#((the guards will let some people in without romeo saying anything but that's a slim list that mostly consists of ritsu the pc and taiga))

[ficoandleo]

*A small black and white cat appeared at Romeos' door*

Gaurd: Fico, there is a cat here. It dosent seem to be carrying anything. What should we do?

@morgan-squad

It's not like the cats--strays and. . .less than strays includes--don't sometimes come into the casino, but usually they avoid it. Even if Taiga tries not to eat the campus cats they know he eats anomalies and they spread the word. They rarely have anything delivered to them by the cats unless it's very important.

He'd seen the black and white cat on the EITS and had to make sure it wasn't his the black and white cat he was used to popping into Sinostra somehow stripped of the dress he'd made her--but Lucy were rarely on all fours and the patterns didn't match Lucia's. It wasn't running from anything so it wasn't in danger.

". . .just leave it. It'll move on on its own." It was the VIP room for a reason--if they didn't have business Romeo didn't just let anyone in. That included the campus cats. Although something about it irked him and he kept glancing at Morgan on the camera. The EITS could see anomalies that ordinary cameras couldn't but Morgan wasn't invisible in any way, just disguised, and it offered him no clarification on that front.

[lyssismagical]

Did my heart love till now? For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night

Parkner Week Day Four: “I will pepper in the fact that I am gay.” / coming out / first date

Peter slips out onto the fire escape, desperate to escape his obnoxious roommates for even a minute.

The city is dark and quiet, despite it only being eleven. Peter’s surprised, considering it’s New York, but the borough they live in is different than Queens or Manhattan ever was.

Harry and Gwen’s bickering follows him out onto the fire escape, so he shuts the window behind him, muffling their voices. They fight a lot. He knows they mean well, they love each other deep down, but they’ve both got big personalities, lots of opinions, and they’re both too stubborn to step down from a fight. Peter’s been appointed as the peacemaker of the group, but even then, there’s only so much he can do. It’s easier somedays to leave them to fight for a little while, get it out of their system, than to try to get them to reconcile.

It doesn’t help that they’re all struggling college students, desperately trying to make a name for themselves in a big city like New York. Harry wants to be a director or maybe join the fashion scene if he can, Gwen wants to make it as an actress, and Peter’s dream is to get on Broadway. They’re all nineteen, though, barely scraping by at NYU or AMDA, trying to pay rent with their minimum wage jobs as waiters.

It isn’t particularly easy, but when has anything ever been easy?

Just because the chances are slim and there will be a lot of struggle, doesn’t mean any of them are willing to give up on their dreams. They’re all prepared for the hardships as long as they have each other.

“What light through yonder window breaks?” A voice calls out from the street below where Peter’s feet dangle. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green and none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love!”

Peter hasn’t read Romeo and Juliet since he was in high school, but he’d know those lines anywhere.

He can’t see whoever is quoting Shakespeare up to him, too many shadows cast in the street, but the voice is deep with a southern drawl, projecting easily up to where Peter is.

“O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, ‘tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, od entreat her eyes to twinkle in their sphere till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”

“Do you just have it all memorized?” Peter calls out, knowing it’s meant to be his line. He can’t help the smile as the mysterious Romeo laughs from the streets below.

His voice is softer as he speaks without lines. “I played Romeo for three weeks worth of performances last year. I saw you sitting up there, and couldn’t help myself.”

Peter frowns, thinking back to last year. At AMDA, he auditioned for Romeo, but he ended up playing a background character with a single line instead. He was told it was because he was only a freshman, but it was a pretty big hit to his ego. He can’t remember who actually got the role of Romeo though.

“I don’t suppose you quote Shakespeare to just every sad looking person sitting on their fire escapes?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Romeo says. “You go to AMDA, don’t you? I think I remember seeing you around… You don’t happen to work at that diner on 64th street, do you?”

Peter laughs. “I don’t know how you know that, but yeah, I do. I’m a sophomore at AMDA, double majoring in musical theatre and performing arts. And spending nights at that diner to pay rent.”

“Me and my friend get dinner there all the time. I remember you because Cassie kept pointing you out as one of the greatest dancers in one of her classes.”

The blush that creeps up Peter’s neck makes him feel warm all the way to the core. He’s been working really hard in his dance classes to get where he is now, it’s nice to get that kind of recognition. “That’s very nice of her.”

“I was pointing you out because you happen to be one of the prettiest people I’ve ever seen,” Romeo adds on. “And you have a lovely voice.”

Peter tries to summon any piece of confidence he can, but comes up mostly empty. “Would you mind stepping out of the shadows, so I can compliment you too?”

Romeo laughs again sweetly, and then he’s stepping out from where he’d been leaning against a building across the street. He walks to the middle of the deserted street until he’s properly under the light of the one of the streetlamps.

“O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air,” he says.

Romeo is gorgeous and Peter remembers him too. Harley Keener, a Junior at AMDA, in the same musical theatre program as Peter. Harley’s wearing a pair of tight jeans and a flannel, blond curls bouncy and messy, blue eyes wide and sparkling, hands lifted towards Peter as he recites his lines with so much passion and truth.

“You’re calling me and angel? When you look like you do?” Peter blurts. He can hear Gwen’s muffled voice rising behind him and knows he doesn’t have much more time until they finish their argument and come looking for him. “You were brilliant as Romeo, too. I played one of the guards, but I watched your performance every night.”

Harley smiles, showing off his adorable dimples. “I would’ve loved it if you could’ve played opposite me, though. I think you would’ve made an amazing Juliet.”

“I think the world would’ve rioted if they saw a guy playing Juliet. I think Shakespeare would’ve risen from the dead just to have a heart attack.”

Peter can barely stop grinning at the not-so-subtle hints that Harley’s into guys too.

“We’d make a pretty amazing duo, though, don’t you think?”

“My ears have no yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?” Peter calls out, putting on his best Juliet voice.

Harley laughs brightly. “You skipped a few lines, but I’ll let it slide if you come down here.”

“If they do see thee, they will murder thee.”

“Is that a no? O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

Peter shakes his head, already pulling himself up to his feet. “I’ll be down in five, Harley. You want to get coffee?”

“I’d love to get coffee.”

Grinning, Peter pries open the window and slips back into his apartment where Gwen and Harry seem to have finally gone quiet.

He changes into a nicer outfit quickly, nearly face-planting in his haste to tug his jeans on, and then he skips into the living room to say goodbye to his friends.

“You have plans?” Harry says when he sees Peter. “I thought you were staying in tonight?”

“I met somebody!” Peter practically squeals, bouncing on his toes. He can barely contain his excitement. He hasn’t dated anybody since high school, spending college focused on his career and education, but he’s not about to turn somebody like Harley down.

Gwen lifts an eyebrow. “You met somebody… on the fire escape?”

“We may or may not have been quoting Romeo and Juliet… We’re getting coffee. I’ll catch you both up when I get back, okay?”

Just as Peter’s about to turn away, Harry grabs his arm. “Wait, who was it? Do we know them?”

Peter, blushing furiously and so giddy like he’s a lovesick teenager, says, “Harley Keener. He played Romeo last year, remember?”

Both their jaws drop in shock, eyes wide. They remember him, for sure. It’s hard not to remember somebody like Harley.

Peter doesn’t bother sticking around any longer, racing out the front door to get down to Harley.

Apparently, Harley knows a nice coffee place that’s open at the late hours of night, so he leads the way, bumping shoulders, teasing each other, and making small talk mostly about their friends and school.

“I don’t know if this is too forward,” Harley says when they make it to the coffeeshop. “But I just wanna know if you’re into guys or not. I’m gay… If this is totally platonic, that’s cool too, I just want to know.”

Peter grins, unable to help himself. “I’m bi, so… I thought we were being pretty obvious how we felt by saying we should be two of the most famous star-crossed lovers there are.”

Harley laughs, leading Peter to the counter to give their orders. “I suppose… So, this would be a date?”

“I was kind of hoping so, yeah. If that’s okay?”

“It’s perfect, yeah.”

Harley pays, if only because Peter managed to forget his wallet in his haste to get out of his apartment, and then they start walking back to Peter’s apartment.

Harley talks about how he’s from a small town in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, how he always dreamed of making it on Broadway like Peter, how scared he was submitting an application to AMDA, how much everything changed when he got accepted. He talks about his family, his mom and little sister back home, how proud they are of everything he does, how he’s going to work so much harder for them. He talks about his experience in New York, how different it is compared to Rose Hill, how much excitement there is, how fast it moves and how full it is.

It’s strange to hear about New York from an outsiders perspective. Peter’s only left New York twice. Both times for Academic Decathlon which took him to DC and to Toronto.

In turn, Peter talks about May, how much he loves her, how much she’s supported all of his decisions. He doesn’t say much about Ben or his parents, but he says enough that Harley links their free hands together and squeezes comfortingly. He talks about Harry and Gwen, about school and his job, how much stress has been piled on his shoulders by everyone wanting him to choose a more possible dream. How he refuses to give up on his Broadway dreams.

They make it back to his apartment all too soon, hands still linked, noses and cheeks red from the cold.

“This was really nice,” Peter murmurs. “I would invite you up to my place, but I have two roommates who are crazy obnoxious and loud and a lot. I’d really like to do this again, though.”

“Me too. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now, I didn’t think it would be like that. Quoting Shakespeare isn’t the greatest pickup line.”

Peter shrugs, tugging Harley a little closer. “It worked.”

“Is there anyway I could get your number?”

“I’ll give it to you in exchange for something,” Peter bargains, smiling dopily.

“And what’s that?”

“Kiss me?”

Harley doesn’t waste a second, pressing their mouths together and backing Peter into the brick wall of his apartment building, free hand grabbing Peter’s waist while trying not to spill his coffee. Peter wraps his arms around Harley’s neck and shoulders, smiling into the kiss.

Eventually, they do have to pull away, both of them grinning at each other and they let out twin breathless laughs.

Harley fishes a pen out of his bag, presenting it and his forearm to Peter.

He jots down his number with a little heart, trying not to think too much about the wiry muscle in his forearm and how much he really wants to see Harley’s biceps too. He leans up to kiss Harley once more before he pushes open the door to his building.

“I’ll see you around?”

“Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed  @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay 

[the-pug-addict]

Sfw alphabet for Dracula please 😍

A- affection

Contrary to being a terrifying monster of legend, Drac is a giant ball of affection towards the one he loves. He’ll greet you lovingly, call you “darling,” and hold you tenderly whenever he desires. Of course, he’s going to show far more affection when the two of you are alone than around his vampire peers (simply because he’s feeling more pissy/serious when the subjects are around).

B- body type

TALL TREE. It’s now official that he’s 7 feet tall.

Big hunky teddy bear. Athletic build with broad shoulders, but not too muscular.

C- cuddle

Cuddles abound whenever you desire. When the day is coming to an end and he needs some quality time with you, he will pull you close to him, holding you tight as his form nearly swallows you. His favorite cuddling spots are a couch in the library by the fire, or on the bed.

D- domestic life

Spouse or not, Drac will spoil you like one. The one he loves will get breakfasts in bed every morning while he’s away tending to matters. Supper will always be spent together in the dining hall with the two of you sitting close. Plenty of servants will also be available to tend to your needs while Dracula is away.

You two might have different sleeping schedules, depending on whether you’re human or vampire, but evenings will always be spent together.

E- erogenous

Dracula’s weakest areas are his chin and his ears. They’re so sensitive to touch that shivers go down his spine whenever there’s so much as a light caress to these. Touch them, and he’s almost under a spell. Passion will quickly follow.

F- fiance

Let’s face it. Dracula is so impressed with love that you’re almost automatically married to him if he falls in love with you.

G- gentle

The most powerful vampire in the world part-time; most gentle giant in the world full-time. He’ll treat his love like a delicate flower. Even accidentally bumping into them will cause him to feel heavy remorse. It won’t matter if they’re a tough cookie, either.

H- hugs

Dracula doesn’t hug very often. Actually, before you came into his life, he never had hugs in… 400 years? The first time you hug him, he’ll be caught off guard. But after a moment of realizing what you’re doing, he’ll bow his head and envelop you in his arms slowly.

He’ll never want to let go.

I- i love you

Once in love, he becomes the King of saying I Love You. He’ll say it every way, every day. You’ll get verbal “I love you”’s at least ten times daily. He’ll say it to you through little actions. He’ll show it to you in his kisses. 24/7, he’s going to make damn sure you’re getting the message always.

J- jealousy

VERY, VERY JEALOUS. A side eye at any man/woman who looks at you. Gets pissy when said people try to flirt with you. As long as you’re faithful to him, however, he’ll try his best to be respectful of you, but not without grumbling heavy criticism about the other man/woman when the two of you are alone.

K- kisses

Dracula can give kisses that would put Romeo to shame. A deep, passionate kisser, he’ll either hold your chin or embrace you tightly as he locks his lips with yours. Surprisingly, his lips are warm. A beautiful, gentle suck when he pulls away, too.

L- little one

Must I explain this one? Just take a look at the end of S2E7 sorry if I triggered any tears. Give Drac a kid, and life is fucking beautiful.

M- mother in law

To be honest, there’s a slim chance of any relationship between Dracula and your mom, unless she’s alright with her son/daughter being married to the ultimate King of Vampires. But hey, on the off-chance that she’s cool with it, and if she’s loving and respectful of Dracula, then he’s probably going to like her, too (once he gets past his bias on other humans).

O- openness

Only for you, Dracula is ever open. It’s with the one he loves when he’s the most vulnerable of all. The dark-lord image melts away, his walls fall, and he can feel and speak like a true being around you.  Even sadness and tears will be visible for you to see and to care for. You’re his emotional support, 100%– one of the many reasons why he loves you.

P- patience

This is something he needs when warming up to humans, seeing that he doesn’t trust them in the slightest. Be good to him, let others be good to him, and give him some time. Once he sees that you aren’t a bad person, he’ll become amazed and lower his guard. That’s when things will begin to pick up speed.

Q- quote

“My love shall wane for you, my dear. Not until the sun ceases rising and setting, and not until all the stars grow cold.”

R- remember

Dracula has the sharpest memory and can recall anything that’s happened on a given day. For that reason, he’s going to remember everything that involves you– the day you two met, the way your voice trembled, the day you became friends, your first kiss…

A bonus, since he’ll never forget your anniversary.

S- security

He’s the world’s #1 guardian boyfriend. Not only is he one of the strongest vampires in existence, he’s also hellbent on protecting you with his life. He’ll keep you guarded within his halls, and not a creature is to lay a finger on you. He’ll always want to know your whereabouts so that he can come to your aid in case of emergencies. Nothing shall harm you. Ever.

T- together

Quality time is spent together almost anywhere in or near the castle. His favorite spots are in the garden, the library, or a trail in the woods. He particularly enjoys long walks in which the two of you can engage in thoughtful, deep conversations. Evening is probably the best time of day for quality time, since the two of you are both awake during that period.

U- unique

He’s the King of Vampires, dude. What more do you want?

V- vanity

He’s not exactly vain, but he’ll want to make sure that his appearance his sharp so that others take him seriously.

Great confidence in himself, which is healthier than vanity.

W- wedding

The wedding wouldn’t be as massive as one would expect for a royal monarch. In fact, it might just be the two of you, plus maybe a friend or two to witness. Though the wedding is small, it is no less intimate, and perhaps a little more heartfelt than an average wedding. He’ll almost cry when he says his vows, because he means every word. He’s so blessed to finally make you part of his life.

X- xenial

Not exactly the most hospitable type. He could be taught some manners. He doesn’t take anyone’s coat or offer them anything to drink.

However, if a friend of yours visits, then he’ll muster some respect and treat them like an honorable guest. However, he’s going to need some guidance from you.

Y- yawn

Dracula doesn’t get bored very easily. The only time he does is when someone tells him something he already knows. This is a man who likes to constantly learn– about others, about the world, about life, etc. He gathers information in every conversation. And if it’s his love, then he’s never going to get bored.

Z- zany

Dracula doesn’t really have a goofy sense of humor, though he loves jokes.

Sometimes he turns into the joke itself when he doesn’t get something, or he does something silly by accident. You giggle, and he just sits there confused.

[queenofchildren]

Through the dark side of the morning

I got impatient waiting for the new episode, so I wrote a thing. It features poor bean Benvolio and Rosaline having a slow change of heart a little after their wedding and angsty fluff and slowly coming to understand each other. 

[also on ao3]

Who's gonna walk you through the dark side of the morning?

Who's gonna rock you when the sun won't let you sleep?

Her husband was sneaking out again.

Rosaline heard the sound of his boots on the stairs, recognizable by the little spring in his step despite the heavy spurred boots, then a few murmured words to the guard at the door, and then the  door of their new home, a modest Palazzo near the river, creaked open to allow him out into the night.

For three weeks, Rosaline had been married to Benvolio of House Montague. And for three weeks, every night without fail, he had snuck out of the house. She would have suspected a sweetheart somewhere, a lover that had been torn from him in Escalus' peace-making scheme. But the servants brought back only reports of him spending his time at the taverns around Via Frata, where he used to head for a night of revelry with his friends all too often before their deaths.

In truth, she did not care either way – was glad to have him out of the house, in fact, where grief and resentment seemed to poison the air around them whenever they were forced to spend time together. They kept up the facade of a reasonably content couple for the sake of their servants, many of whom were no doubt being paid to report back on their every move to either of their houses. They had lunch or supper in the garden together when Benvolio wasn't called away for some duty or other, and dined together in the evening when they were not invited to some social gathering. They even slept in the same bed, though they hardly spent any shared time in there in any case. Rosaline usually went to bed early, for lack of anything to occupy her time now that she suddenly found herself mistress instead of serving girl, and by the time Benvolio returned from his exploits near dawn, reeking of wine, she was almost ready to get up again, still used to early mornings and enjoying the peace and quiet they brought.

But it was precisely the fact that they put so much effort into appearing a successful match that made it so irritating to see her husband pursue his own pleasure so shamelessly. What was the point of making stilted conversation at the dinner table and putting up with his snoring when all the servants talked about were his nightly adventures away from the marriage bed?

No, Rosaline decided, she was going to put a stop to this. She hadn't abandoned her dream of retreating to a nunnery and living a life of her own choosing to wed this... toad, only for him to continue in his debauched ways as if nothing at all had changed.

She'd go after him and drag him back home by his ears like an unruly child if necessary – but she'd have to be careful about it. Their marriage may have forged a temporary peace between Verona's warring families, but it was a fragile one, and one which too many people were dissatisfied with. Quickly, Rosaline dug out her old, modest servant's dress from the bottom of her trunk and put it on in exchange for her much grander evening gown. Over it, she put on a dark brown cape, pulling its hood over her hair, then walked over to the bedroom door to peer out through the keyhole.

Unlike her husband, Rosaline had spent enough time at home to know what the staff were up to, and had learned that the guard tended to get a little drowsy around this time of night, at which point he would head to the kitchen to talk the cook into indulging him with a luxurious cup of caffè, an invigorating brew the merchants of Verona had recently started to import from Venice.

As soon as the guard set off for his refreshment, she slipped quietly down the stairs and out the door, momentarily reminded of the many times she had snuck out of her parents' house years ago - though it had been to see a different man for different reasons back then, and it had been excitement making her blood race rather than anger.

But there was no use in such thoughts, she told herself, focusing instead on the street before her. Concealed by the wide sleeve of her cloak, she clutched a slim dagger - not much of a weapon, but better than nothing. Ever since her close encounter with a blood-thirsty ruffian in the street, she had taken to carrying the weapon with her, usually concealed in the folds of her dress. She had received unexpected help from her now-husband on that bloody day, but she would not allow herself to count on his protection in the future, even if she was now legally entitled to it.

But though her hand trembled around the dagger and she flinched every time she heard approaching footsteps, the trip was a quiet one, and soon Rosaline was making her way door to door down the few particularly infamous streets of the city, peering into taverns and brothels for a glimpse of her missing husband.

He would be easy enough to find, she expected, no doubt surrounded by a crowd of people, holding court and boasting of his heroic deeds, with an adoring woman on his lap perhaps. But to her surprise, he was alone, and her searching gaze almost passed over him before doubling back.

Tucked in the darkest corner of a particularly seedy establishment, Benvolio was peering forlornly into a half-empty, lead-rimmed glass beaker of rich red wine, looking for all the world as if he was trying to disappear into the dirty wall behind him.

And then she took a few steps closer and saw something that made her stop in her tracks as realisation dawned on her: Benvolio was not making merry, not carousing or whoring around.

He was grieving.

Half-slumped across a filthy table, he was staring emptily ahead through glazed, heavy-lidded eyes. One hand was clutching a thick glass beaker tight enough to make her fear that the glass, sturdy though it was, would crack and burst under his grip any second, but apart from that, he seemed completely devoid of any trace of the youthful vigor with which he had carried himself just a few scant weeks ago.

He looked tired, lost, and terribly, terribly alone.

And, she realized in that moment, he truly was.

Lord Montague had never seemed a particularly kind man, and she wondered how much of Benvolio's growing up with Romeo's family had been because his uncle genuinely cared for his happiness, and how much of it had to do with the usefulness of having a spare heir around in case any harm should come to the intended one. Benvolio's presence here, tonight and too many nights before, suggested that returning to his childhood home in these hours of grief was either not an option, or not one he expected to find comfort in.

So, where Rosaline had, just this very afternoon, had a visit from her sister to weave a new wreath of flowers for Juliet's grave and exchange stories of their cousin's youthful misadventures, Benvolio had had nothing to sustaing him but the company of strangers and the comfort of strong, cheap wine.

For one instinctive moment, Rosaline wanted to close her eyes and harden her heart against this display of vulnerability, as she had learned to do over the years. He was, after all, a member of the family who had taken her father's and, indirectly, her mother's life. Should not that be alone for him to deserve every morsel of pain and regret now showing so clearly on his face?

But, with shame washing over her, she became aware of how callous such thinking was, how hard-hearted. Benvolio was not his family, and for all that they had hurt her, he never had. He had, in his own way, tried to prevent the tragedy of Juliet's and Romeo's deaths, and if he was to blame for them, so was she. He did not deserve to suffer like this.

Before the thought was even fully formed in her head, she was moving again, weaving through the crowd of revelers to his table – only to find herself blocked at the last moment by a large, bull-necked man wearing the crest of House Capulet and clutching a sword in hand.

He was not, of course, blocking her specifically but rather, had simply beaten her to her target – with the clear intention of making it his target as well.

“What have we here? A Montague dog!”

From what little she could see around the man's broad back, Benvolio did not react with much more than a soft grunt, although that did not deter the man.

“You dare to show your face in this city, after all your family has done?”

Now, unfortunately, Benvolio did choose to answer, although Rosaline would have much preferred it if he had continued in his near-stupefied silence.

“I'll have you know, I single-handedly brought peace to this fine and noble city. Married a shrieking harpy to do it too,“ he squinted up at the family crest emblazoned on the other man's doublet. “One of yours, I think, which I dare say makes me doubly punished.“

Despite this flippantly insulting description, a part of Rosaline was reluctantly amused by the statement – there was something to be said for seeing the grotesque humour in their situation, she had to admit.

Unfortunately, the man still standing between her and her half-drowned fool of a husband was not so amused.

"I will gut you like a pig, Montague."

He seemed intent on making good on that threat, for all the good it did at spurring Benvolio into action – her inebriated husband only shrugged, and made no move whatsoever to even arm himself against the looming attack.

Clearly, if anyone was going to defend him, it would have to be her. Steeling herself, Rosaline tapped the man on the shoulder, hard enough to make him whirl around.

“There will be no need for gutting. The harpy in question can defend her own house.“

For a moment, the man seemed flabbergasted, before he seemed to recognize her.

“Miss Ro... Lady Rosaline!“ Then realising that he was essentially being sent away from a clearly anticipated fight, he began to defend himself. “This man was insulting your honour. Allow me to teach him a lesson.“

"And where would be your honour in that? He's so drunk he can barely stand. You might just as well fight me."

The man seemed unsure what to reply to that, but was apparently still in need of some convincing. Placing a light, placating hand on his arm, Rosalone leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.  

"Take a word of advice from me, good sir. This man, whom you are so eager to teach a lesson, is  the current heir of House Montague. Prince Escalus places high hopes on him to keep this city at peace, and would not be happy to learn of his death - at the hands of a Capulet, no less, who have sworn to keep the peace with their old enemy. When I say leave him be and continue on your way, it is not him I'm doing the favour. It's you."

And while the man still contemplated this, clearly not one of the fastest thinkers among the fighters sworn to her house, Rosaline quickly slipped past him, bent down by Benvolio's side, and slung his arm over her shoulder to heave him up.

He was heavy, despite having shed his padded leather jacket, and for a moment, she swayed on her feet.

Then Benvolio seemed to muster what little strength he had left in him to at least try and keep himself upright, and together, they managed to lurch out of the tavern, with only a quick stop to throw some coins down at the counter - "for his tab, and your discretion", as Rosaline pointed out to the barmaid, though she doubted the latter would be covered by the amount of silver she left behind, generous though it was.

She dragged him as far as she could, not wanting them to stay out here any longer than absolutely necessary while he was in this helpless state. But eventually, on a thankfully deserted little piazza near their home, her legs threatened to give out, and Rosaline decided she could allow them a short respite. She was tempted to simply drop her burden like a sack of flour, a fitting punishment for his excessive drinking, but pity won out and she gently lowered him on the steps of a nearby fountain, arms burning with the strain of it.

"I guess you can add 'drunkard' to your list of my faults," he slurred, not managing to keep an edge of bitterness out of his voice.

Hunched against the stone base of the fountain, his face grey in the dim moonlight, Benvolio was truly a pitiable sight. But stronger even than this current impression was the memory of how he had looked earlier, when she had first laid eyes on him at the tavern: how hopeless, and how utterly alone.

"I'll do no such thing," she replied and sat down next to him. "But I might have to add 'heartless' to the list of mine."

He indicated his surprise with a little jerk of his head, perhaps too exhausted to do much else, and she elaborated: "You lost the two people nearest and dearest to you in the world, and I left you alone with that loss. For that, I am sorry."

It was strange: she had imagined that it would be excruciating, impossible even, to say those words to him, to anyone bearing his family name  - but it wasn't. The words did not come out easily, no, but come out they did, even if Benvolio did not seem to appreciate how much it had cost her to say them.

Instead, he merely stared at her silently for a long moment, face expressionless, eyes still a little clouded.

Then he scrambled to his feet, turned around, and dunked his head in the fountain behind them.

Startled, Rosaline climbed to her feet to watch with increasing worry as he held his head under water, air slowly bubbling out of his lungs. Only when she was contemplating pulling him out of there herself did he come up for air, gasping and sputtering.

“Are you mad?”

“I was afraid I am, for a moment. Surely you did not apologize to me?”

Now it was her turn to stare wordlessly. All these theatrics, to poke fun at her for overcoming her pride? Clearly, he was doing better, and could fend for himself for the rest of the trip.

She huffed and set off down the road once more, confident that they'd both make it the short remaining trip to their house.

Within a few steps, he had caught up to her, though still so unsteady on his feet that he needed to catch himself on her shoulder.

“Ah, don't be like that, sweet wife. I only jest to soften your anger.” He looked at her for several lurching steps, studying her profile intently. “You are angry, are you not? Why else would you come after me like this?”

“I am angry, yes. Or at least, I was. But perhaps...” she hesitated. If she revealed her moment of weakness, of compassion only to be laughed at once more, she would personally push him back into that fountain. “Perhaps I was too harsh with you.”

They had reached the gate to their estate in this moment, preventing him from joking about her once more. But perhaps it wasn't just the creaking of the gate that kept him from replying – perhaps he was mulling the words over, as stunned by hearing them as she was by hearing herself say them.

With the astonished guard's help, she managed to get him up the stairs and into their bedroom, where he flopped down heavily on the bed. Half out of habit, she sank down to start unlacing his boots, before she realised how easily he could misjudge the gesture for one of subservience.

But Benvolio, she assured herself, was hardly equipped to analyze or judge any of her actions in that moment. He was staring ahead with glassy eyes, and when he did speak, it was with considerable effort.

"My memory is a little hazy, but if I'm not mistaken, I owe you my life."

"You do. It seems we're even now."

"Still, I feel like I ought to repay you somehow."

"You can repay me by trying a little harder to look like a dutiful husband. And that means no more trips to the taverns and brothels."

"A steep price," he whined.

"A fair one for both our lives and the peace in this city."

"Very well", he murmured, eyes beginning to droop, "if only because you were willing to fight one of your own for me."

And before she could make it clear that she would have been in no way ready to do any such thing, he slumped backwards onto the bed, sighed, and promptly fell asleep.

The next day, everything was the same as always – so much so that Rosaline began to think she had only imagined the night before, imagined seeing the depth of her husband's suffering and feeling her heart soften at the sight.

Benvolio was called to his uncle's house some time in the afternoon, and stayed so long that she had dinner without him. But just when she began to think he was ignoring her wishes and had set off for Via Frate once again, he appeared in the doorway to the rose garden nestled in their courtyard, where she liked to spend her evenings reading.  

“Is there room here for one sorry drunkard and his bottle of wine? Apparently, I am forbidden from frequenting the city's more entertaining establishments.”

Again, reluctantly and against every principle, Rosaline had to smile. She picked up the small pile of books she had deposited on the chair next to hers, unsure which to read first, and set it aside on the table.

“There is. But only if the drunkard in question makes it up the stairs by himself tonight.”

For a moment, he looked genuinely shocked that she would joke back like this. Then he smiled. It was hesitant and, she felt, a little rusty, but a genuine smile nonetheless.

“My sincerest promise.”

With that, he set down not only a bottle of wine but two glasses as well, filling them both to the brim before sliding one over to her.

“I thought we could speak a toast to our cousins, and spend an evening remembering them. No big funeral, no statues and swordfights – just two people who loved them sharing an evening in their memory.”

He looked at her earnestly as he said it, a little nervously too as if expecting to be rejected, and she understood: This was him making her prove that she meant last night's apology. She had said she regretted not being there for him in his grief – now it was her time to prove that she would be from now on, if he wanted her to.

Without hesitation, she lifted her glass.

“To Romeo, of House Montague, and Mercutio, of Verona.”

He clinked his glass against hers softly.

“To Juliet, of House Capulet," he replied, the name ringing out across the silent garden. “May they rest in peace.”

Just saying the names of those they had lost was unimaginably painful, and from the look on his face, she could tell it was the same for him. But perhaps, saying them together made it just a little easier to bear.