#Retj fanfic

[alleyskywalker]

NEW R&J / RetJ Fics

Banality - 1,303 - PG - Montacrew OT3 Toho RetJ canon. The boys clean up and regroup after yet another fight with the Capulets.

Love Like a Phoenix - 611 - PG - Tycutio After Romeo and Juliet are married, Verona is reborn. And so is another love story.

Masquerade for Peace - 386 - PG - Montacrew (gen) AU fix-it. The Montacrew prepare for a masquerade party.

The Old Oak - 1,067 - PG - Montacrew (gen) Benvolio reminisces on the boyhood games he used to play with his best friends.

[margridarnauds]

writers truth or dare: 🎱🕯️🔪🎨

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats 

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Word Count: 348,060

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🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?

6, probably. It isn't my favorite bit, because it's harder to tell when IT'S done VS when the overall plot is done, it's much harder to constantly reread what you've written and go "did I do what I set out to do?" I think that with my last thing, I spent more time editing than writing; there was one part that required the whole scene to be rewritten about three times. And it's never fun to have a part that you really liked and then have to cut (there was one line in my most recent one that KILLED me to cut -- it's safe in another document so I can use it down the line, but still). On the plus side, it's also where I get to fill out parts, add things to suit the mood, build atmosphere when I feel like I need to do that.

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

...oh. God. WEIRD, hm. I guess that depends on how you define "weird" -- for some people, authentic Old Irish is weird, but for me, that's just bringing my job into my fanfic. But I suppose for things that are far away from what I would usually do...

For anything set in the Toho RetJ world, I actually did look at pictures of, say, Chernobyl now, to give myself a template for how the world would look like. I looked up different predictions for how the world would look after a certain number of years, including weather patterns, natural disasters, etc., looked at videos like "Life After People" from the History Channel (which is...the History Channel, but gave me some inspiration), looked up photos of crumbling apartment buildings and how they look and the kind of natural decay that settles in, while also hunting down articles on the Shakespeare so that that could inform some of my characterizations.

Likewise, for my Terra Nova fanfic, I often found myself looking up fossils from the Cretaceous period, both plant and animal, trying to integrate them into the world of Terra Nova, looking through pictures of the sets so I could try to do some worldbuilding for how the world of the show works.

For my BG3 things, I have, like, 4-5 lore books on my computer, and I've looked up everything from, say, how to kill Lolth to drider transformation to Drow foods in the Underdark to Drow burial rites to coming of age rituals to necromancy to whether Devils in the world of DND eat mortals (...undecided) to Cambion biology (answer: they'd have to be able to decide on what a Cambion IS first) to what body temperature a Drow VS an Elf would have. I've looked up the ingredients to various potions for the sake of Kitrye's alchemy, common traits among albinos IRL VS the Szarkai in DND for Malla (Malla's eyesight is too good, but it's essential to her character, so sure), and real-world contracts and the language involved to write Raphael's deals. For a non-DND player, I've had to dive as deeply into the lore as possible (and often, esp. with regards to the Drow, going "that's stupid, I'm doing something better".)

For weirdest research OVERALL, definitely probably walking up and down a ~16th-17th century fortress so I could get a feel for how the Bastille might have felt.

...actual 18th century smut and how gay men in the 18th century usually conceived of sex. Opera schedules from the 18th-19th centuries, so that, when an opera's mentioned, it's usually something that was either playing at the time or plausible.

🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

God, I've gotten to see a lot of really good fanart, and, especially, now that I'm doing BG3 things, I am really routinely being spoiled. I'm going to give a list, just because I think that there are worse things to spill a lot of ink on than giving people their proper due.

First of all, propping my friends, @hotelfgirl did a piece of Kitrye that lives rent free in my head. She has that specific sad girlfailure vibe that I love to see.

@drewsaturday did some Morléans fanart for my birthday that also lives eternally rent-free in my head; it really captured part of the appeal of the ship (besides the tragic ending), which is the level of trust involved, the intimacy of it.

For Irish Myth stuff, even if it's always slightly awkward to call it "fanart" in the same way that, say, BG3 things are fanart or things for my musicals are fanart, anything by @amylouioc, absolutely wonderful interpretations of medieval Irish figures by a modern Irish artist, my favorite is probably Nuada over here. I love the lighting, I love the color scheme, I love the detailing around the arm, especially the little blue tatoos...and, admittedly, I also love that Nuada's a KILF (King I'd Like To--terrorize the Fomoiri with) because I am, at the end of the day, a simple woman. (You all thought it was going to be Bres, didn't you?)

@aodhan-art - WONDERFUL pieces from medieval Irish lit; the first piece of his I was aware of was this one which...well. He knows the context, but it was a very memorable part of a very memorable trip for me. There's this real...sassiness Áed in particular has that I love, this real sense of personality. I also have to talk about this; it isn't often that we get Bres/Sreng fanart (or anything about Bres at ALL), so I love seeing him memed; I'm glad someone put up the money to do the commission and I'm even more glad he did it, it's perfect for both of them. Lest anyone think I'm forgetting Bres' better half, though, I love the work done on Bríg here; I love all the little detailing, all the textures, the little freckles on her skin, the clothing ITSELF looking like something from medieval Ireland.

Speaking of which, @violetcancerian's drawing of Bres and Sreng here, like. Look at them. It's Christmas. They're happy.

For BG3 fanart...

@lemmeurs Raphael fanart here is great; I love anything that captures the duality of Raphael's character, I love the use of lighting and shadow in it, the single strand of hair hanging over his face in both the Cambion and Human forms, the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the overall color scheme. Legitimately have not stopped thinking about it for days.

@shahs1221 ANYTHING by her is great, I really love this one here. For obvious professional reasons, I can't engage with any Professor/Student Raphael content on here (nothing personal, but if I don't engage with it, I have nothing to hide if anyone decides to link my fandom life to my academic life...which has happened before, regrettably), BUT her Professor Raphael art, both this and the follow-up, live rent-free in my brain (I will also note, if any colleagues, mentors, undergrads, potential peer reviewers, etc. should FIND this, they will note that it is based on a wonderful fic series where Raphael is dating someone who is NOT a student). LOVE the cozy academia vibe, especially the one in the follow-up where he's sleeping in a nice, incredibly comfortable looking sweater. (The real question in life: Do I want Raphael in this art or do I want to BE Raphael in this art?) Also...the baby cow eyes paired with sharp cheekbones are in full effect, causing me to briefly have my IQ drop into the single digits.

@adarlingmess WONDERFUL Raphael content in general, but I think I lean towards Dadbod!Raphael in the bath . I love it for the...plot? ("The plot" in this case being "Those cheekbones + a soft stomach"). I love the atmosphere, the kind of haze created by a combination of the steam + candles, Raphael looking relaxed for once in his immortal life, the way the candlelight plays on his face, the railing in the background (...not...that kind of railing...the railing from the game. The metal railing that is in the game.) Overall, it just really captures the feeling of that area of the Boudoir very well, it brings in a lot of small details, AND Raphael looks very good.

@potatocrisp Absolutely LOVE the dynamic that their Tav has with Raphael, the kind of push/pull dynamic on both ends, the way the two of them are both compromised for one another but are extremely stubborn about it (favorite Tavphael dynamic, ngl), the way that her Tav very clearly has the upper hand over this immortal, ancient being. I love her character design, I love the detailing on his doublet, especially the little shine of metal at his wrists, the little lace edging at her stockings.

@infernaldaydreams Hahaha, BG3 fanart that is NOT Raphael. I love everything I've seen of hers, but this one is probably my favorite, not the least because it was the first one I saw. I love how bittersweet it is, I love the tenderness, the focus on hands, the way that Gortash's face gets overshadowed and then lightens up for her, I just...God, these two rotten people have me in a chokehold, I love them. (But also, in the nicest possible way, fuck you for making me feel THINGS, knowing how Durgetash ends in canon.)

[aki-draws-things]

[cto10121]

Guys, the theater nerds discovered your Tycutio fanfic, lawyer up

[tybaltmileszveled]

im begging for someone to write a tycutio fic, university au, roommate thing, enemies to lovers, mercutio being his funky funny self, and well, tybalt too. i don’t have a lot of needs, but i’m surely gonna die, if i won’t be able to read this.

[retjfanzine]

[ID: White text reads ‘ISSUE ONE AVAILABLE NOW!’ and below, ‘RetJ Fanzine’ on a red and blue floral background]

Issue #1 of the Roméo et Juliette Fanzine is available via Gumroad! 

It is in a digital PDF format and free of charge. 

Check it out here!

[aki-draws-things]

Tybby tybs why?

Well, I get how angry he is, I understand the rush, the sounds, - I remember the rage. -

But I can't help but cry.. You two boys could have had everything, but you, Paris, sir, you had to go and ask for juliet's hand and think nothing will happen?

I love it!! Despite the angst and all. I L O V E IT!!! 😍

For the dialogue prompt, “Stand down, please.” or “Were we always destined to this fate?” (or both together? I can't chose... For tybalt (I would say for some paris/tybalt but only if your up for that, sweets~ the other fic was sooo good!! 😍

Thanks so much!

I went into severe angst mode for this and I ended up only using “Were we always destined to this fate?”

(I want to add that this fic features violence, blood, and death.)

Continua a leggere

[mademoiselleseraph]

Like Pluto and Persephone, chapter 1

Roméo et Juliette AU fic where it was Pâris that went to fight Roméo rather than Tybalt. Suicide mention, incest mention, and some sexual comments on arranged marriage, so if you're sensitive to such content, be warned, it might get squicky. (And if you wanna let me know how you felt about this, my inbox is always open) ~~~~ Tybalt knocked at Juliette's bedroom door, as he'd done for as long as she could answer it. All the times before, it had been to play, or because he had heard she was upset and wished to comfort her. It was for a different reason now. The man his cousin was betrothed to, Comte Pâris Lodrone, had been a damn fool the day before. He'd drunk more than his fill and went after the Montaigu heir, who was rumored to be Juliette's lover, only to die at his hands after killing the Prince's nephew. Mercutio, His Highness's own blood, could have spent his days traveling the world and drinking exotic wines and listening to the latest of musical compositions, but he chose to keep company with a lowly dead Baron's family and allies. Tybalt hated him for that, but it made no difference now. Mercutio and Pâris were dead and the Montaigu boy had been banished to the next city. And now Tybalt stood at Juliette's bedroom door, not to play or comfort, but to bring her news. La Muette, who dressed her every morning, answered. She couldn't have done so without Juliette's acknowledgement. The maid was deaf as a post and doors had no lips for her to read. She turned back to the room, signed to Juliette who the visitor was, and opened the door wider that he may be received. Juliette had only just been dressed. Her hair was curled, as it had been the day before and the night before that. That night he found her with her Nurse, wearing a heavy gown and trying to walk silently to her room. The sunlight poured in through her window and reflected the gold of her hair, giving her the ethereal air of an angel or nymph. How was it that every time he looked upon her she seemed more beautiful and delicate? "Oh, Tybalt," she addressed him, snapping him out of his trance, "it's only you. I'd feared it was my mother come to tell me that I am to marry Pâris' brother, or the Prince himself." She was sitting on her bed. The sheets were in a great mess as if they hadn't been straightened out yet. "I see you've been abed until only recently, even at this hour," he said. "I expected nothing else. Yesterday was rather... eventful." "It was," she agreed. "I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about it all. Mercutio didn't deserve to die, and Pâris.... I didn't care for him, but I never wished he'd be killed. And Roméo shouldn't have been banished for carrying out the Prince's justice." "The Prince gave no permission," Tybalt explained, "therefore it was murder in the eyes of the law." He wondered how she would react if she knew it had almost been he himself that went after the boy out of his burning jealousy. His mistress Carmina kept him from the wine and kept him in bed, otherwise, he would have and his cousin would be mourning his death. "But come now," she urged him. "You wish to tell me something. Don't deny it; your eyes hide so little from me. They always have." It was true, he had always been so open to her while being so closed off to others. And when no one could gentle the rage inside him, one look from her made him docile. He would melt in her hands like the wax of a candle nearest to the wick. He sat next to her on the bed and took her hands in his. He hesitated. He didn't want her to hear the news he was there to deliver, but if he didn't, her parents would. He, at the very least, would know how to comfort her. "Juliette," he started, "your parents have given me your hand in marriage." She wasn't sure how she ought to react at first and spent some time thinking it over before smiling at him and replying, "But you knew I could never marry you, so you told them no! Didn't you?" He wanted to smile and nod his head yes. He wanted to reassure her that he would never entertain the folly of marrying her against her will, for how could she ever bring herself to want to be his bride? He wanted to, but he didn't. He couldn't. He could only cast his eyes down in shame. "Didn't you?" she repeated. He could hear the smile slip from her face. He looked into her worried eyes. She was starting to tear up, no matter how much she tried to stop it. He could taste the reluctance in the back of his throat, and it was as bitter as those glassy tears. He stroked her hands apologetically with his thumbs. "Juliette," he heard himself say in a halfhearted and regretful tone, "please try to understand." She pulled herself from him with violent force and faced away from him in one swift motion. Perhaps she was shedding the tears she had been trying to suppress. In either case, it wasn't only sorrow and desperation radiating from her heart, but also a rage befitting the gods. And she turned to face him again, fury written all over her countenance. "They give me to you as they would a horse or a saber, and you meekly accept? Why? Is it that you wanted this?" He had remained sitting on the bed as she stood, straightened rigid and tall in indignation, and now felt terribly small. He cast his eyes down again in shame. "No," she demanded. "Look me in the eyes and answer me. Truthfully." His eyes met hers again and it took all his courage to answer honestly, "Not under these circumstances." The rage in her face gave way to panicked confusion. "Then under what circumstances?" she asked. He had dreamed of those circumstance so often; of her pinning him to the floor and looking into his eyes as if she was watching her first sunset. In those dreams, she would kiss him. It would be innocent enough to start with, but the kisses would become deeper and more passionate. Eventually, they'd be lying on the floor together, half dressed but not reaching for anything more intimate than the other's hands, hair, or face. Juliette would tell him that she wouldn't have any husband but him and Tybalt would swear to her that he would crawl to the Vatican on his knees and beg the Pope for a dispensation, that they may marry in spite of consanguinity. He couldn't tell her any of this, so he kept it concise. "I'd hoped that you would wish to marry me someday, that we could arrange it, and be happy. Under the current circumstances, you've been put into far too much discomfort and I never intended that." "Then why did you agree?" she insisted. There was less hate and worry in her voice. It had given way to a melancholy anguish. "I can't deny this family anything," he answered. His voice lost all its strength and his speech sounded little more than a breath. "I never could." He didn't have to say any more. Though she had always been spared the details of Tybalt's upbringing, she had seen the aftermath enough to understand. She saw the bruises, the occasional limp, and the way he flinched from everyone but her, even the Nurse. But the more his family ill-used him and allowed him to be ill-used, the more he longed for their approval and the more violently he defended them. "In either case," he continued, "a marriage between us means nothing as you're already married in the eyes of God." She eyed him with confusion. Surely he couldn't know. He couldn't possibly know. It had been the dead of night and she wore the same houppelande she wore for Carnevale over her wedding gown. As if reading her thoughts, Tybalt wore a knowing smile and replied, "Yes, you were pining yet giddy all day, and everyone knows the cause of that sweetest heartache. And in the middle of the night, I heard you come stealing to your room. You smelled of the incense they burn in the church. You wore that plainer gown over everything as a disguise, but I saw the silk of your dress slip between the seams beneath the closure." The silk of that dress was exquisite; gauzy as mist and a rosy pale gold in color. There was an inexplicably dreamy quality about it that suited not only Juliette's gentle complexion, but her personality as well. "It was the Montaigu boy, wasn't it?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. Juliette looked at Tybalt as if expecting a severe scolding about devotion to family and not betraying blood for the enemy. The fear only worsened when he found a garter of Montaigu blue wool poking out from under the pillow. She had reason to fear its fate in his hands. He had been raised to hate that color with every fiber of his being. He wanted to slice the damn thing up and toss the pieces one by one into the kitchen fires. He wanted to find Montaigu and remove first his fingers, then his eyes, and then his tongue, with a dull butcher's knife. He wouldn't, as that would displease his cousin, but he wanted to. "You've... known him," he muttered. It wasn't even a question this time. "Well, I suppose it's only natural for a girl to know her husband." "Are you angry with me?" she asked. "No," he answered. "I could never be angry with you. I am angry with the boy. He took advantage of your heart and dragged you down to his lowly status. You deserve better than him." "Oh?" she questioned. "Did I deserve Pâris?" "You deserve a Prince at the very least," he specified. "Or perhaps the Pope's own son. But you don't want a prince or a Borgia. You only want him." He folded the Montagiu boy's garter and placed it in Juliette's hand, closing her fingers around it. "And you will have his company." She shot him a confused look and incredulously asked "But how?" "Your father gave us a little villa," he explained. "It's in the southwest, just half a day's ride from Mantua." Her eyes widened at this. "You'll take me to him?" "As often as I'm able to, comtesse," he answered. A smile stretched over her face and then faded as soon as it had appeared. "But you hate him." "I do," he admitted. "What about it?" "How am I to know you'll not slaughter my Roméo without my knowledge?" she demanded, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'd never do anything to cause you pain," he answered. He wondered how true it was, considering how close he came to marching out and demanding a duel with the boy. Juliette could sense this doubt in him and ordered him to swear on his life. When he tried to placate her by saying it wasn't necessary, she lunged to grab the dagger at his belt. He reached it just a quarter of a second before she would have and firmly kept it in its place. "Very well," he acquiesced. "I swear by my life, my eyes, and my hands. Should my actions make a liar of me, may the Devil drag me by my feet to the deepest pit of Hell." It was his customary vow. He'd used it often, and though he never went back on his word, it sounded especially sincere and solemn and true this time. There were times when he'd given her this promise and she'd look deeply into his face, searching for any tells that he was lying or being insincere. Those times he'd promise her that if he should prove false, he'd allow her to chop his tongue out. When she asked him what she could possibly do with his severed tongue, he explained that she may gild it and wear it around her neck, or perhaps keep it preserved in a silver box to show to her enemies. She would be disgusted, but satisfied with his promises. She hadn't searched for tells this time, no need to offer his tongue for collateral. "I only ever wanted your happiness," he continued. "If not with me, then with whoever you choose. Even a Montagiu." "How long?" Juliette asked. "For how long have you wanted to marry me?" "Do you remember the day after my fifteenth birthday?" Tybalt began. "How could I forget? My Nurse told me you almost died the night before." "Did she tell you it would have been by my own hand?" How disgusted he had been with himself that night. His father brought him to a brothel for the first time, and had one of the women with painted faces and upraised skirts take him to a little room with little more than a bed. All the while he was with that woman in the unbearably close room, he could only think of his little cousin and how much gentler her touch would be and how much more he'd enjoy it with her. How much wine had he been given to not wave those thoughts away the moment they appeared? How much did he drink afterward in a vain attempt to make them go away? She didn't need to know. "I drank more than I should have that night," he continued. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I meant to jump from your balcony and break my neck. You were celebrating with the others, I wrote you a note. I would have continued to the conclusion, had your Nurse not found me. She told me to come down from the railing and told me all my worries about being a curse were false. I said that no one would miss me, and she said you would, and that I knew you would or I wouldn't have written you a note. I was tired, so she had me lay in your bed." The revelation that such a thing came to pass without her ever knowing caused Juliette to tear up again, and look at her cousin with pity and compassion. He reached his hands out to hers in a gesture of comfort. She put her hands in his and sat again beside him on the bed. He looked at those hands, still as graceful and delicate as they were that memorable morning. "When I woke the next day," he recalled, "you were there crying. You gave me strict orders that I was not to die and you laid yourself next to me. You threw your arms around me and cried into my shoulder, all the while forbidding me from death. That moment I knew I never wanted to leave your side." There were many things he felt he ought to say to her. That he wasn't proud of these romantic affections toward her, that he kept the note he wrote her that night always close to his heart, that he truly did love her. When she looked him in the eye, he could see that she knew all of it, or that at least, she knew enough of it. She broke away from him to tell La Muette the plan. La Muette thought it best to give the two privacy, and for the entirety of their conversation she had her back turned to them, filling sachets with dried lavender and stitching them closed. Juliette's hands fluttered and darted with urgent precision, and she shaped them into the signs that La Muette communicated with. She moved to fast for Tybalt to catch everything, but he recognized "false marriage," "visit in secret," and "together." The two became very excited and held each other in an ecstatic embrace. The signing calmed and Tybalt could see Juliette affirm that she would need to send her Roméo a note, to which La Muette replied offering to write it in code and decode it for him when delivered. Juliette agreed. La Muette's entire being was a study in empathy. The joy or sorrow of those around her quickly became her own and often seemed amplified through her. So, seeing how happiness poured from Juliette's eyes and smile, she threw her arms about Tybalt's neck and kissed his cheek on her way to fetch the portable desk from the painted chest at the foot of the bed. It shocked him, but he said nothing. Juliette returned to his side as he got up from the bed and prepared to leave. She took his hands and said to him, "You wanted my happiness, and you shall have it. I will be with the husband I chose. He is banished, and I will be another man's wife in the eyes of men, but we will know the truth and we will be in each other's arms again before long. Thank you." And she embraced him. It always soothed him to feel her so close, to hold her there. Sometimes, he could feel her heart beat, like a delicate little drum gently played by a toy soldier. He kissed the top of her head, and excused himself from the room. Juliette began to dictate the note when there was another knock at the door. La Muette got up to answer but it opened without her and Lady Capulet let herself in. Juliette's mother had an airy nature to her and seemed to flit and glide rather than walk. One of Juliette's first memories, in fact, was asking her Nurse if her mother's feet ever touched the ground. "Juliette, ma cherrie," she greeted her daughter with a cordial kiss on the forehead. She always did so when something unpleasant must be done. It was a coaxing promise that the situation would improve, even if she wasn't sure when or how. "Hello, Mother," Juliette returned the greeting. She didn't know what her mother had to say about the circumstances, but she was sure it wouldn't make her feel any better. Lady Capulet gestured to the bed, suggesting they sit. "I'm sure Tybalt told you of our new arrangement," she began. "That I am to marry him?" Juliette asked, but she already knew the answer. Her mother petted her hair, as if it would make her any more comfortable. "Your father and I are only doing what's best; for you, for Tybalt, for the family as a whole. A good half of them truly do believe that Tybalt's father was chosen by God and mean to keep you from your inheritance. And with all that has recently happened, we may never find you another suitor." La Muette had again turned around and was organizing the desk. Juliette wished she was behind her, combing her hair or fixing her laces. Tybalt promised their marriage would mean nothing, but thinking of it still made her uncomfortable. "Well," her mother continued, "you're not a child any longer. Your Nurse and I have told you how children are conceived. We'll all be expecting at least two sons from the union. No need to worry about the actual begetting of the children. From what I understand, our Tybalt is quite skilled. I've heard it said that he learned from the brothels of France. In either case he's always been gentle with you before." Her discomfort was manifesting in squirming and fidgeting but her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and tilted her head up so that their eyes met. A gesture to listen carefully. It would come from the Lady Capulet or from the Nurse or from Tybalt, usually concerning etiquette or upholding reputation, but her mother's eyes looked far too serious for that. She tried to hide their worry with a smile, as she often did, but to no avail. It frightened Juliette. "Dearest daughter, allow me to impart to you some womanly wisdom. Should this wedding night arrive and the apprehension's not yet vanished, a bit of wine should help. One glass is not always enough. It usually took me three for your father." Juliette winced, shutting her eyes tightly, half hoping that it would all turn out to be a horrible dream when she opened them again. But instead she felt her mother's hand on her cheek prepared to wipe away tears. Had she comforted Tybalt's mother, her own sister, thus? "It's not all bad," the Lady gently cooed, her voice sounding more maternal than it had ever been. "All those uneasy nights with your father and three glasses of wine eventually brought you into this world. It may not be agreeable at first, or ever, but your cousin will sire you some children and you will adore them. Almost enough to forget all the pain and discomfort that brought them." "Then those stories," Juliette muttered, "the ones where the maiden and the hero fall in love and happily marry, are they all lies?" He mother gave her a wistful, knowing smile. "A lover and a husband can be found in the same man. You should have seen the way your father used to look at me after I stepped out of the bath. I may as well have been Venus in the waters of Cyprus. Our Tybalt adores you. It's clear in how he acts around you and talks about you when you're not around. He will be a good husband and, God willing, perchance a good father. You may be hopeful then. Romantic affections could easily follow." The thought of it turned her stomach. The romantic affections from Tybalt were already reality and she could never return them, or even pretend to. She answered this with acknowledging nodding. "Now, Juliette," she announced as she rose from the bed and flitted the door, "I must be off. I have family affairs of my own to attend to. We de Gondelauriers are a fickle group and are best not kept waiting." And with that she was gone. Juliette then went back to her maid, and furiously, desperately dictated the note in hand signs. All of this discomfort would not be for nothing. She would have her Roméo know of the meaningless wedding and the plan to meet with him as soon as she was able. She watched as La Muette wrote from the right of the page to the left in an elegant sweeping script. It was not a language or alphabet she recognized but the pen moved like birds and tongues of flame. It reassured her. When the note was finished, she took the pen from La Muette's offering hands and signed it. For added authenticity, she brushed a bit of her perfume on the edge. It smelled of lavender and roses, like her. She folded in and wrapped an old ribbon about it, dripping candle wax on it to seal it. She placed it back in La Muette's hand and signed to deliver it when night fell. La Muette nodded solemnly as she tucked the letter into her bodice. She embraced Juliette, a comforting gesture and a promise that the note would be delivered that night. And then she left to complete other chores. ~~~~

[hanatriestowrite]

Based off of the self-indulgent headcanon that I have: Mercutio has trouble remembering to eat for periods of time and he often needs someone to remind him. 

Benvolio glanced worriedly at Mercutio upon opening the fridge. He expected many things from that fridge, perhaps an abomination of a Frankenstein-like creation that Mercutio tried to pass as food or a week old sandwich, but not this.

“Mercutio,” he started, not quite sure what to say. “Why- when was the last time that you ate?”

Mercutio froze, the blood draining from his face. He furrowed his brows, wracking his brain for the last time he had eaten. “Ha… what the hell are you talking about Benvolio?”

Glaring at him sharply, Benvolio gestured to the fridge, opening it wide enough to reveal the contents inside. “There is literally nothing in here!”

Mercutio peered in the fridge and scowled at the Montague. “Oh come on, I have like three energy drinks in there.”

Benvolio did a double take. There was indeed two energy drink in the fridge, but that was beside the point! “Jesus Christ, when was the last time you have had an actual meal?”

“I’ll have you know I eat ass three times a day, that’s practically three meals a day.”

Mercutio grinned as Benvolio shot him a disgruntled look. “I- I really didn’t need to know any more about your sex life... than I already do,” Benvolio grumbled, picking him up from the ground. “Come on, you can have dinner at our place, Auntie probably made way too much for all of us to eat anyways.”

“And come unannounced!” Mercutio gasped, slinging his arm around his shoulder, “how rude would that be!”

Benvolio rolled his eyes. “Shut up, you know Auntie never cared about stuff like that, but seriously-”

Waving his hand in dismissal, Mercutio let out a sigh. “I know, I just... forgot, again.”

“I will never understand how that happens,” Benvolio said.

“You and me both.”

[alleyskywalker]

NEW FIC: Change In The Wind (Montacrew OT3)

Title: Change In The Wind Fandom: RetJ: Toho Characters/Pairings: Romeo/Mercutio/Benvolio Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 1,182 Summary: Mercutio drags Romeo and Benvolio to an underground rave on a quest to win his bet against Tybalt, any and all dangers be damned.

Read on AO3

[beforeitrains]

I really enjoyed writing this little fluffy story, hopefully I didn’t the characters’ voices too wrong/ooc. I’d appreciate any feedback on this.

[margridarnauds]

If I may ask another, Romeo et Juliette?

A musical that I have a very, very complex relationship with.

It was one of my first French musicals -- not one of my favorites (I have ALWAYS been an Atia and Chouet girl), but one of my first. Good music, Aimer was one of my eternal, lovestruck romantic songs from my teen years, the OTP song to end all OTP songs; Verona was one of my favorite musical songs (once an Escalus fucker, always an Escalus fucker), I loved C'est le Jour (being used to historical lit and period dramas means I have....no reaction to first cousin marriages, so I shipped Tybalt/Juliet, sorry lads.)

There used to be a dedicated French musicals fandom on here, so I was talking with people who were more invested in it than I was, me and a friend once listened to the London cast together and memed it to death. And when that community imploded, I joined the RetJ fandom more specifically after a couple of years. And...I did enjoy it. I was mainly in my own little corner, but I was talking about it, I was creating content for it. I didn't agree with everything, especially the way that Japanese productions were routinely dismissed, and I thought that people could be very harsh on individual productions in a way that wasn't particularly fun, but...I did enjoy the experience. I did enjoy working with other people, especially since, as a Toho fan and ESPECIALLY as an Escalus fan (and as someone who really cares about the women more than Mercutio), I was very locked in my own little corner with a few other people.

I fell in love with the musical. And with Shakespeare's original. I still think that this is My Adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, because it is really wonderfully faithful while modernizing it without being grimdark or cynical (yes, even the Hungarian.)

And...I refuse to go into details, because I have no intention of dredging up old ghosts, but it ended. Badly. I evacuated myself from the communities I was part of, leaving them to someone who hated me because I didn't want to split the fandom. I wanted to leave quietly, discretely, while potentially keeping some bonds. They used it as an excuse to spread their smear campaign to my old circles, something that I only found out about over a year later. No one bothered to tell me. I noticed that people were pulling away, some people have even blocked me on here, or else quietly unfollowed me, but I didn't know why and I tried to convince myself it was paranoia. I reached out to someone and they assured me that nothing had been said about me. Something I later learned was untrue. I won't accuse that person of lying, because I don't have a timeline, and I understand wanting to keep the peace, but my reputation and my mental stability were NOT acceptable collateral damage. I was suicidal, dammit, and I'm not just mad at the people who started the smear campaign, but the people who didn't bother to listen to me when I needed them the most.

And...I would say I'm not bitter about it, but actually, I am. Of COURSE I'm bitter about it. Even if I wasn't the most active member, I was there for years. I deserved better. And it has profoundly impacted the way that I still carry myself in a fandom context, because some part of me is always looking behind my shoulder. (I. Have never been able to join the BG3 fandom in the way I'd have liked to for a number of reasons, including my ongoing fear caused by this incident.)

...but, by the same token, I did rebuild myself, bit by bit, with Takarazuka musicals, including the Zuka RetJ. I wrote RetJ fanfic for myself and, without having a fandom to worry about appeasing, I wrote what I wanted -- some of my longest fics of the last three years have been Benvolio/Escalus fics that I almost CERTAINLY wouldn't have published when I had the dead weight attached.

So -- gorgeous musical, the Toho production will eternally have a place in my heart. I'm very happy that I can look at it without shaking now.

[aki-draws-things]

Character study on how they fell together, then apart, and maybe together again. Sometimes not in that order, sometimes yes.

~~

A different take on Bentycutio.

For the RandJ Week 2020 on the @rjficexchange

[cto10121]

You know a canon couple is good when they beat out non-canon couples for the most fanfiction.

[like-a-handprint-on-my-heart]

They were walking towards the abyss, led by the beauty of the road ahead. However, as it so often was the case, neither Romeo nor Juliet would come to realise that before the ground disappeared beneath their feet, leaving them to fall, consumed by the feelings that had led them there.

-

The fanfic I wrote for the rjficexchange. It was such a joy to get another excuse to write something about RetJ again (not that I needed the excuse to write anything, though :) ) so thank you so much for organising this!