps to even lay down her life.

HER VERTEBRAE HAS BROKEN THROUGH HER SKIN LIKE SHARP KNIVES, WINGS HAVE SPROUTED FROM HER BACKBONES —

And it was so that she learnt any spell she could uncover, developing a slight sadistic tendency when it came to inflicting pain onto other creatures. At the age of eleven, she discovered the forbidden curses in a diary of a long ago deceased Black relative, curious to see the possible ramifications and effects such curses could lay waste to on other creatures. Yet instead of asking her father about the Cruciatus curse, she decided that she would take it upon herself to discover how exactly to cast it. And one afternoon, as she cast it onto a stray bug that had landed in her room, she watched with fascination at the way it writhed and struggled beneath her command. Bellatrix had always been interested in the outcomes of certain spells, but this seemed to draw her attention, especially with the word ‘forbidden’ associated with it.

It came to be that by the time Bellatrix arrived at Hogwarts at the age of twelve, she was far more prepared than any other child. She had been taught all types of subjects under various tutors; the more sinister spells and potions one needed by her father, how to charm others into being underestimated by her mother, and she had two wands just in case the dear Headmaster decided to check their wands in case her acts were detected. She knew it was a time to further her connections; ones that she had already had since a young age from social gatherings, but it was an opportunity for her to be able to develop her own system of ‘little birds’ in able to gain the upper hand in all situations for the Black family. For so long, they had been hearing whispers of a certain Dark Lord beneath the shadows, one that sought for a new world — dominated by purebloods, and her father had commanded her to learn as much as she could.

HER TEETH HAVE GROWN INTO FANGS, SHE HAS BECOME A DEADLY DRAGON —

And do that, she certainly had. Within the first couple of years within Hogwarts, she had easily established her reign within Slytherin. They had come to fear, yet love such a creature as her; one that rewarded those who offered her information that came to be useful, punishing those who decided to irritate or disobey her commands. And through these connections did she ever learn about the Dark Lord Voldemort, one that she had been curious to uncover more details about ever since the rumours had begun. Utilising a proxy as an invitation to meet the man himself, Bellatrix found herself enamoured in a way she had never been before. Seduced by the promise of power and glory for her family; and the creation of a new world at her feet, she swore her fealty to Him, knowing that beneath his command that they would forge something beautiful.

This allegiance had suddenly changed the game for Bellatrix. She was suddenly thrust forth the ranks for the Dark Lord, as he came to see how useful she could be. With many connections forging throughout Hogwarts itself to offer new individuals in the ranks, power dripping at her fingertips and intelligence to match; she was a formidable match. And whilst others would have been jealous at the ease she had found in moving through the circles to reach the upper circle, to be placed as a Lieutenant by his side; her duelling and spell casting ability quickly disrupted their disagreements. Just like the students of Hogwarts, they came to fear and respect the young Black girl, one that had seemed to do the impossible. Yet there was just one problem that it seemed she could not remove. At the age of fourteen, Bellatrix had been betrothed to one certain Rodolphus Lestrange. Angered and irritated at the thought of being united in marriage to any individual, she had implored her Lord for any solution.

AND SHE ISN’T AFRAID TO BITE —

She had always been a faithful follower to her parents, and certainly to her Dark Lord, heeding every command. But Bellatrix couldn’t fathom nor imagine being married. And her Lord’s solution delighted Bellatrix, encouraging her to be an even more faithful servant, regardless of the consequences. With his promise to remove the impending marriage if she would help him deliver the world upon a platter, she easily agreed, knowing that this would be done within the impending next few years as their plans continued. The thought of marriage still agitates Bellatrix, and horrifies her. And if there is anything that can be done, she will do it in order to remove the betrothal. Yet one part of her is resigned to her fate, although she will never be a demure pureblooded bride like so many of her followers. She is the Lieutenant to her Dark Lord, and one of the most respected duellists in the Wizarding World. And they’re yet to see the full brunt of her capabilities.

WHAT ARE YOUR RELATIONSHIPS.

NARCISSA & ANDROMEDA: Sisters, wishes to protect. RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE: Betrothed, prefers to avoid. EMMA VANITY: Close friends since childhood. LUCIUS MALFOY: Former old flame. GRETA CATCHLOVE: Finds bemusing to torment.

[coledemort]

Broken Things (Bughead Fanfiction)

Notes: I would like to thank a number of people who have helped me along while I struggled to complete this fic: @strix - my wonderful beta; thank you Mila for sparing me some of your time and for editing this. Thank you for correcting misplaced punctuation, awkwardly placed words, and my grammatical errors. I cannot thank you enough! ❤️ I know I had a lot of mistakes, and thanks for putting up with me. You’re a gem! 💎; @elegantmoonchild - you were the one that pushed me to complete this when I was honestly so daunted by it, and I wanted to drop it entirely. You have the kindest and most encouraging words. I needed them at the time. Thank you! @paperlesscrown - Liz, thank you for pre-reading this, and for being so supportive of it! @livelovebughead for the aesthetic. 

SUMMARY:

When Jughead Jones was imprisoned in the juvenile detention center, he was bent on pushing Betty Cooper out of his life. This was the last draw that pushed Betty over the edge, and it took a toll on her mental state.

Disclaimer: I do not have rights over the characters, they belong to Riverdale and Archie Comics.

Trigger Warning: Depression, signs of PTSD, heavy angst ahead

Read story under the cut, or read on AO3 HERE.

Here is a place for broken things, and for things to be broken, where shards of glasses tickle on bleeding feet, wound after wound refusing to heal with every fresh insult to the little patches that are yet to break.

Betty Cooper stared directly at the ocean-blue eyes of the boy she was in love with through the thick, seemingly unbreakable glass. Slowly, she raised her hand flat against the surface of the glass, quietly urging it to break or disappear for she desperately wanted to touch his forlorn face as he sat on the other side of the god-forsaken barrier. She felt her heart break a million different ways in the split second that a tear escaped to his beautiful, dejected face. A permanent shadow cast on his profile, dark-rims encircled his perpetually tired eyes.

A moment passed where they just sat opposite each other, quiet; a thousand unspoken words pouring out of each other’s eyes. Both pleading with two very different reasons.

“Betty—” he croaked through the intercom, barely above whisper. “Please, don’t let me hold you back. You don’t have to keep coming here. Live your life, and be happy. You can even forget about me if—”

“Stop it, Jughead! Stop making these decisions for me. This is my life, and I’d decide whatever the hell I want with it,” Betty hadn’t meant to sound angry, but she was tired of this endless cycle: Jughead pushing her away — assuming that he knew what’s best for her — and she stubbornly clinging to the love they have for each other.

“Please, Jug. How many times are we going to keep pushing each other away?” she tried again, voice soft.

He averted his eyes, and Betty knew Jughead was struggling to keep up the stoic façade. He raised his eyes to bore a stare into her, and with a cold, steady voice, he said, “Until it sticks.”

“No,” she heard herself whisper to the intercom. And again, with more resolve: “No, no, no! Don’t do this to me, Jughead. I need you,” Betty whispered, feeling the tears escape from her eyes; stream after stream and she had no wish to stop them. She saw the effect they had on him, she saw the hesitation — she saw love and despair rolled into one.

“Betty, I want you to look at me and tell me that you are going to be okay. Because I can’t see you like this. I look at you, and see you crumbling to pieces right before my eyes. And I want to hold you, hold you tight until your broken pieces are all in the right places. But I can’t, Betty. I can’t. I am a goddamn mess, and I’m afraid that the more I hold on to you, you’ll just break apart and fall right through my fingers.”

Betty felt like she was drowning in the sea of despair, and she couldn’t tell him enough of her woes. She just looked at Jughead hard, and willed him to understand: “save me, save me. I beg of you, save me.”

She saw a shadow darken his eyes; he understood. Of course, he did, much like in the other times when nobody but him understood her.

“I wish I could give you more of me. I do. But I am not whole, Betty. I am a crumbling piece of shit who’s probably going to rot in this hellhole. I can’t put you through this,” he said while raising an arm gesturing to himself and then the tiny box of room that served as his confinement. “You’ve been through so much on your own, and I can’t add any more on your plate. You deserve better. You deserve so much more.”

Betty thought that the way this conversation had been going, he might as well have just impaled daggers to her heart, and that would still have been better.

She opened her mouth to say something, but a middle-aged man in pale-olive police uniform came out of the door from the far end of the sidewall, signaling them that the visiting hour is over. Jughead made an attempt to nod at the officer before he looked back at her again.

Betty felt panic rise from the pit of her stomach all the way to her throat, and she stood up quite suddenly, knocking down her chair as she frantically tapped the glass; weeping as she called out his name. But he couldn’t hear her. He stood up, eyes cast down as he turned his back to her. A silent shaking of his shoulders indicated that he, too, may be weeping. But she couldn’t confirm. Because from that moment, he didn’t cast a second glance back at her.

. . .

It was a particularly cold day in January when Betty climbed down the steps of the dilapidated one story building of the town’s juvenile detention center office. She looked at the high walls of the community, separating her from the inmates inside (minors that have committed some sort of illegal activity); high walls that separated her from Jughead Jones — quite literally and figuratively. She felt that familiar clenching in her chest, and the rush of air out of her lungs. She took a couple of deep, deliberate breaths, closing her eyes as she tried to calm herself.

She felt suffocated, almost like she was drowning; like being surrounded by water as she stood in the dark, deep waters and not moving at all. Betty has never known loneliness as profound and as encompassing.

It has already been a week since she last saw him. He told her to let him go then, but she found it hard to do as he had asked. The day after their last confrontation, Betty came back, only half-expecting him to meet her. It turned out that Jughead Jones remained true to his words. He refused to see her then, and the day after, and the day after that. Day after day, she came back, hoping that Jughead changed his mind, and that he would let her see him, but he never did.

His rejection the first time had shattered her heart. Betty went home and went directly to her room, not even hearing her mother, Alice, as she called after her. She curled on her knees, and let the steady stream of hot, anguished tears fall from her eyes, all the while convincing herself that it was going to be alright. That she and Jughead can walk their relationship back together. That night, she cried herself to sleep.

The second time, it left her a little bit hollow; and the void inside her had deepened each time, turning the sting of rejection a little more dull with every passing refusal.

So, today — on the seventh day, in the chilly twilight of the afternoon, just as she was about to set out on her now regular walk to the juvie, she caught a glance of herself in her vanity mirror. Betty stopped on her tracks, and looked hard at herself in the mirror. She found that she was faceless. She searched inside and found… an absence — a vast void of nothingness, a black hole devouring everything that fell within its orbit, until Betty herself became nothing. A hollow, hardened lump of nothingness.

Still, she trudged on. She was not about to give up. After all, she was Betty Cooper. Maybe, for Jughead Jones, the seventh time would be the charm.

At the end of the day, it was not.

Betty heaved another deep breath, as she reached the landing of the steps, snow tickling on the soles of her fleece-lined boots. She was always cold; and she found that she could not be covered enough to get warm, no matter how many layers of clothing she adds on. She started her walk home, and once in a while she noticed the barren trees lining the streets as she went. Everything was bare, empty, and covered in snow. She almost laughed wistfully at how similar she thought she felt.

. . .

It was that familiar feeling of free-falling; it went on and on until she thought she might not reach the bottom of it. But suddenly, without overture she was back on her feet and everywhere she looked there was fire. No one else was there, until she felt another presence. She turned, and she was looking at a pair of hauntingly menacing green eyes. His face was hooded, so Betty didn’t recognize who he was. He was pointing a gun at someone; not her, though — he was pointing at someone beside her. Slowly, she turned her head towards the direction to which the gun was pointing, and a gasp escaped her mouth as recognition finally settled in her. The hooded man was pointing a gun at Jughead Jones—

She woke up screaming, gathering the edge of her duvet to her chest, and she wailed and wailed uncontrollably. It was the same fucking nightmare everyday, for weeks now.

She thought she was done having these nightmares when the case about the Black Hood was put to rest. She was having them a few months ago, when the Black Hood was still on the loose, and she was constantly on the edge of jumping out of her skin because of the horrendous mental torture that he put her through. When the Black Hood was shot by Sheriff Keller, she thought that finally — she can have a peace of mind; that the world will be back to its pastel colors, and she can have late night shenanigans again with her friends at Pop’s.

The world did not go back to the way it was, however, and she did not go back to the way she used to be.

When Jughead refused to see her, she felt unmoored, untethered… she felt as though she was aimlessly drifting through a vast ocean and she didn’t know how or where to dock. He had become her anchor in the few months that they have been together. Maybe it was wrong of her to put that much dependence on another person, but it was such a natural thing to do, and so she did. It was fine at first, even when both of them were walking on different paths, she always had him to fall back to. Their relationship might not have always been smooth and happy — no, far from that; it went through countless of rough patches, it was marred with fractured communication and sheer fundamental differences — yet, they would always find a way to make things work. But now, he completely pushed her out of his life, and he refused to be part of her life. His love was the only thing keeping her together. Now, even that was taken away from her.

She was still clutching at her chest, rocking herself back and forth when she heard a familiar scuffling of feet coming from her parents’ bedroom. Any minute now, her mother would bang her door, run towards her, wrap her arms around her, and will start comforting her, whispering words like: it’s alright, baby, I got you. Sshhh… you’re fine, you’re alright. Everything’s okay. This is how it always goes down each night. It was like a routine, the same scene played round the clock like a broken record, always on the dot.

Her mother would continue to rock her, the effort is there — and Betty was thankful for it — but it didn’t help. After a few minutes, she would will herself to be reduced to quiet sobs, let her mother believe that she was calm until she would be tucked in bed. She would close her eyes, slow her breathing, and wait until her mother assume that she was asleep and leave her room. Except that Betty would not fall back into sleep. Falling back to sleep always terrified her, if it meant seeing the same nightmare. So, she would lay down awake, staring blankly at her ceiling until the early light of day becomes visible through the blinds of her window.

Her waking hours were no different. Her reality not better than her nightmares, really. Constantly, her thoughts were flooded with voices that clashed to drown each other out. It was never quiet.

That’s all she ever wanted really — quiet. But it never came to her.

Everyday, she would walk down their neighborhood and stop at the age-old playground, and sit by the swings. She would just sit there, staring at nothing in particular with her big, glassy eyes.

She would think of the snow, but the cold nipped at her resolve, she would dream of summer, but the heat consumed her now non-existent zeal. So, Betty would dream of the cold, dark ocean and imagine it swallowing her as she sinks underneath. In the arms of the ocean, she would find deliverance.

Betty had started avoiding her friends recently. She found that it took too much effort from her to even muster a smile for them. She hated seeing the looks on their faces: the infuriating pity and worry that never seem to leave their expressions whenever they see her. She hated when she sees them and everything seemed normal in their lives. It was as if nothing changed. She, on the other hand, she felt like she jumped on the other side of something she has yet to put her finger on.

It takes a lot of effort from her to even get dressed in the morning and follow the usual course of her day. It was just too tiring, and she was always, always exhausted. Living was getting too fucking exhausting.

And then it clicked — the realization finally collapsing on her like a tidal wave, and it terrified her.

She scrambled for her phone, and texted her mother, “Mom, can you pick me up? I think I need help.”

. . .

You are still and I am still, a mile and a lifetime away Fly to me where the ocean is real. I am no stranger to tragedy, but I know how good you are, I know how good you are.

Sometimes, it felt as if Jughead was talking to her through her memories; telling her to take care of herself, and to let go — to say goodbye.

She missed him. But more than anything, she realized that she missed herself. She desperately wanted things to be alright again. She wanted to feel. She wanted to be alive.

It was as if she has been asleep for so long, and she wanted to wake up — really wake up. She thought: each morning people get up, probably even before their alarm clocks start ringing, but life never truly begins until you yourself start to wake up consciously.

At last, she recognized that fact that something was wrong with (and in) her, and that she needed help. For weeks, her mother was suggesting she sought professional help. She was sick. She knew that now. Perhaps, even longer than she cared to admit.

She agreed at the suggestion of her parents that she be sent to a psychiatric institution in New York City — away from Riverdale, the town that held the ghosts that are haunting her. Far from the painful memories, far from the people she loved.

“Don’t worry, darling. Your dad and I will visit you every weekend,” her mother was telling her, cupping her face, as she folded some of her clothes in a medium-sized travel bag.

“Yeah…” she replied simply, for she could not think of anything else to say. She gave her mother a small smile, indicating that she appreciated it.

“You’ll be back here in no time. You just have to concentrate on getting better. I don’t wanna lose you, Betty” Alice said, ache in her voice evident.

Betty looked at her mother, and saw her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and her heart broke. She had been too lost in her own misery that she forgot that the people who loved her probably are hurting too.

She had to start her journey towards healing. She realized that she had to start walking the path where she falls back into her own self, independent of anyone else. She had to start living for herself. She had been too wound up with the idea of saving her town, protecting the people she loved — and it ultimately cost her her mind.

“Mom, can I go visit Jughead tomorrow? Before we leave for New York?” she saw how her mother hesitated, but there must be something in the way Betty uttered it that her mother only nodded in agreement.

She had to see him again, even for the last time. It had already been over a month since she last saw him.

They started the following day early. They were busy packing all her stuff to the family minivan, getting ready for the trip towards the city. Betty heaved a sigh as she took a long hard look at her house, a typical all-american house.

Everyone was gathered and huddled around her. Veronica, her best friend, was wrapped around the arms of Archie (her oldest, and other best friend), tears freely rolling down her face. She was telling her that she’d come running to her in New York to bug her, and that she will be awaiting her return. Betty almost laughed when she saw that Archie was softly sobbing too, her bulky log of a friend, was crying for her, and her heart melted at the affection these people have for her. She was loved. Kevin was also there giving her his biggest, and warmest bear hug, whispering, “I’ll keep tabs on all the gossip in town, and update you as soon as possible.” She almost rolled her eyes; instead she laughed and returned his bear hug.

Every single person she loved was there, everyone, except one. She tried to cast away the familiar ache in her chest at the thought of him.

Few minutes later, she was ascending the steps toward the juvie office, hoping that she be able to see Jughead.

He was already sitting on the other side of the great barrier as she slowly stepped into the visiting room. Something told her that he knew she was going away. Someone must have tipped him already, Archie most likely. She walked towards the intercom as if in a trance, and she couldn’t tear her eyes off of him.

She missed him. She missed him a lot.

He looked different — bones jutted out sharply on his face giving him a gaunt look that was not there as she remembered. The shadows under his eyes were more prominent than they used to (and they were already bad to begin with). He was more pallid and he looked thinner than he used to be. Still, he was the most beautiful human being she has ever beheld.

“Hey,” she muttered.

“Hey,” he replied.

For what seemed like an eternity, they just sat there looking at each other, drinking each other as if it was the last time that they will ever see each other. She wanted to hold him, be held in his arms… she wanted to press her lips to his, and feel warmth course through her veins the way his kisses used to make her feel; she wanted his touch all over her skin, and feel it burn alive the way it used to.

But she can’t — she can’t.

Instead, she said, “So, I am going away to New York, Jug.” I miss you

He took a moment before he replied, “Yeah, Archie told me,” she heard the pain in his voice, and she summoned every ounce of strength she had to not break down. After all, she was on her way to healing, she told herself.

As she allayed the forces inside her that seemed to be waging some sort of war in her chest, Jughead said, “I am so sorry, Betty” he said it with so much regret and tenderness, she totally lost it.

She let her tears tumble freely through her cheeks, and she sobbed uncontrollably. She saw him raise his hand flat against the surface of the glass separating them, as if he wanted to touch her — hold her.

“I’m sorry I am such a loser, a goddamn shipwreck. I was on a spiral, and I thought of how unfair life has been to me, and decided to just fuck it, and take the cards that life dealt me with. I was a fool, Betty. I know that now. I hope one day you can forgive me for all the hurt I put you through,” he said it tearfully, and she couldn’t bear it any longer.

She started to stand, but Jughead was quick to add, “I’ve been thinking — we could possibly live a hundred lives, but I wouldn’t know what to do with them. I realized, I’d rather have this one life, and make the best of it,” he paused to take a deep breath, and added, “I promise I am going to get better, be a better man. I have demons inside of me that I have allowed to roam freely for a time. But I know better now. When I get out of here, I’ll cut all my ties from the Serpents, and start over. If by then, you’ll still be willing to look at me, I’ll come for you, Betty. I’ll do everything to win you back.”

She searched his eyes and heard what he was not telling her. He loved her, that much was not changed. But everything else has changed.

“I am not the same person, Jug. I am broken. I still love you. But I have to start loving myself again. I have given so much of myself to you that I forgot to leave some for myself. When you pushed me away, you took a huge part of me with you, leaving me feeling like this hollow flesh, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I never want to feel that way again.”

He said nothing, so she added, “Maybe we should learn to live separately this time, you know. It could be good for both of us. Maybe we should learn how to become our own selves again, independent of each other. One day, if we really are meant to be together, we will find each other again. Hopefully, next time, as better persons than we are now. Because at this point, God knows we might just destroy each other.”

She heard a noise behind her, and saw her mother standing by the door behind signalling that it was time for her to go.

She touched the glass one last time, and said, “Goodbye, Juggie.”

Jughead gave her a small smile, tears streaming down his face, and with strained voice, he replied, “Goodbye, Betts.”

. . .

Betty spent two months in the psychiatric wards. She had been on a couple of medications, and had gone through various therapy sessions. It wasn’t always easy; there were times when she would close back in on herself, and be back to square one. But she went on. After two months of therapy, her doctors decided that she can continue her therapy on an outpatient basis, and just come for monthly consults, while taking her medications.

Two months in, and she’s feeling a lot better, a lot lighter, and more… herself.

If there was one thing she learned about healing, it was that it does not happen overnight, it was not a sudden retraction of curtains and pouring of light inside. It is a gradual, painstaking process. She has been keeping a journal since the start of her therapy to monitor her progression or regression.

On one entry she said: healing is gradual; a painstaking process that requires you to remain true to your goal. You have to want to heal. Otherwise, you will never get to it. And you have to want to do it for yourself, not for anyone else. One day, when you are not even thinking of it, you will realize that without fanfare, all the weight and darkness you’ve held inside are long out of your doors. You wouldn’t even know when it happened, you just feel light inside, and the world is not such a bad place to be after all.

She came back to Riverdale, feeling like a renewed person. The dark clouds that have been hovering over her a few months ago vanished, and she was feeling a lot chipper and upbeat, and actually look it.

The first place she visited when she arrived was Pop’s. She was greeted by the jovial owner of the diner, devoid of any judgment and she started to proceed to her usual booth.

However, she stopped on her tracks when she realized that someone was already sitting in the booth: a boy wearing a basquiat-crown beanie on his head, one stray forelock perpetually hanging over his eyes. He was wearing his old gray shirt, and a faded jean sherpa jacket over it. He looked the same, but somehow still different. He was looking up at her, mouth agape, as if he could not believe his eyes. She saw his laptop before him, and assumed he probably picked up on his writing again.

She approached the booth, and said with the brightest beam she could muster, “Hey!”

“Hey,” he muttered after a moment, his eyes sparkling.

We were there, as so many of our lives before us had been. We found each other, again and again. Two soul shards that would not let the other go. From when we were first life-forged and into our next billion lives, I knew. I knew it. We will always find each other.

Fin.

[reggieandveronica]

Some choice Reggie/Ronnie takes from 3x09/3x10 online reviews

[...] Which brings us back to the fact that, sad as it is for Varchie fans, this breakup is almost certainly for the best—not only for the characters but for Riverdale as a whole.

Of all Riverdale’s characters, Veronica has become one of the muddiest. Her conflicted relationship with Hiram, whom she still calls “Daddy” despite her various plots to undo all of his extremely evil plans, has gotten inconsistent to the point of being frustrating. Her relationship with Archie only confuses matters further and ties her to a character who for a long time has been dead weight. Also, stable, unbreakable relationships are boring! Hopefully, this shake-up is not like the short-lived Bughead break we saw last season; hopefully, this one actually sticks. Camila Mendes is one of the strongest members of the Riverdale cast, but she’s been sentenced to working with mediocre material for too long. Bring on a new ’ship!

Also, it’s worth noting: Reggie is a catch! Gone are the days of the Red Circle, when he was a terrifying member of Archie’s fascist gang who took things even further than Archie did. This season has given Reggie some stellar character rehabilitation by pairing him with Veronica running her basement lounge, La Bonne Nuit. They make a good team, and Reggie also looks good in formalwear—a prerequisite for any worthy Lodge suitor. Plus, at the end of Wednesday’s wild ride of an episode, he showed up at the hospital to comfort Veronica—with a bouquet and a balloon. Is he the smartest guy in the world? No. But then again, neither was Archie. We all have a type, and if Ronnie’s into ripped dummies, put us down as Team Reggie all the way.

- Vanity Fair

Veronica and Reggie Kiss

We saw this coming a mile away, and it’s not because Reggie looks so dapper in that tartan suit. Veronica is killing it in the speakeasy game now that she serves actual liquor. Reggie has become her boy Friday, and even runs the booze through the backwoods and across the border, Prohibition-style.

The two cut quite the figure, and it seems like their lifestyles are really lining up. I don’t think Archie’s Patagonia and flannel would go with her diamonds and couture. So… they kiss, and it’s a pretty big sign that Archie is in Ronnie’s rearview … except maybe not once he comes back from the dead.

- Culturess

Back in Eldercare, excuse me, Eldirvare, the quarantine has been lifted and school is back in session. La Bonne Nuit is thriving, thanks in large part to star attraction Josie, performing selections from Cabaret in Josephine Baker flapper glam. And yet Reggie’s beer runs across the border are interrupted by beatings at the hands of Gargoyle gang members. These ambushes are courtesy of Hiram Lodge, who’s demanded 10 percent of his daughter’s profits in exchange for so-called protection. Veronica agrees, but supplies him with a “well-cooked” version of the club’s books. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a badass?” Reggie asks Veronica, not unlike someone who would like very much to smooch her, sooner rather than later.

Veronica, too, is taking on new job responsibilities, Sally Bowles–ing “Maybe This Time” to entertain the La Bonne Nuit crowd in Josie’s absence. She makes eyes at Reggie from the stage, and he gives her what I am pretty sure is supposed to be a sensual thumbs-up in response. Soon enough, once the club has emptied, he tucks her hair behind an ear and, at long last, they make out. Varchie is in the past, my children. Veggie is our future.

- Vulture

The taste of her hunky bartender’s mouth still on her lips, Veronica could hardly be more shocked when Archie shows up unannounced at La Bonne Nuit. She’s happy! But she’s mad! Then they’re kissing! Back at school, Reggie flirtatiously approaches Veronica at her locker, going in for the canoodle, when whoops, no thank you. She can’t tell Archie what’s happened between them, she explains — it would hurt him. Reggie understands.

Archie dyes his hair back to red in time for a surprise welcome-home party at La Bonne Nuit, where Veronica serenades him in Spanish, which is sweet, and publicly addresses him as “lover,” which is upsetting. But it’s no use: Tortured with dark visions of Hiram, Archie storms out mid-song. Soon after, Archie comes to Reggie to ask him about “cheating,” but his sort-of girlfriend’s sort-of boyfriend woefully misinterprets his meaning. “She told you?” Reggie says. “You know it’s over, right?” Ruh-roh: Archie was talking about SATs.

Reggie, clutching flowers and an adorably idiotic baby-blue “It’s a Boy!” balloon, shows up at Hiram’s hotel room and wraps Veronica up in a big hug. That’s what 2019 should be all about, for all of us: trading your sad, hot dummy for a fun, hot dummy.

- Vulture

3) Veronica and Reggie is on.

Hell yes! Poor Reggie is almost beaten up by “the Gargoyle Gang” on two separate occasions while running shipments for Veronica, so he’s earned a little TLC—and honestly, the sexual tension between these two has been off the charts for weeks. After Veronica performs a killer rendition of "Maybe This Time" at the speakeasy, she and Reggie finally kiss, as Archie lies maybe-dying in a cabin hundreds of miles away. Sorry, Archie, but also not sorry because you abandoned Veronica and then made out with an evil farm girl in the very next episode, and also Reggie and Veronica make a pretty phenomenal power couple. My only qualm: Are we calling them Veggie?

- Harper's Bazaar

2) Veggie is dead, long live Veggie.

I was astonished, and not in a good way, when Veronica welcomed Archie right back with open arms. Reggie deserves better than this nonsense! And Reggie aside, Archie straight-up abandoned her with no warning and didn’t give her any say in what was happening, and the fact that he did it to escape her possibly murderous father is no excuse.

Anyway, Reggie is very calm and accepting when Veronica is like, “Sorry bro, Archie’s back so we’re done," and is more concerned about Archie’s wellbeing because he is too pure for this world. But once Archie starts acting strangely like the black-haired stranger he now is, Reggie’s sass comes out: “What if he’s not your Archiekins any more?” And as it turns out, he sure isn’t!

- Harper's Bazaar

*Veronica sings for some reason*

Uhm, ok? The song goes on as we see the buildup of Veronica and Reggie’s relationship now culminating in a kiss. For how snarky I am about Riverdale, they did a nice job of building the Veronica and Reggie couple. Their relationship has grown steadily through every episode of season 3. In a show that struggles with subtlety, the Veronica and Reggie relationship is a breath of fresh air because it has organically sprouted from fun side conversations and looks of pure joy for each other’s successes.

- The Nerd Stash

Veronica & Reggie Kiss

This relationship is a long time coming. Veronica Lodge (Camila Mendes) and Reggie Mantle (real-life Mendes boyfriend Charles Melton) have been acting as partners in all but romance since Riverdale season 3 began. With Varchie done and Reggie walking around the Bonne Nuit shirtless, a hookup couldn’t be far behind.

Veggie’s kiss comes towards the end of “No Exit,” when the pair has successfully bested Hiram for now. As we learn throughout the episode, it’s five weeks after the events of “Outbreak.” The quarantine was lifted, but Riverdale continues to lack its pep. That’s why Hiram and his hilariously-named Gargoyle Gang are still gouging small businesses like Ronnie’s Bonne Nuit.

Some jockeying between the two Lodges transpires, but Veronica realizes she doesn’t need to pay “protection” to her dad and his goons — she should pay the Serpent's for actual protection at a reasonable cost. Crisis averted. With business booming and Hiram foiled, Veronica and Reggie are feeling sexier than ever. The moment the Nuit clears out, these two crazy kids can’t keep their hands off of each other.

- Refinery29

The Varchie-Veggie Rivalry Begins (And Ends?)

Last week, Veggie certainly seemed like the future. Then, Archie returns to Riverdale in “The Stranger” and is knocking boots with Ronnie before the Riverdale title card even pops up.

After Archie and Ronnie’s speedy makeup session, Veronica tells Reggie (Charles Melton) whatever they had is over now that her Archiekins is back home. A key part of Ronnie’s strategy is making sure Archie doesn’t learn his girlfriend and his close friend had sex while he was dying in the forests of Canada. Reggie messes this strategy up within seconds, and accidentally spills the beans to Archie. Still, Varchie drags on when Archie forgives a tear-stricken and apologetic Veronica. They recognize their relationship is broken, but decide to have sex for what might be the last time. These two.

The next day, Varchie crumbles forever in the wake of Hiram’s shooting. Archie — who returned to Riverdale in the throws of PTSD and general rage — runs out of the SATs and promptly disappears. During that questionably MIA period, Hiram was shot. Veronica is forced to ask Archie if he committed the crime, proving once and for all these are two people who fundamentally can’t trust each other anymore. Archie storms out after “asking,” but really announcing, “It’s over.”

In between all of this Varchie drama, Reggie continues to check in on Veronica, even though he knows she picked Archie. That’s why the last time we see Veronica, she’s embracing Reggie, who shows up to the hospital with flowers and a very cute balloon. Veggie rises.

- Refinery29

So, back to Archie. Just as everyone figured after the obvious fake cliffhanger, Archie is not dead. Well, according to Jughead’s narration, the Archie we knew is. The dark-haired boy that returns to Riverdale in this episode is a completely different person, we’re told. He goes to see Veronica at her speakeasy and she’s so happy to see him, she starts taking his clothes off right there at the bar. Hope Reggie doesn’t walk in. Speaking of, he’s acting all boyfriendy towards Veronica the next day, and she tells him they have to stop. Archie’s back in town, after all. Reggie says it’s fine in the way that makes clear it is very much not fine. This is going to get messy!

Archie struggles to get back into his normal life at Riverdale. Despite having the protection of the serpents, and his dad threatening to kill Hiram if one hair on Archie’s head is harmed, Archie still has some serious PTSD from everything that’s happened this season. He can’t even properly enjoy Veronica’s welcome home party. As soon as she starts singing “Eres Tu,” he starts having flashbacks to his confrontations with Hiram and his dream of killing his old self. He abruptly leaves the speakeasy, which Reggie immediately notices. He tries to parlay it into getting back together with Veronica. “What if he’s not your Archie-kins anymore?” Real classy, dude. She can’t tell him what he wants to hear, leading Reggie to briefly confront Archie in the locker room. It doesn’t lead to anything, but the camera got the chance to linger on buff shirtless boys.

Archie does eventually find out what happened between Reggie and Veronica. He tries to ask Reggie about cheating on the SATs, as he’s very behind. Reggie immediately breaks at the mention of the word “cheating.” Real thick skin this guy has. Even with that, it looks for a moment like things will remain OK between them. They stay together that night, but all Archie’s problems are still there the next day. He has another flashback during the SATs and storms out of the room. Shortly after that, Hiram Lodge is shot. Veronica suspects Archie, and though he denies it, he’s hurt that she suspected him at all. He realizes she doesn’t trust him anymore, and that it’s truly over between them. Sad as I am to see this ship go, the show did need to change some things up as far as its main couples went. By the end of the episode, Reggie visits Veronica’s dad in the hospital and they end up together. I guess we’ll have to wait until next week to see if the drama continues at all.

- Geek.com

As for Veronica, she returns the egg to her father … in pieces. And it’s accompanied by a note that says: “New deal. No deal.” She then sings her heart out at her speakeasy until Reggie returns AND THEY KISS!! I, for one, am super into this couple. Sorry, Arch!

- EW

One relationship that’s not over? Reggie shows up to the hospital with flowers and Veronica hugs him. And I, for one, am so happy they didn’t just blow off Reggie and Veronica. THE CHEMISTRY IS REAL.

- EW

[rebelbyrdie]

An Almost SQ Fanfic

So this is a piece of writing.  It is unfinished and I don’t know what to do with it.  It was sort of a knee-jerk reaction to all the wedding hub-bub.  I don’t know if it’s any good, but I do love Jaime Murray, Lana Parrila and Bex Mader, so this happened.  It is long and under the cut.  SwanQueen.

Prologue

“How in Ozma’s name did  you get your socks off again, Little Bean?”  Zelena huffed and toted her daughter into Regina’s wreck of a room.  “I’m telling you her magic is manifesting in the form of her removing her clothes.”  Dresses were spread all over the bed, vanity and dresser.  Matching shoes were spread all over the room. “I hope it’s not a bad bit of foreshadowing.”  She looked around for her sister.  Regina, clad in panties, garters, and a bra, came out of the closet with yet another dress thrown over her arms.

“Auntie Regina has lost her pretty little mind.”  Zelena chuckled, “Let’s hope it isn’t genetic.”

Regina’s face was pale and in her undressed state Zelena could see exactly how much weight her dear sister had lost.  She could see the curve of her ribs and each notch of her spine.  She put up a good front, but without her clothes, makeup and the occasional bit of glamour magic, it was easy to see that she was sick.

Once upon a time, Regina would have happily chopped off her left hand (not something she personally recommended) before she’d let Zelena see her like this.  Now they were sisters, well sort of.  They were working towards being sisters, she supposed.  As the official elder sister, Zelena was officially worried, and not just about the closet explosion.

“This aversion to clothes must have skipped over Mommy.”

Regina dropped the dress, a deep purple sheath, on her bed and twisted her fingers.  Two small frilly white socks appeared on Robbie’s little feet.  Then she held out her arms and the infant flailed at her.  Zelena handed her over and Regina smiled for the first time in what seemed like weeks.  

“What do you think, Sweetie.  What should I wear?”

Robbie didn’t answer, of course, but she did grab at Regina’s dark hair.  

“Maybe you should go just like that.  It might finally bring Em-ma back to her senses.”

Regina sighed, “Zelena I really don’t feel up to this sister-sister-shtick.”

Zelena looked over the mess of dresses.  “Well I don’t really feel up to watching you have a nervous break down over what you’re going to wear to Emma and Hook’s god-awful nuptuials.”

She grabbed a black and white dress and held it out, “Give me my baby and make yourself yourself presentable.”  They exchanged armfuls, a baby for a dress.  “And don’t forget to take your pills.”

The cocktail of Excedrin, Benadryl and Anti-Nausea pills that Regina had been eating like skittles lately.  Zelena had none-too-subtly hinted that Regina should go to the doctor.  Apparently Regina still had a small grudge against Whale, though.  She had decided not to push it. Anything would trigger her sister’s migraines these days, and with all the problems they’d been having lately, everyone had to be in top shape.

Regina had ducked into her ensuite and came back out dressed and made up.  “Well look at that, Little Bean, she looks almost as good as us.”

Regina smiled weakly, “Please, I look great.”  The throbbing vein in her forehead told  Zelena that she didn’t feel half as good as she looked.  Still, they had a wedding to get to and since she had fifty dollars down on Regina being the one who would not be able to hold her peace, she wanted a good seat to watch.

Part I

It was a beautiful ceremony,but Regina always felt very out-of-place at weddings.  Even the ones she was actually invited to.  It was probably because her own had been more like a funeral.  Added to her displacement was the fact that she had a migraine, another one. It could be from stress or even from over-taxing her magic, or it could be an acute reaction to watching Emma Swan marrying a slimey misogynistic piece of pirate trash.  Not that she disapproved.  She was happy that Emma was happy.  They were friends and she was happy for her.  That was her story and she was sticking to it.  She forced a smile onto her face and focused on maintaining that facade.  It had worked well enough for her own wedding.

Henry stood beside her, stiff as a board.  He wasn’t a fan of Hook, either, but would never dream of standing in the way of his of his mother’s happiness.  Snow and David walked Emma down the aisle and Zelena, on Regina’s other side, leaned close, “This is my first wedding in this realm, is the dress supposed to be hideous?”  She planted a quick and sharp elbow into her darling sister’s ribs even if she did agree.  It just wasn’t Emma.

Of course Emma hadn’t been very Emma-like in a long time.  Regina sighed internally and brushed those thoughts aside.  She’d been over it in her head over and over again and it got her nowhere.  Obsessing over Emma Swan was not a healthy habit and she really needed to break it.  

Snow and David handed Emma over to Killian at the alter, glowing with huge smiles and tears in their eyes.  She couldn’t fathom how this could be a happy day for them.  Regina felt nothing but dread and fear, but she was projecting her own feelings, she knew that.  This was Emma’s day and she was going to be happy for her friend, even if it killed her.

The words, the same as every other wedding, her own included, started and everyone was quiet.  It was a picture perfect ceremony, which was why Regina was in no way surprised when a swirl of black smoke appeared at the door.

“Oh Dear, am I late?”

The sharp, oddly accented and cold as ice voice of the Black Fairy made every head turn.  People gasped and jump to their feet.

“Oh hell!”  Zelena hissed, “I can’t believe I got suckered into that betting pool.”

Regina summoned a fireball to each hand.  Not only had the damn Black Fairy arrived to cause trouble, she had stolen her signature wedding crash entrance.

The woman walked up the aisle in her flowing black gown, which Regina had to begrudgingly admit looked fantastic on her.

“Did I come in at the speak now part?  Because I am afraid that I can’t hold my peace.”

Hook stood, mouth agape, like a codfish.  Emma, pale and wan, just stared.  Snow’s jaw dropped open and David reached for a sword that wasn’t there.

“Because there is a reason that these two can’t be wed you know.”

Well, finally someone had said it.

The Black Fairy tilted her head to the side and her smile was predatory.  “It seems that one of them is already married.”

Everyone, almost in perfect sync, turned to look at Hook.  He was, after all, around two hundred years old and a pirate.

“That’s a bloody lie!  I’ve never married, not even Milah!”

The Black Fairy laughed, it was like shards of glass-sharp and broken.  “Not you, surprisingly enough.  No, I’m referring to your blushing bride.  She cannot marry you as she is married to another.”

Emma looked from the fairy, to Hook, and back again.  Her cheeks started to turn pink, the first color that had been there it was seemed like months.  

“Listen, Lady Cuckoo, here’s the thing.”  Emma shoved her bouquet into Killian’s arms.  “I think I would know if I was married.  There’s a ceremony, vows, partners who really like each other, and sometimes an Elvis impersonator.  Trust me, this is my first go round.”

“Is it?”

The Fairy walked forward, her movements eerily smooth and beautiful, it was like she was floating.

“A ceremony is only”  She pursed her lips, “a ritual on hallowed ground.”  She twitched her head so it was tilted to the other side, “and partner can mean many things.”  Her head twitched again, “but in this instance it is two people joining together into one force.”  She was close now, “And I’m not sure what an Elvis is, but I assume it is some sort of official, someone to bless the union.”  She was only inches away from Emma now, her long slender fingers plucked at Emma’s veil.  “All the pieces were there and I assure you, this binding is quite real and quite unbreakable. I believe the phrase is until death do you part?”

“Who?!”

Killian shoved the fairy away from Emma, frothing mad.  He whirled to look at Emma, “Who did you marry?!”  He grabbed her silk and lace clad shoulders, hand and hook.

“Oh shut up!  Both of you!”  Regina broke rank and stormed into the aisle.  “You!”  She looked at Hook, “Let go of her, she’s a woman, not a chew toy.”  She whirled around, “And you.”  She glared at the Black Fairy, fireballs blazing in her hands.  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, you Disney movie cast-off, but you’re not impressing anybody.”

The Black Fairy grinned, wide and toothy, “Wifey to the rescue.”

Regina was so shocked her fireball went out.

“What?”

The migraine that had been toying with her for hours burst to full and excruciating strength in Regina’s head.  It was like an atomic bomb in her skull.  She grit her teeth, forced her spine to stay straight and locked her knees.  She was the daughter of Cora Mills and she didn’t cower before anyone, especially not a fairy.  “You are out of your dust-sniffing mind.  First you target my sister and her child and now you’re spouting off wild lie about me.  This obsession is frankly disturbing me, and I used to be The Evil Queen.”

The crowd rumbled around them.  She glanced to the side.  Zelena stood at the ready, Henry and Robbie safely behind her.  

“Aren’t you a little bit curious, Regina-Dear?  The headaches, the upset stomach, the rashes and hives, sleepless night.  Did you really think it was just stress?”

“What?!”  Emma roared out,  “Regina?”

She didn’t turn to look at Emma.  She had to stay focused, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.  At least when I crashed a wedding, I did it with style and an actual point.  Now go.  Exactly no one is interested in your nonsense.”

Hook lunged at her, fist cocked back to punch.  The fairy held up a hand and she  froze him mid-air.

“And Emma.  You’re positively peakish, like you’re a ghost of your former self.  Haven’t you felt drained lately?  Like you’re pleasing everyone but yourself?  Dancing along to your parent’s tune.  Playing lovesies with one of the most disgusting people I’ve ever met.”

Emma stepped forward and tore off her veil.  “Go to Hell.”

“No, I heard it was positively dreadful.  Of course if you go through with this charade you’ll be going back or did you think death do us part was just poetry?”

Regina raised her chin, “More nonsense.”

The Black Fairy laughed, “Nonsense or Neverland, perhaps.”

Both she and Emma turned to look at each other.  So many things had happened on that island.  Regina was pretty damn sure that they hadn’t stopped by a wedding chapel.

“Neverland is hallowed ground, you know, concentrated magic, belief given form.  The only other witness is dead, but that does not invalidate the marriage.”

“I was there, Love.  My Swan did not marry anyone, especially not the Evil Queen.  She kissed me.”

Neverland.  When she and Emma had combined their magic to blot out the moon.  A ritual on hallowed ground and joining of selves.

“That can’t be right.”

Astrid, brave little soul that she was, stepped up, “For that sort of ceremony to work there would have to be an engagement, a stone to hold the promise.  There would have to be gifts and a witness and a fairy to bless-”

The Black Fairy flew over to Astrid, her eyes wide and black with fury.  “Am I not a fairy?  I blessed the union and there was a witness, he just happens to be dead now.”  

She chuckled, “Just as at least one of you will be if you say I do.  Possibly both. It’s really a toss up.”

Oh no.  No no no.

The trigger-their stone to hold a promise.

The gift - good memories.

Regina’s heartbeat trippled and her stomach churned up acid.  She could smell copper and taste bile.  It couldn’t be true.  It really couldn’t.  She knew she had to be strong, to fight, to banish the woman who was ruining Emma’s day.  She couldn’t though.  The pain, the fatigue, the emotional roller coaster, it was all too much.

“Gina?”  Zelena ran forward and  grabbed one of her arms as she started to slide to the ground.

“Mom?”  Henry dropped his book and darted forward to grab her other. Neither of them were able to stop her from falling, but they did ease her down.

Things were hazy, the world was wavering and wobbling before her eyes.  Voices were distorted, as if she were underwater.  Still she could hear two things.

Emma screaming her name and The Black Fairy’s laugh.

“That’s right, Emma, go take care of your wife.”