#lord damiano montague

[laprincesseecarlate]

Still star-crossed appreciation week Day 4 - favorite brotp :  Lord Montague & Lord Capulet 

Cause they’re both extra af

[yemme]

Bonus

Still Star-Crossed ~ ABC Network

[iris-candice-clemons-west]

Wait, so Damiano killed Benvolio’s Dad and had the NERVE to look at him like a stain on his favorite shirt?

[carsonsstorm]

Benvolio’s uncle is no joke. Poor thang keep trying to shoot Benvolio.

[redrosecut]

Favourite Period Drama Moments (05/?):

Princess Isabella telling Damiano Montague that flattery is of no use with her. Lord Montague trying anyway and Isabella seizing the opportunity for some feminist messages in the new church paid for by the Montagues.

in: Still Star-Crossed - Season 01, Episode 03

[thesimoneashley]

“If only Romeo and Juliet had lived.”

[ofcastora]

@evcravens asked: 🔆 regency babeeeeeey

TW: mentions of drug overdose, death mentions, awkward pining

MENTIONED/APPEAR: @ofaguilar, @ofrosso, @deadvalentinagallo, @matthiaswarren, @priam-taravella, Pandora Phan, Roman Montague, Hazel Accardi, Alvise Vernon, Damiano Montague, Armand “Ajax” Giordano

Miss Ramona Aguilar and Miss Castora Aguilar, or “The Aguilar Girls”, as they were sometimes referred to in order to save time, were perhaps the most unlucky members of the ton, with Castora being a hare more unlucky than Ramona. 

Their streak of rotten luck began about four-and-ten years ago when Castora’s father, Lorenzo, an unrepentant rake with neither the desire nor the capability to reform, left his wife and Uppercross estate,  never to be heard from again. Uppercross then passed to Matteo, Ramona’s father; a widow of most gracious temperament; while this was bad luck for Miss Castora and her mother, Isabella, it was a pleasant turn of events for Matteo, a second son who was better suited to be first. 

Isabella, as tender hearted as she was, did not bare the change in life circumstances well and soon departed the estate with Castora in tow. She had passed two years later from influenza at her parent’s home in the countryside (in the poorhouse). Castora returned to Uppercross as Matteo Aguilar’s ward and he promised to provide a dowry of 800 pounds per annum for her. It was a little less than Ramona’s dowry of 1,000 pounds per annum, but that was to be expected and was not malicious Matteo had only expected to provide a dowry for one girl, not two. If Castora ever took any insult to this, she didn’t remember it. She was simply too happy to be back at Uppercross, and in the company of her cousin’s Ramona and Andrés again. 

“I do not need the money, uncle,” she had said. “For I promise I shall never marry unless it is for the greatest love, which I vow to never seek.” It would be an easy promise to keep, Castora had thought, already realizing at a young age that a poorer relation with an infamous father was not likely to draw a good sister. Ramona, already famed as a beauty, would be able to draw a rich husband and Castora could be a very happy spinster. 

Whatever damage Lorenzo had done to the Aguilar reputation, Matteo had been able to undo it with some help from powerful friends, Lord Montague and Lord Vernon, and get his daughter and niece into the ton for the 1813 season the year both girls turned eight-and-ten. Everything was going as expected. 

Ramona was hailed as the Incomparable, had a dance card full at every party, and managed to convince the newly minted Viscount Warren, the talk of the ton for his good looks and melancholy refusal to dance because of his grief over his father’s recent death, to dance with her. She’d befriended Miss Valentina Gallo, a half-feral girl whom Castora had insulted on their first meeting; the two had caused much scandal when they came dressed as men during Lord Vernon’s masque. 

Castora caught the eye of Lady Pandora Phan, the wealthy daughter of a duke on her second Season, who took her under her wing when Castora said, perhaps too loudly, that she’d only marry in the case of two unlikely events: One) a year without rain in England; and two) the greatest love. It also helped that Castora was dear friends with Marcelo Rosso, the good friend of Lord Montague’s heir, Roman. She helped Pandora secure a betrothal to Roman during the second-to-last ball of the Season by bullying all his friends into dancing with her so that Pandora could dance with Roman. 

Marcelo gladly whirled his “little sister” on the floor, but Bellamy needed to be strong armed, and quiet, sullen, proud Ajax who had barely spoken two words to her all Season and whom Castora was convinced hated her, practically had to be dragged onto the floor for a quadrille. His name was not Ajax, but everyone called him that, which Castora found to be odd, but she’d never overstep her place and ask for his real name. 

During the last ball of the Season, Matteo Aguilar clutched his heart and fell to the ground. He joined his wife in the ground soon after. Neither Ramona nor Castora Aguilar ended up with a match. Andrés took over Uppercross and promised to care for his sister and cousin, but by next year he had died from influenza (in an opium den, a part of the story rapidly hushed by Castora, with the help of Miss Valentina, Lady Pandora, and Viscount Warren) and a quick look at the books revealed that Castora and Ramona’s dowries had disappeared (into the opium den.)

Uppercross was entailed to a distant cousin, who supplied them with a small allowance and agreed to let them stay in London for the Season in order to get them married. The Aguilar Girls were sometimes the talk of the ton, particular when Miss Castora almost broke Lord Priam Taravella’s nose with a pall-mall ball to the nose, but they had good, loyal friends in high places who would not let them be destitute. Ramona wrote letters to Viscount Warren nearly every day, and he wrote back just as quickly. They danced the first two dances – or, scandalously, the first three – at every ball, and a proposal was to come any day now.

Any. Day. Now. Castora would very much like to be a viscount’s sister-in-law (well, cousin-in-law, technically, but all knew that Miss Castora and Miss Ramona were as close as sisters). It’d be so much easier to sleep at night knowing Ramona was taken care of and she could embrace her destiny as a spinster. 

But, for some God forsaken reason, that day did not come. It did not come during their third Season, nor by their fourth, and by their fifth – the last this distant cousin was willing to pay for – Castora was ready to drag them to a church and perform the ceremony herself. Her favorite evenings, a respite from her cousin’s romance, came at the gatherings Pandora would host at her and Roman’s lodgings.

She always bested everyone at whist, but never Ajax, Roman’s quiet friend whom she learned from Pandora had amassed a small fortune in the Navy, at whist. Apart from the fact that his back was always determinedly straight and the intense look in his green eyes, she wouldn’t have pegged him for a soldier – he was too quiet. When she mentioned this to Pandora, she laughed. “Oh, Ajax? He’s quiet, Castora, but he’s got a good humor. You should hear him talk about what adventures he and his ward, Hazel, get up to...”  

It was then that she noticed that Ajax did talk in the company of their shared acquaintances – to Pandora, to Bellamy, sometimes with Matthias, at length with Roman, and even terse words with Marcelo. But never to her. 

One day after he’d beat her at whist again, Castora had remarked, “If you’re going to beat me so often, you could at least tell me your name, so I can properly curse you.” His cheeks turned red, and he stood up and left the room. He came back, just ten minutes later, and entered into a rousing conversation with Roman, and Castora had come to realize that Ajax just didn’t like her, and well, if he didn’t like her, then she didn’t like him. 

“I’d rather help you write a love letter than spend a minute with him, I swear,” she’d whined to Ramona once. 

Then, one day, she woke up to find Ramona had left their London house with nothing but a brief note – Gone to Greta Green with Matthias. Love, your cousin – and Castora was ready to walk to Gretna Green on foot in order to murder her cousin. News of Ramona Aguilar and Matthias Warren’s elopement spread quickly, and suddenly Castora found herself in a very unfortunate position where her reputation was damaged by association and no one would believe that Castora – Ramona’s closest companion – knew nothing about these plans.

Said cousin wrote as soon as he heard the news that Castora, an associate of wanton wickedness, could no longer stay at the London residence. To make matters worse, no one had heard from Ramona nor Viscount Warren, leading doubts as to whether the pair had actually married at all. 

-- 

In summation, that is why Castora Aguilar – penniless daughter of a vagabond, unwitting accomplice to an elopement, future murderess of Ramona Aguilar  – considered herself the unluckiest member of the ton. And that is precisely what she told Pandora, having wound up sobbing in her hallway, in full view of her servants, with her things. 

“You can stay as long as you need to,” Pandora said, pulling her friend out of the hall where any servants could see and gossip. She wiped away her tears. “I will fix this, Cas. I will find a way.”

Castora simply nodded, thankful to not have be turned out or go back to the poorhouse, but the tears kept flowing –– a rather odd, unsightly thing to witness from the elder Miss Aguilar, who hadn’t cried since her mother died.  “What’s wrong, Cas?” Pandora asked, more alarmed than she already was. 

“Nothing,” she sniffed. “It’s just –– I can never marry for love, now.” It was unlikely before the scandal, but now it would be nothing but a dream. Castora had never realized had badly she would have liked to be loved. “I cannot even marry for comfort. Who will want me, Pan? What can I give them? How...how will I live?” Perhaps if Ramona and Matthias returned as man and wife there would be hope for her, but there was no word. When a lady’s reputation is damaged, it is a stain that can never come out. 

Pandora took her hand, “We will find a way.” 

“I cannot take more from you than I already have,” Castora had insisted. It was a blow to her pride – always the poorer relation, always needing help from friends in higher placer. For once, she’d like to just be Castora and be comfortable and be enough.

“You only take what I willingly give.”

--

Two weeks later, Castora was trying to stave off a foul mood by reading a book in Pandora and Roman’s drawing room when Ajax bounds in. He had not stopped to take off his coat or his hat, and his brow was covered in sweat. He looked positively undone, like he was about to be sick. 

“Roman and Pandora are calling on Lord Tomas and Lady Celeste,” she informed him matter-of-factly. “I can ring for tea, if you’d like?” 

“No,” he said suddenly. “No,” he repeated softly. 

“Would you like to wait for them?” Ajax looked her at like she was sprouting another head. Castora closed her book and made her way to the door. 

“Where are you going?”

“To the library?” 

“Why?”

“Because it looks like you’re going to wait here and I’d prefer to continue my book.”

He looked at her desperately. “But I’m hear to see you, Miss Aguilar.” 

“Me?” Now she was looking at him like he was sprouting a second head. “Whatever for?”

He gestured for her to sit. She stood obstinately for a moment, before deciding to sit lest the man collapse. So, Castora sat and waited, but Ajax didn’t speak. 

After a long, quiet moment, he opened his mouth and said, “I cannot hide my feelings anymore. I love you, most ardently and most fiercely.” It was a good thing she had heeded him and sat down, for Castora was quite certain she would have fainted. Instead she looked at him blankly. “I love you,” he repeated, as if she had not heard the first time. “I love you and I would like to marry you.” 

She rolled her eyes, “This is Pandora’s doing, isn’t it?” It all made sense – a sudden proposal from a man in their social circle, not rich but could certainly keep Castora comfortable for her days, who could be persuaded to attempt to save the future of his dear friend’s wife’s friend. 

Ajax looked at her dumbstruck. “What? No --”

“I’m not offended.” Well, maybe a little. “I know she wants to help, but you don’t need to throw yourself on this sword...with such verve.” 

“Miss Aguilar, I think you misunderstand me.” 

“It’s alright. I know she simply enlisted you to try to help me with my current predicament, and while I appreciate what you are doing for me, there is no need to say you love me.”

He was starting to get annoyed, “I am following no one’s will but my own. I love you and I want to marry you.”

“Love me?” Now Castora was well and truly offended. “You need not lie to me, sir. It is one thing to propose a marriage of convenience and of duty.  It is another thing to lie about the matters of the heart.”

“I am not lying to you. I cared for you, and I have cared for you since the day I first laid eyes on you.” 

She stood up suddenly, “But you don’t even like me!” 

“How can you think that?”

“You don’t talk to me. You engage everyone in conversation, even Marcelo on occassion, but never me. You won’t tell me your name! And you never let me win at whist! If you loved you, you would’ve put me out of my misery and let me win at least one game.” 

“Perhaps that’s because you’re not good enough.” He, quite noticeably didn’t know to answer the first part of her accusations. “What is you answer?”

For a moment, Castora forgot she was being proposed to. “No,” she said coldly. “If you had asked in a gentleman like manner and not pretended to have an attachment to me, then perhaps my answer would’ve been different.” 

“I apologize. For being so presumptuous as to believe that you would--”

Someone by the doorway clears their throat. “What is going on in here?” Pandora asks. Roman is by her side, and almost just as confused as his wife. 

“A proposal, apparently. Pandora, I appreciate what you are trying to do for me, but I could do without false protestations of love.”

Pandora’s eyes widen. “Oh, Cas...” 

Castora looks between Pandora, Roman, and Ajax, realization dawning on her. Oh no. You’re really in love with me. This was a real proposal. This wasn’t a game. Her cheeks are bright red, and she wishes the floor would open up and swallow her whole. 

Ajax lowers his head. “I should go. Apologies for intruding. Roman, Pandora.” He moves past Roman and Pandora to the hallway, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Before Castora knows what she’s doing, she runs after him, grabbing him by the hand before he is able to open the door. Ajax stops cold in his tracks.

Castora doesn’t know what to do next, her hand in his. He looks at her with something like hope in his beautiful green eyes, and suddenly pulls her hand away. “I’m sorry. I did not know you were being earnest in your proposal to me. All that talk about love confused me and I was wrong to be offended by it. I see know that you were only saying it because you thought that would be the best way to make overtures without injuring my pride.” 

“What?” 

“I’d like to say yes. If you would still have me.” 

She hopes he says yes. This is perhaps her only chance to avoid ruin. 

“Yes. I would -- that would be....suitable,” he says. “I’m sorry for saying that I loved you. I should have realized it would be the wrong approach.

He leaves and Castora feels like she’s had the wind knocked out of her. Oh, yes, I’m definitely going to wring Ramona’s neck next time I see her. 

--

The wedding is slated for a month from tomorrow. Roman and Pandora Montague publicly supported the match, so the rest of the ton falls in line and whispers about the match behind Castora’s back. She pretends not to notice. Soon-to-be-married ladies with less-than-perfect reputations cannot wack people with pall mall mallets. 

There is a garden party and she’s taking a turn about the room with her future husband. They’re walking silently arm-in-arm. If there is anything Castora has realized about Ajax recently it’s that he’s actually quite handsome. The pair were both pretending like the love confession never happened. 

“Lovely weather today,” Castora remarks insipidly. Ajax nods in agreement, but says nothing. This is why she had wanted to marry for love – to have someone to talk to. Loneliness she could bare, but not the quiet. But it was different with Ajax. The awkwardness was still there, but the silences were comfortable. She could get used to his quiet. 

“Can I ask you something?” Ajax looks like he’s about to be ill, but nods. “Can you tell me why I can’t beat you at whist?” He almost smiles. It was a rare sight, to see Ajax smiling. She felt a flutter of pride that she could bring one to his face. 

“It depends on the game. Some days you overexert yourself, thinking about what my strategy could be. And then there are days you are so impatient that you make silly mistakes.” 

“Yes, that all makes sense, but how can I beat you?”

He smiles again. “You’ll learn one day.” 

“Can I learn your name, then? I suppose I should not find out what you are called at the altar.”

Ajax thinks for a second. “Armand. My name is Armand, but I would prefer if you continued to call me Ajax, Miss Aguilar.”

Armand, she thinks. The name would sound lovely rolling off her tongue. 

She nods. “You can call me Castora, if you like. Since we are to be wed, I think it only reasonable.” 

--

Ajax escorts her back to Pandora and Roman’s home. When they return, the is a solicitor named Mr. Fredericks who insists that he’d like to see her in the drawing room. Then, he presents her with documents and says, “Miss Aguilar, I represent an individual who has bequeathed you 50,000 pounds.” 

Castora and Ajax’s jaws drop. “You must be mistaken.” 

“I’m not. Believe me, I double and triple checked with my client regarding this matter. He’s quite insistent in leaving you this sum.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say. All he said is that a Miss Castora Maria Aguilar, daughter of Isabella, who currently resides in London with Lord and Lady Montague is to receive this sum.” He takes a good, long look at her. “I have my theories though.” 

“What theories?”

“I’d prefer to keep them to myself.” 

Ajax cuts in. “Who is this individual?”

“He would prefer to remain anonymous, particularly as he is still living.” 

“Can I find out who he is when he dies?”

Mr. Fredericks shrugs. “Perhaps, although that may not be for some time.” 

They see Mr. Fredericks out and return to the drawing room. Castora is rich, and she’s smiling so brightly her face is starting to hurt. 

“Pandora and Roman will be back soon. I’ll inform them upon the return about the wedding.”

“What about the wedding?”

“...You don’t wish to end our engagement?” 

“No, whatever for?” 

“You are rescued, Castora. You no longer need me.” 

Her heart sinks in her chest. She should have realized that he would have no longer wanted to marry her now that he no longer had to, particularly after she offended him so. 

“I see no wish to bring further scandal to my name, and the wedding is one month. But if you wish to break the engagement, I promise I will not be offended. I have....some 50,000 pounds to cushion the blow.” 

“I would...like to continue.”

“Then we are in agreement....would you like to play a game of whist?” 

He nods and sits down at the table across from her, taking out a deck of cards. They play with hearts first. He beats her six times in a row before she insists they stop. 

-- 

The wedding day comes and goes without major fuss. Marcelo walks her down the aisle, glaring at Ajax the whole way. Pandora smiles for her. Ajax’s ward, Hazel, looks at Castora like she doesn’t quite know what to do with her. Castora and Ajax say their vows, and she thinks they’ll both mean them. Even if they won’t ever be in love with each other, for how could he love her after his first proposal, they would be loyal. 

When the wedding night comes, Ajax takes her back to his lodgings. Hazel is spending the evening with some friends in town, so they have the place all to themselves. “I figured it would be best to wait until the marriage to look for new lodgings.” A good idea, considering Castora’s sudden inheritance. 

Later, he shows her to an empty bedroom and places her luggage on the floor. “We can figure out precise arrangements later. Good night, Castora.” 

He turns to leave. She looks at him perplexed. “Is this not your room?”

“No. Mine to the left.”

“So -- are we not to...to.....” Castora blushes, rarely at a loss for words. “To consummate the marriage, Ajax?” 

He looks at her as if she’s struck him. “There is no need to.”

“Why the devil not?”

Ajax doesn’t answer. He just leaves, closing the door behind him. 

--

Castora cannot sleep. She’s tried, but not matter what she does, all her thoughts are of Ajax and why he didn’t want them to share a bed tonight. 

At half past two, she knocks on Ajax’s bedroom loudly. Her husband answers. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” 

“Good. You didn’t answer my question. Why the devil not?”

He looks pained. “Please, Castora.”

“I don’t want you to share your bed with me if you don’t want to. I just want an explanation.” 

“Because I love you, and I know you do not return my feelings, so I would prefer...I would prefer it if you did not break my heart.”

This is the first time they’ve spoken about the proposal since it happened. Castora is thankful it’s dark so he cannot see her shame. 

“Still?” Castora doesn’t know what to say.

“Still.”

“I don’t want to break your heart,” she replies. “Can I come in, please? We do not need to share a bed, but it’s awkward to talk like this.” He moves aside and lets her in, her hand brushing his. She sits on the edge of the bed. There is a long moment of quiet before she says, “I do not want to break your heart. I didn’t...I didn’t even realize I was in possession of it.” 

“You have been for years, Castora.” He’s not angry. It’s just a fact to him at this point. “Ever since that first day we met. Do you remember?”

Castora is surprised that she does. “Yes. It was my first season, when Pandora and Roman were still courting. We danced a quadrille, I believe. Lord Montague had introduced us earlier that evening.” 

“He did. I had asked Roman to ask him to.” 

“Why?” She laughed, unable to fathom why he would want to meet her. 

“Your cousin had been declared the Incomparable of the Season, yes? And there was a lot of disappointment that she hadn’t secured a proposal at that point.” 

“I remember.”

“And someone, I forget who, made a comment that perhaps the only way in which Ramona was the Incomparable was an Incomparable Failure. So, you---”

“So I told her that no, that role had been already filled by her.”

“And that Ramona was the Incomparable in every sense except for rapier wit and excellent penmenship, which was why she kept you around.” Ajax shrugged. “I--you love her so much, and you never stood by when people gossiped about you. It was...impossible not to love you. But, uh, Pandora told me that you would only marry for the greatest love, and I would never presume that I could give you that.”

Oh, how Castora wished she had never made that vow, even if it was half in jest. She’d forgotten how sharp her words could be, how easily they hurt. “You know, I also vowed to marry unless it didn’t rain in England for a year.” 

“My point.”

“Do you know why I made that vow?” He shakes his head. “My father was not a good man; he lied, cheated, stole and abandoned my mother and I. She died in a poorhouse, but she loved him. She loved him to the very end, never losing hope that he would come for her, for us.  I saw what insufficient love does, so I never wanted it. If I was ever to risk the dangers of matrimony, it would have to be for a love that would be steady, like a candle that would burn and never go out. It would have to be for a love that I could never deserve.”

She takes his head and kisses it. “I’m frightened, too. Frightened of what love would do to me, if it would destroy me like it did my mother. She wasn’t strong enough. And...And I know that I’m already half in love with you. I can’t give you tonight, or tomorrow, but I know I’ll been in love with you soon, and I-- I don’t want it to be too late. It’d be just my luck – the second I fall in love, you will have given up on me, Armand.” It slips out by accident. “Sorry, Ajax.”

“I like it when you say my name.” He looks at her and Castora feels seen since the first time in ages. “I promise not to break your heart if you won’t break mine.”

“Deal.” Castora leans in and kisses him. He startles, then pulls her close and kisses her back. Unlike their wedding ceremony, this kiss is only for them. Just for Castora and just for Armand. 

--

Two weeks after the wedding, her maid informs her she has visitors in the drawing room. Castora comes downstairs to find Ramona and a sheepish Viscount Warren sitting in her drawing room. The cousin’s run into each other arms for a big hug. This was the longest they’d be apart in years and Castora hadn’t realized how badly her heart ached.  “I can’t believe you got married without me, Castora Maria Aguilar. Well, I suppose it’s Giordano now, isn’t it?” 

“It is. Are you still Aguilar, or are you Ramona Warren?”

“Warren.” 

“Very well then. Ramona Cecelia Warren, I’m going to murder you.” 

Ramona and Matthias both look a little afraid. “How dare you run off to Gretna Green without telling me! And how dare you both take a month and a half to return without sending word! Do you know what you put me through?”

“We didn’t want to wait! And with the dowry situation ––”

“I don’t give two figs about the dowry situation! He’s a bloody viscount, Mona, he could afford to marry a woman with no fortune! I, on the other hand, could not afford to be a woman without a fortune and no reputation! And why did you not come home earlier?”

“But we got married the second we got to Gretna Green! I wrote to you. Oh, the letters must have been waylaid. You know my penmanship is awful, Castora! And when Matthias’s cousin’s heard we were in Scotland, they invited us to stay and---”

"Yes, yes,” Castora says impatiently, “And with the letters not arriving, you didn’t realize what a fuss it would cause.”

“Something like that,” Ramona replies. “Now tell me, dear cuz, what else did I miss?”

Castora smiles wickedly, “I’ll write you a letter and make you wait a month and a half to read it.” 

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with FAUST CONTRERAS, who is FORTY-FIVE years old. He is often called FORTINBRAS and works for the MONTAGUES as their INITIATE. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

Faust’s childhood was a relatively peaceful one, all things considered. He was the son of one of the three major organized crime groups in Chile at the time, and while he saw the violence, bloodshed, and addiction first hand, he also experienced the relative luxury of his life. His shoes never had holes in them, he always had food on the table, he had a good education and as many books as he wanted to read. Perhaps it is this even-handed existence that has given him a patient and methodical temperament in adulthood. He thinks before he acts and looks before he leaps, and it has rewarded him well; in a nation defined by being the middle-man between those around it when it comes to drugs, trafficking, and all sorts of exploits, it is best to know what you want before you sign on any dotted line. Born and bred for leadership, it was no surprise that he took to it well, and by the time he was twenty-five he had cultivated the people he knew would be with him, his inner circle, for the rest of his time as Don. It was picture perfect, as the life of an heir went; perhaps that is why it was destined for tragedy.

His right and left hands were Vicente and Mateo, cousins both and more trusted than anyone had any right to be. Together, and with the aid of their family, they built more than a familia. Together they would build an empire. They expanded the Contreras investment in drugs and took over the hospitals slowly and methodically, then moved on to poaching trade routes. Some might say they were reaching too high, and far too fast, but Faust had watched the other families grow lax as he grew into adulthood, secure in the knowledge that the status quo would be maintained. That was not good enough for a man like Faust. He wanted control, utterly and absolutely, and he would wade through blood to do it. He may have been handed the crown, but each new mission he dipped it in blood, until it soaked through his hair and into his very skin. He had never been taught the simple morality of a civilian, you see, and he had never had a gentle influence to temper him. The boy grew into a man as sharp as a blade and with a tongue as precise and deadly, and in the fifteen years of his reign, he was nigh unstoppable.

Yet all things come to an end, and Faust’s end came at the sound of a gun, at Vicente’s blood on his hands. He was coming for you, he breathed as his own gun fell from his hands, I was almost too late. In the blink of an eye, Mateo and Vicente took each other from this world, as they had all come into it together. For a moment, he considered joining them. What use was it to be the king when he had been so fucking blind? He hadn’t seen how Mateo chafed at acting in secret, how he had grown arrogant and bold beneath his notice. Nor had he seen how Vicente protected him, not only from the flash of the muzzle but from the very knowledge itself. One, too eager to act without worrying him, and the other eager to displace him. It was a terrible blow to someone who considered himself so thorough and patient, who had never been prone to hedonism or hubris. Faust Contreras had been out-played twice over, and though the rest of his familia wasn’t told the details, it wasn’t hard to deduce. He left them before someone sorrier and worse able to manage their affairs decided he was ripe for another test, leaving the empire in Chile to his own heir; his sister’s boy, who was clever and charismatic and more than anything, observant. He wished him well, in the end. A better life than Faust had conjured.

After that, he wandered. The power of his name was still enough to sustain him, for the Contreras’ had their hands in every pot in Latin America, all roads to profit running through them. He garnered some talent as a fixer, but soon he found that he had more ambition than he thought, for fixing other peoples’ problems didn’t quite satisfy his hunger. Kings are born one of two ways: wading through the gore of a conquest with their sword at their side, or with golden crowns atop their heads and rings on their skeletal hands. Faust didn’t care which he was anymore, some amalgom of both and neither, but he knew one thing: there were places on this earth he could still rule, if he wished it. That was what brought him to Verona, after all, and he’d already treated with Damiano as the ghost he’d left behind. It was easy to play to the man’s pride, to let him lord how far Faust had fallen over him, never quite realizing that it was Faust’s choice to fall, like the angels of old. The man was easy to fool, and Faust counted himself content, because Verona was a city in need of order. If there was any place that he could renew his crown, it would be here, in the midst of chaos and viciousness. The old Fortinbras was dead, he figured, out of hubris and shortsightedness. He couldn’t blame the man; both were easy to fall victim to, but he’d made his mistakes enough already. He could take this old name and make it his, and with or without the blessing of Damiano Montague, show Verona what a real King could do. It was only a matter of time.

ARMAND GIORDANO: Ghost. The moment he saw Armand, he saw Vicente’s eyes in an entirely different face. It was so startling, in fact, that he hasn’t been able to meet Armand’s eyes since. Does he know? Can he see the way he haunts Faust with every word, every look, every step in his direction? He’s not sure whether Armand cares, as focused as he is on Roman, but sometimes he wants him to look, if only to see the grief reflected back. Don’t let yourself get subsumed by it, he pleads without words, because the thought of explaining it all makes him sick. That empty devotion will lead him to his grave if he’s not careful, but how can Faust explain what it is to thread the needle? How can he show someone how to balance on the edge of a knife, between losing yourself in the needs of others and not being there when they do, in fact, need you? It’s not a selfless desire to protect that he sees in Armand, it’s a selfish one, and that scares him more than anything. 

CARLO AMARANTE: Mark. It’s not difficult to spot the indents of a collar on someone’s neck when you’ve put a dozen or two there yourself. Carlo is all hunched shoulders, all paranoia, all exhaustion, and Faust knows that look so well because he’s cultivated it. Here is a tool ready-made, and he would thank the gods for sending them into his path, if he believed in them at all anymore. Instead, he merely finds ways to feel Carlo out, to spend time with them and see where their head is at. They’ve been rode hard, that much is certain, but are they ready to open themselves up to the words of another deity? He can’t tell, but when Carlo is ready, Faust will be ready as well. I’d take much better care of you, he thinks as he watches the weight fill his eyes and the hopelessness sink in, I’d make sure you never felt the marks. 

BATTISTA TAHAN & POPPY: Protégés. Faust made his empire by being a middle-man, and it’s that same quality he now sees in these two, though for very different reasons. Poppy has the makings of a perfect money-laundering system at her feet, but she remains wild and volatile, endangering what she’s worked so hard to build. He doesn’t want to tame that part of her, but he wants to use it to build her reputation - if she’ll let him. For Battista, it’s simple: medics and hospitals are the easiest ways to traffic drugs in the world. If he would get himself a proper license, he could deal throughout Verona without detection from the police; hell, he could deal to the police in their sickbeds, but he’s reticent to do so, and Faust for the life of him can’t understand why. He’s in the mafia, is he not? He wanted to be there, did he not? Then he better get used to what being a part of the machine means, and Faust will teach him the easy way or watch as someone else teaches it to him hard. 

IVAN RAHAL: Potential. When he first realized that the Capulets were using one of the greatest technical minds in the world to run a fight club, Faust thought it was a joke. Sure, in his off time, maybe, but as his main position within their organization? It was a foolish decision indeed, and he began to wonder just how little the Capulets value that first rate mind, if they’re keeping it in a place like that. Curious, Faust began to attend those fights, and even began to win them, enough that he would interact with Ivan at any rate. Playing as though he was curious about the other side (as an Initiate, it wasn’t hard), he instead began to feel out whether Ivan was interested in crossing the adige, with methodical, careful precision. His words were not honey; they were far too pragmatic for that, yet they certainly have their charms, for Ivan Rahal still listens, and sometimes Faust thinks he catches the glimmer of interest before it’s hastily tucked away.

Faust is portrayed by PEDRO PASCAL and was written by ROGUE. He is currently OPEN.

[diveronaevents]

Date: October 10th

Time: 3:33 PM

Location: Hotel Emelia -- All of Verona

It was like the splitting of the veil in the temple of the Lord, nature itself had witnessed the splitting of something divine and rent itself apart to decry the injustice. So, too, did Verona see fit to cry out against the travesties that were being enacted on its soil. The storm did not abate, did not allow a single soul a breath of air in the midst of torrents of water and flashes of thunder and lightning. There was only the suffocation of the life of Verona, institutions crumbling to pieces at the hands of a vengeful and righteous God. The witches whispered among themselves within the confines of their sacred space, watching from atop their hotel like three gargoyles judging sinners for daring to step upon hallowed ground. Even against the darkened storm clouds of the dim afternoon sky, they seemed to encapsulate the inky blackness of something otherworldly. The shadows that dart in and out of the corner of your eyes. The mass of fear that watches you as you wake up, sweat drenching your sheets, lips locked together to prevent you from screaming.

They stood with their umbrellas upon, black halos that highlighted the paleness of their respective features, each of their lips curved downward in a distasteful frown. From where they stood, they could see how empty the streets were -- an indisputable display of evidence of the toll that the storm was taking upon the city. CIRCE was the first to break the pseudo-silence that had fallen between the three siblings, punctuated every so often by a thunderclap or a flash of lightning.

“Have our prayers been answered?” They asked, staring at the rising levels of water that barraged the cobblestone streets.

“When has our God ever turned away from us? We are His instruments meant to deliver a message of perdition to those who refuse to confess their wrongdoings and reconcile for…” MEDEA trailed off, searching for the word that escaped them.

“Heinous transgressions?” HECATE supplied helpfully, flicking droplets of water from their black gloves. “Let Verona drown, then, in their silence. Let it suffocate them in the form of a great deluge. God did it once with Noah - and as we are quite aware: history repeats itself.”

And it does. In the form of a bullet and a trigger and a body on the banks of a river that saw the rise and fall of empires.

A thunderclap sounded, far closer than they had anticipated, and the three siblings turned their heads up in unison, umbrellas forsaken for the moment. With their faces upturned, they drank in the power of the dark storm clouds gathering, stretching for miles beyond the borders of Verona. There was to be no relief found in the near future, was there? An answer to their prayers - a means of retribution for spitting upon their sanctified rule of obedience while within their domains of neutrality. A smile painted HECATE’S face as they threw their umbrella from atop the roof of Hotel Emelia, a bout of laughter filling the air as their siblings drank in the satisfaction of knowing that no crime against them would go unpunished by a God that decreed them to be something holy. Or unholy.

They did not wait to hear the splash that HECATE’S umbrella would make and turned away from the scene that was laid out before them. But just as they did so, there was a shift, a change in the rain fall, in the lighting of the clouds, in the very breath that Verona took. They turned back, and what did they see when they looked at the waters flooding the streets. Chrome and gold glinted, some of it looking like water in oil, with the water, but not of it. Three pairs of eyes lifted in that moment, to determine where this leak of ambrosia and fae blood had stemmed from, but when they looked there was only more gold and chrome, winking at them, glimmering against the darkness from which they emerged. Three pairs of lips parted in horror.

God had cast the first sinners out of paradise and sent them to a hell on earth. Perhaps what they were to endure in Verona was far worse. Perhaps their paradise was to become their hell. For the sins they committed were far more condemnable than that of their First Parents.

CIRCE’S eyes searched the horizon, squinting past the gentle drizzle that was somehow far more damning than the torrent that poured down upon them moments before. They took a deep breath in, mouth opening to tell their siblings what they already knew -- they had to warn the people of Verona of what effects there might be, of the horrors that they were likely going to endure for the next few weeks. But there was no sound that was emitted. Save for that of a gasp of horror, followed by the screams of their siblings.

 Damiano awoke with a start, having passed out with a bottle of whiskey in hand. There was a thunderous crack that had sounded moments after he awoke, but it was not what made his heart seize in agony. It was the voice that had whispered in his ear, had dragged him from his troubled reverie of inky blackness. He smacked his lips together, already intent on brushing away the remnants of a guilt-ridden clockwork heart. There was an early darkness that had settled onto Verona, somewhat familiar now after days of rain and storm clouds. The paperwork on his desk was indecipherable now, numbers and words blending together in an unintelligible mix of ink and paper. There was something in there about the monetary hits they had taken thus far, what with the Capulets peddling their own feel-good drugs now. Along with a report about Roman’s failings. Faron’s successes.

A gale of wind shrieked for his attention and Damiano frowned, turning his head while wiping off the flecks of rain that had come in. Had he truly slept through this? There was no other explanation, what with the glass that was on the floor and the carpet that was drenched from the fat raindrops that had invaded the room.

He frowned and picked up a shard of glass, holding it up to stare at the faint light emanating from a street lamp outside.

He took a deep breath and squinted, the taste of whiskey tasting sour in his mouth.

A pair of eyes stared at him through the shard of glass.

Here was his demon, come to haunt him.

“Alvise,” he whispered. “Alvise, please forgive me.”

OVERVIEW: This event, unlike other events, is more open-ended. This event is meant to progress each and every character’s development and give us a chance to expand on the heartbreak each citizen of Verona has to endure. The floods have caused irreparable damage to the factories of the Montagues and the Capulets, where their drugs were being produced. The floodwater has quite literally dredged up the worst of Verona, the drugs culminating into an intoxicating mix that causes hallucinogenic effects. Specifically, effects that bring up visions and apparitions of one’s worst demons, of the ghosts that haunt one into the witching hour of the night. The rain has lessened into a less abusive torrent, becoming instead a light drizzle so Veronans may go about trying to repair the damage that has been done to their city. By October 13th the rain will have stopped completely. By October 15th, the water will have abated -- and will continue to be cleared out from then on.

Threads may be dated from October 10th ( when the hallucinations start to plague the city ) to October 29th. Might want to keep in mind that Verona is known for their Halloween -- ah, excuse me, All Souls’ Day -- celebrations. 

TASK: This is, as always, optional. But feel free to write a drabble, or an assessment, as to which element represents your character best. Is it iron? Gold? Fire? Water? Feel free to make a graphic for this as well! 

[cookieswriting]

Something More Than Love Pt. 5 (SSC/Rosvolio)

Some slightly adult content at the very end, nothing crazy though

As she approached the very same cell Benvolio had occupied just days before, Rosaline shuddered and had to remind herself that he was safe back at House Montague.  He no longer awaited execution...he’d been cleared of all accusations leveled against him.  She’d seen him back to his home...his villa now, though the transfer of title and power had not yet been formally made...before excusing herself under the guise of seeing her sister.  She would see Livia...after making this brief stop first.

Damiano Montague looked up as the guard led her to him. The same guard, she noted, that she’d bribed to allow her to see his nephew.  “L-Lady Rosaline!  Thank the Lord you have come, perhaps you will be able to speak sense to Benvolio!  The Prince will surely execute me if he does not rescind his accusations!”

Fury burned her cheeks, and Rosaline took a calming breath before speaking.  “Your nephew is a good and honorable man, Signor Montague.”  He flinched at the informal title...one small victory.  “Despite his upbringing, he grew into a kind and gentle soul...seeking to love and be loved above all else.  He would far sooner offer his hand to help someone up than raise it to harm even an enemy.  He is the best man I know...despite you.”  The man, staring at her dumbfounded, opened his mouth to speak, but Rosaline silenced him with a glare.  “I will never hope to understand how you could have deprived a hurting boy affection, security...love.  I cannot fathom how you justified to yourself abusing him day after day.  I am sure I will never know the true extent of what you did to him...and yet.”  An affectionate smile curled her lips.  “And yet, he would not see you dead.  Your nephew requested that the Prince stay your execution...that he allow you to live out your days in this prison.  In spite of all the grief you brought to him, he refuses to see the last of his blood killed.  Make no mistake, though, Damiano.”  She stepped closer to his cell, all pretense of nicety gone in an instant.  “So long as there is breath in my body, I will do whatever it takes to ensure he does not suffer another moment by your doing.  You failed in every attempt to break him; instead, he became the Lord your House truly deserves...he became the man I imagine his father would have raised him to be.”  Her proud smirk left Damiano withering before her.  “I suppose that means you have failed in every way...even the murder of your brother could not hinder his influence on his rightful heir.  And where his blood failed him day after day, I will honor your nephew with the love and devotion he so desperately deserves.  He will have the family you tried to take from him, and he will lead House Montague to a greatness that you could never have hoped to achieve.  Goodbye, Singor.  You shall not see either of us again.  May God have mercy on your soul.”

Before Damiano could gather his wits to form a reply, Rosaline turned and left the dungeon without a second glance.  She knew there was a chance that Benvolio would be displeased with her visit to his uncle, but she could not bring herself to care; if anyone deserved a champion, it was him, and Rosaline would fill that role for the rest of her life.  Every word she’d spoken was true, though he would never speak most of them on his own behalf.  

By the time Rosaline made it out of the dungeon and to House Capulet, Livia had gone off in search of her sister, to House Montague according to their uncle’s new steward. With an affectionate grin, Rosaline directed the carriage to follow after Livia and hoped that her loved ones would not panic upon realizing that she did not make it to her destination.

“Mauricio, is my sister here?”

The Montague steward bowed to her respectfully, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.  “Yes, milady.  One of the men stationed at the Prince’s dungeon reported that you had stopped there before returning to House Capulet...he arrived moments before Lady Livia, so she chose to wait here for your return.”

Rosaline chuckled softly.  “Well, it is better that they know I am alive, I suppose….thank you, Mauricio.  Is he where I left him?”  The steward nodded, and bowed to her again as she excused herself.  The Capulet made her way to the library...one he’d told her had been off-limits to him while his uncle ran the House, but one that had the best lighting for his sketchwork.  She’d been unspeakably proud of him for claiming the space for the passion his uncle had tried so hard to smother, and secretly hoped that someday they might share quiet moments together there.  As she approached the room, the voices of the two most important people in her life drifted to her, and Rosaline could not help but hesitate and listen.

“I cannot help but feel like a fool for trusting him,” Livia murmured bitterly.  Oh, what Rosaline wouldn’t give for her sister to return to the innocence she’d known before Paris fell into her life.

“For all his crimes and faults, milady...Count Paris truly loved you to the best of his ability.  He meant to keep you safe...and to give you the life of a Princess...because he cherished the light and love in your heart. I pray that you may find some comfort in that; and I pray that you might forgive me for taking his life.”

“F-forgive you?  My lord, you saved Verona...you brought us peace!”

“I also made you a widow, milady...my actions caused you great pain,” Benvolio pointed out.  Tears filled Rosaline’s eyes at the grief in his voice, and she could bear it no longer.  As she stepped into the doorway, though, she watched Livia wrap her arms around his neck.  The shock was clear on his face, but he only hesitated for a moment before returning the embrace whole-heartedly.  A single tear slid down his cheek, and Benvolio squeezed his eyes shut

“You have done more for my sister and me than we shall ever be capable of repaying.  Whether he loved me or not, Paris was not a good man...you freed me from what I am sure would have been a truly difficult life.”

“It is what true family does,” Rosaline whispered as she stepped into the room.  Benvolio’s eyes turned to her in surprise, exasperation warring with relief in their depths. “It warms my heart to see you bonding...truly.  In light of all that has happened, I feared it would influence your views of one another.”

“My wayward sister returns!” Livia exclaimed with exaggerated surprise as she drew away from Benvolio.  

“I was not wayward, Livia, I was-”

“Making an unannounced visit to the dungeon, yes...it has been a habit of yours of late.”  The smirk that he was failing to conceal gave her reassurance that he was not angry with her.

“One that I have no intention of repeating, my lord, so you would do well to keep yourself out of trouble for awhile, hmm?”

Benvolio’s withering look brought a smile to Rosaline’s face, and she stepped further into the room to hug her sister.  “I shall do my best, beloved, though you and I know all too well how little that tends to matter in this city.”

“Beloved?” Livia echoed, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.  Rosaline felt her cheeks warm and bit her lip.  As she stepped around her sister, peace settled her heart.  Benvolio canted his head, and she knew without a doubt she’d made the right choice.  The tenderness and affection staring back at her promised that he would follow her lead.  The gentle touch at her waist assured that he would stay by her side, come what may.  She settled against his side comfortably, facing Livia with a confidence that could only come from the man holding her.

“Aye...beloved.  Livia-”

“You need not explain anything to me, sweet sister...I can see all that I need to know.” She smiled to both of them and ducked gracefully out of the room.  Rosaline couldn’t help but giggle, turning and pressing her face into Benvolio’s neck.  His own chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his smile pressed into her hair.

“It feels so strange,” she whispered against his skin, earning her a shudder in response.

“What is that?” he murmured, twirling a curl around his finger with a lazy smile on his face.  Rosaline reached up and traced it, empowered in the knowledge that she was the cause of the most relaxed, contented smile she’d ever seen grace his handsome face.

“To truly mean it when I call you beloved.  To tell my sister that you are my beloved.”  Her hand settled over his cheek and drew his face closer to hers.

“And if I were to truly mean it when I call you fiancee?” She drew back just enough to meet his eyes.  His lazy smile had transformed into his most charming, hopeful grin, and she knew she was lost for him.  With the hand that had been in her hair, Benvolio reached into his doublet and pulled out a beautiful ruby ring.  “This belonged to my mother...so what do you say, Capulet? Will you willingly bind yourself to a Montague?”

“Not a Montague, Montague…” Question flickered in his eyes for an instant, before understanding dawned in his eyes and then he was beaming at her. The hand on his jaw slid into his hair, and drew him down once more until her lips barely brushed against his.  “You.”  

This kiss was far different from the ones they’d shared in the past.  All reservation vanished, and Benvolio was possessing her very soul.  His fingers dug into her flesh, his tongue stroked into her mouth and left her weak-kneed.  Carefully, Benvolio eased her backwards until her thighs pressed into something...a desk, she realized, when she reached out to feel the surface.  With a smirk, she broke the kiss so that she could sit atop it and watch him through her lashes.  He surprised her by drawing her left hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the ring finger.  Blue eyes held her entranced as he slid his mother’s ring over her knuckle.  

“My beloved...my fiancee.”  Benvolio guided her hand back to the desk, and did the same with her other hand.  Strong, sure fingers carded through her curls and guided her head back.  Rosaline wasn’t sure what he was doing, but she was pliant to his touch; not even Escalus had garnered such unconditional trust, and she couldn’t help the thrill of excitement knowing they would not be interrupted this time.  Her breath escaped her in an airy sigh when he latched onto her throat and sucked gently.  The wet heat of his tongue followed, and Rosaline reached up to cradle the back of his head.

“Ah ah,” he chastised against her skin, the puff of breath across her damp skin making her shiver.  Teeth nipped at her skin and drew a whine, but he didn’t relent.  Benvolio pressed her hand against the desk once more and only withdrew when he was sure that she would leave it there.  “Please, my love...no touching.”  The nod she gave may have seemed somewhat desperate, but she could not bring herself to care; particularly when he resumed his work. The further down her neck he moved, the closer to her chest, the farther back Rosaline leaned.  Benvolio chuckled when she adjusted her hands and in turn arched her chest towards him, and he hesitated when his lips found her pulse.  “You are exquisite, Capulet...when we kissed in the dungeon, I dared not hope that it was anything more than goodbye.  Yet here we are, our lives truly our own for the first time.  When we were first bound by the Prince’s decree, I could not have dreamed that you would give yourself to me, that I would do the same...that I would be the cause for your racing heartbeat.  I love you, Rosaline.”

“And I you, Benvolio...but if you would, milord…” He distracted her for a moment, nuzzling his nose against hers affectionately.  “I would rather make the most of this time without words, if we-” He swallowed her giggles in a possessive kiss, fingers tightening in her hair and drawing a low moan that had him grinning wickedly.  

“Of course, milady...as you wish.”  Rosaline raised a curious brow at him as his hands moved down her body, bold and steady as they moved along the skirt of her dress over her hips, only stopping once they reached her knees.  Despite the confidence he exuded, Benvolio’s eyes searched hers, waiting for permission.  Warmth and affection bloomed in her chest, and she nodded.  His gaze snapped to her mouth when her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and his fingers fisted in her dress.  

With considerable visible effort to rein in his enthusiasm, Benvolio drew her skirt up inch by torturous inch.  When Rosaline clenched her own fists in frustration and dropped her head back, he took the opportunity to return his attention to the heated skin of her chest and shoulders.  Once her skirts were over her knees, featherlight touches ignited fire along her thighs and left her gasping for breath.  She curled against him, pressing her temple against his jaw. “Ben…”

“What was it you said about words, sweet Rosaline?” His touch became more sure, and suddenly she didn’t know which way was up.  She could only follow his guidance as he nudged her knees open with his own, could only comply when his hands took hold of her hips and scooted her closer to the edge of the desk...could only hiss a breath through her teeth when the movement brought them flush against one another.  Without the layers of her dress acting as a barrier, the new, intense friction threatened to drown her.  Desperate for a moment to reorient herself, Rosaline squeezed Benvolio’s bicep, and was grateful when he understood what she needed immediately.  “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed, and then rolled her eyes at the smug pride that glinted in his eyes.  “I was simply...caught off guard.”

“Mmm,” Benvolio hummed, arrogance melting into affection as his hands came up to frame her face.  He pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, cheeks and nose before returning to her lips.  “It can certainly be overwhelming when you experience it for the first time.  Would you like to stop?”  Where she expected teasing, Rosaline only read genuine concern, and all of her hesitation dissipated.

Rather than responding, she released his arm to brace herself on the desk again.  Benvolio canted his head, a slow grin brightening his handsome features with a look that she could only describe as awe, as she curled her legs around his hips and hooked her ankles together.  This time, when his hands dropped to her hips once more and took firm hold, he pulled her against him slowly, intentionally, easing the friction to something deliciously sweet.  Warmth pooled between her legs, a smoldering ember stoked with each touch. His lips found the slope of her shoulder, and a moan vibrated against her skin.

Despite their difference in experience, Rosaline felt somehow empowered by the knowledge that he was just as affected as her.  Leaning her weight into her arms, Rosaline allowed her body to move with his; as in learning a new dance, she closed her eyes and awaited his lead, responding to the give and take, push and pull of his hands and his hips. When she found the rhythm of his movements and arched up into him in perfect time, an arm locked around her waist and teeth bit down into her shoulder, and Rosaline gave a soft cry of surprise.

Benvolio’s weight pressed against her chest, and he pressed kisses against her reddened skin as if in apology, but still he did not let her go.  He took a step backwards, out of the cage of her legs and creating space between them that Rosaline ached to erase, but his arm remained firmly around her.  “Forgive me, my love...if we do not stop now…”

“And yet I find myself terribly tempted to plead we continue,” Rosaline confessed breathlessly.  His eyes closed and his jaw clenched at her words, and she immediately reached out to stroke his face.  “You are a far better man than you believe yourself to be.”  One hand moved down to his side, lifting his shirt to check the bandages there.  “I thank God for returning you to me, for protecting you through all of this, and for bringing us together despite ourselves.  How do you feel?”

“Well enough to marry my beautiful bride as soon as the Prince will allow,” he growled in her ear, stoking the embers inside her once more.  She giggled and pressed him back far enough to see his face.  “I mean it, Rosaline...if he agrees, I will marry you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is so dreadfully far away, milord…”

Benvolio bit his lip with an affectionate grin and brushed a stray curl from her face.  “Would you have me fetch him now?  Say the word, milady, and I shall.”

Rosaline giggled, and wrapped her arms around his neck.  Benvolio’s own arms held her around her back, and he turned to ease her off of the desk and onto her feet.  In that moment she felt safer than she could ever remember.  His warmth, his strength, his scent all wrapped around her like a blanket, and the world around them fell away.  “Tomorrow,” she breathed contentedly.  “For today, my love, simply hold me.”

[kateknowsdramas]

Damiano: So, you’re a free man now.

Benvolio: Yes.

Damiano: Benvolio, I….

Benvolio: That’s Lord Montague to you, murderer.

[lafiametta]

labor - ros//ben prompt

@groovydevotedlyrose86, I think this is what you were asking for, yes?

The sound of it had been almost more than Benvolio could bear.

For hours her sharp cries had echoed through the corridors ofthe house, only to be followed every so often by the more terrible gasps ofsilence. He sat, his fingernails carving half-moons into the arms of thechairs, and he paced, his tread wearing a path along the terracotta floor, andhe stared out the window, his eyes focused on the brick rooftops of the city eventhough his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Her pains had begun right after breakfast, her hand reaching to thebase of her belly just as she stood up from the table. He had been confused atfirst, thinking that the meal had disagreed with her somehow, but then she hadgasped, her face sharply contorted, and she had told him that it was time tosend for the physician. Benvolio sent for the physician, and he sent for themidwife, too – he would have sent for the Doge of Venice if he had believed itwould have helped his beloved through the trials of her labor.

It was beyond all reason that he could not be with her himself,offering her what little comfort he could, but he knew he would have beenchased from the room before he could even enter, an interloper in such ancientand mysterious rites.

The first star had appeared on the eastern horizon when he hearda different kind of cry, one thinner and higher-pitched, and then his heart hadoverflooded within his chest, knowing that he was hearing the voice of hischild, that it lived and drew breath enough to wail lustily.

He waited – in agony and hope – for the physician to appear, andfinally he did, crimson stains still caked under his fingernails.

“Congratulations, my lord,” he said without prelude. “You have ason.”

Benvolio had no idea how much coin was in the purse he handedover, nor did he care.

By the time he reached their chamber, all evidence that anythingout of the ordinary had happened there had been entirely eradicated, and he wasgreeted by a single chambermaid and his wife, who lay in the middle of animmaculately made bed, her arms wrapped around a bundle she kept clutched toher breast. She looked as if she had gone through a battle – her hair was looseand tiredness was etched into her features – yet it had clearly ended in victory,and she the collector of the spoils.

“Your uncle will be happy,” she said, a wry smile on her lips. “Fornow there is an heir.”

“Are you happy?” heasked, as he gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. He was a little afraid totouch her – he was afraid to do anything that might upset the delicateperfection of this moment. Everything lay before them – the future and all of itspossibilities, both good and ill – and this, he now saw, was the point from which itwould all begin.

“I am,” she murmured, her smile turning warm in the candlelight.

She reached out her arms and gently handed him the bundle, andBenvolio took it awkwardly, looking down for the first time at the face of hisson, an impossibly tiny creature with tawny brown skin and a mop of dark curls.He was blessed with his mother’s wide eyes, though marked in hazel rather thanmahogany. Benvolio had no words, no lines of poetry or godly hymns, nothing togive voice to what he felt. There was only joy, and the brush of sorrow,knowing that his long-buried friends would never have the chance to feel such all-consuminglove.

“What will you call him?” she asked. “Another Benvolio? Or perhaps Damiano?That might drive your uncle to heights of unimaginable ecstasy, I fear.”

Benvolio glanced up at her, his gaze softly meeting her own. “Niccolo.”

Her face stilled, some unreadable emotion set loose behind hereyes.

“My father’s name?”

He nodded, watching as she pressed her lips together, her eyes bright with the threatof tears. Keeping his arms wrapped tightly around his son, Benvolio shifted sothat he could sit right beside his wife, her body leaning tenderly against his.She reached out and took their child from him, and Benvolio curled his armsaround them both, his own eyes soon nearly full to overflowing.

“Niccolo Montague,” she whispered, a tiny catch in her voice. “Welcomehome.”

[send me a word, I’ll write you a Rosvolio drabble]

[ellabee15author]

Of course she knew she'd be expected to dance with her husband on her wedding day, Rosaline wasn't a simpleton. The problem was that at every social event where it was expected for the betrothed couple to dance, he'd found ways to avoid her. Here they were again, at the palace. She was leaning against a pillar and he...he was helping an elderly relative across the hall. She frowned into her goblet of wine. No, she wasn't about to let the actions of Benvolio Montague upset her.

Alright she was. He never missed a chance to annoy her in public. Why was this the one thing he seemed so unwilling to try...Her eyes widened as Benvolio caught her looking at him and smirked. There was only one reason she could conceive of. She tilted her head, smiling back at him. His teasing expression turned to alarm as she pushed off the column. Crossing the sea of partygoers, she heard the hush as her feet went over the imaginary line the Montague and Capulet guests had created for themselves. A woman dropped her goblet, a man stepped on his wife's foot, a musician played a false note. Rosaline ignored all of it.

Benvolio's eyes were darting around him, presumably looking for exits, but he was not fast enough. Rosaline smiled down at him.

"It is a lovely party, is it not, my lord?" She asked, loud enough to be heard by all the closest guests. Not that it would be too difficult as many of them had lowered the volume of their conversation to hear.

"Yes." Benvolio stood, straightening his doublet. "Though any room with you shines ever brighter." So he was going to be a poet tonight. Good, she could use that. Ignoring the way his words flamed her cheeks, she drew her fingers casually along the side of the table.

"The music is so wonderful tonight." She remarked. "It makes it almost impossible to sit still."

"Probably explains why you are standing." Benvolio said. There was a loud thwacking sound. At first Rosaline was unsure where it had originated, but Benvolio answered that question when he looked down at the elderly Montague next to him.

"Your beautiful bride to be wants to dance with you, foolish boy." He warbled. He grinned at Rosaline. "Excuse my grandson, his father would have taught him better, but unfortunately he was raised by his uncle." He sighed. "I tried to teach that boy, but Damiano was always the less jovial one."

"Grandfather." Benvolio began through gritted teeth.

"Dance with her." The elderly lord Montague said, lifting his cane. "Or I'll thrash you again and dance with her myself."

Rosaline covered her mouth as her red faced fiance jumped out of the reach of his grandfather's cane and offering his arm to Rosaline. Leading her to the dance floor, he stared pointedly at the floor.

They bowed to each other before he took her hand, placing the other on her waist. Rosaline waited for him to fumble or step on her toes...but the mistakes never came. In fact, she noted sourly, Benvolio Montague was an excellent dancer.

"I would have thought that you would be pleased, beloved." Bonvolio whispered. "Is this not what you wanted?"

"I was truthfully expecting you to be a lead footed ape when it came to dancing." Rosaline replied. Benvolio paused, his hand on her waist flexing slightly.

"And you asked me to dance so I might humiliate myself in front of all of Verona." He shook his head. "Oh my dear Capulet harpy." The words had no malice, in fact he seemed amused. No doubt dreaming of other ways to further torture her. Not that he needed to. This dance was enough. He was so close, his hands steady as he led her through the motions, his hands strong and guiding...his eyes on her as though she were the only person in the room. She tore he gaze away.

"Why else would you have avoided dancing with me at every opportunity." She growled. Too late she realized the petulant whine of her tone. Too late, she recognized that she'd lost whatever higher ground her power play had gained her. Benvolio stopped his motions. She refused to look him in the face, bracing herself for the taunting to begin. After all, she'd confessed to wanting to dance with him.

Her betrothed remained silent and motionless. She hazarded a glance at him. He was looking at her as though he was puzzling something out.

"You...wanted to dance with me?" He murmured, scarcely seeming to believe his question. Rosaline bit her lip. She had two options. She could deny, which would certainly be simpler. Or she could admit that her noting of his neglect to her had not gone unnoticed, even if she wasn't sure what it meant yet and that being held against him as they swayed wasn't the worst sensation in the world.

Her silence spoke for her, as even before she could utter a response, Benvolio's face opened and a look of genuine surprise and a flicker of excitement passed over his features. Rosaline ducked her gaze.

"It is you who did not wish to dance with me, Montague." She mumbled. Benvolio glanced around them.

"In truth I had assumed you would prefer another partner." He didn't need to look toward the throne to make her understand who he meant. "I did not wish to dance with one who did not want it of me."

Rosaline squeezed the hand she held in hers before stepping back. "Then how about we do this properly?" She asked. Benvolio arched an eyebrow.

"So I won't need to be caned by my grandfather this time?" Rosaline laughed.

"Tragically, no." She grinned. "I rather like him."

"You, Rosaline Capulet, saying something positive about a Montague." Benvolio's eyes glittered. "I shall alert the town criers."

"Good, then perhaps they can finally find something else to recite besides your horrific poem." She shot back, unwilling to let him have this round. He shook his head before bowing to her, lifting her hand to his lips. She couldn't fight the small gasp as he brushed against her knuckles, his mouth soft and warm.

"My darling harpy." He grinned. "Might I have this dance?"

"Of course, my beloved toad." She curtsied, grinning as he spun her before leading her into the next dance.

[iris-candice-clemons-west]

I have no need for men and their sons. But I would support a fresco of a female saint.

Go head, Isabella!

[bethofbells]

Heart of Hearts

They spend their first night under the moon, riding their horses to exhaustion. There is no time to stop and sleep, no place to lay their heads. The royal guard will not rest until they have Benvolio, and Rosaline knows if Livia does not discover her note first, there is no hope that her family will not come after her immediately.

So they ride at full speed, traitorous moon illuminating them on the unsheltered road. Benvolio had given her little choice with his teary eyes and the desperation coloring his voice. Her chest aches when she thinks at the way the both of them have been treated by their city, their families.

No doubt if she’d stayed then a marriage to Damiano would have been forced, especially with Benvolio’s flight from Verona. All parties would have assumed the younger Montague’s action was an admission of guilt.

Her fingers slip against the horse’s reins, slick with sweat where she’s been gripping tightly. Her back aches with the motion of the galloping creature, the muscles of her thighs and calves sore from holding her place in the stirrups. She’s out of practice since her father’s death, her aunt sneering at her wish to go riding, an unnecessary pastime in the city, especially for a servant.

The packed dirt road they are on nears the edge of a thickly wooded forest, disappearing under the branches into darkness. Setting her jaw, Rosaline urges her horse forward.

The blackness settles around her like a blanket, the foliage more dense than she expected. For a moment fear of the unknown thrums through her. She pulls back on the reins, slowing to a even trot, willing her racing heart to slow.

Benvolio is close behind, his horse snuffling in the darkness, hooves thumping gently on the ground. She turns to look at him, finding only a barely discernible black figure. “The sun will rise in a few hours. We should stop and rest while we’re shrouded in darkness.”

She waits on his response, longer than is reasonable she thinks. “Montague, does something have your tongue?”

Their horses are walking now, side by side on the dimly lit road. The creatures seem to take comfort in one another’s presence, their closeness causing Benvolio’s knee to bump against hers.

“This forest is…” He stops, unable to articulate exactly what is bothering him. “I just don’t have a good feeling about letting my guard down in the darkness.” Unspoken is the general feeling of unease that began to permeate him the moment they plunged into the woods.

The corner of Rosaline’s mouth quirks up. “Is my Lord Montague afraid of the dark? Perhaps there’s a wolf-man hiding in the bushes just waiting for two unsuspecting travelers? Or maybe there’s a dreaded vampire hanging from a low branch ready to drain the life from our bodies?”

In response to her amusement, Benvolio gently nudges his heels into the flanks of his horse, leaving her to catch up. “Laugh all you want, Capulet, but there are things in this forest at night much worse than vampires and wolf-men, and not a few of them are human in form.”

Giving in, she sets her horse to trotting again. “Fine, though we shall ride our horses to death if we do not stop soon.”

“There’s an inn on the other side of this forest. We should make it there just as the sun rises. It’s better to travel at night anyway.”

“A sound plan, Montague.”

He agreement is both unexpected and needed. It calms his fluttering nerves and pushes away the certainty that he is making mistakes at every turn. For the first time in over a day he begins to feel like things are going to turn out for the better.

Somehow it’s getting darker as they move along, the faint outline of Benvolio beside her getting less and less visible. Instinctively she reaches out, looking for him. Her hand lands on his arm, fingers sliding to the crook of his elbow before she has s chance to tell herself she’s being silly. She holds on anyway.

She hears him snicker, but he doesn’t pull away. “Now, who’s afraid of the dark, Capulet?”

“Quiet, Montague, you’ll wake the wolf-man.”

-

He’s right about their arrival at the inn. The sky is just beginning to lighten, the dark blue above them melting into a rosy gold. Rosaline has seen it many times from the window of her bedroom, and many more looking out across the garden in front of the kitchen at her uncle’s house, but never has it seemed quite this vibrant. The orb of the sun on the horizon is the bright orange-red of a coal glowing in the hearth, and the rays are warm against her chilly skin.

She releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding, hearing the same sound come from the man beside her. It’s only then that she realizes her hand is still tucked beneath his arm. She withdraws quickly, and tries to ignore the strange untethered feeling she’s left with, although Benvolio’s expression makes her wonder if he feels the same.

The inn itself is small and would be easily mistaken for a homestead were it not for the row of hitching posts off to the side of an unusually large stable.

Tired and dusty they dismount, handing over their horses to a skinny stable boy with hay in his hair. Benvolio gifts him with a small coin, using sleight of hand to make the coin appear and disappear several times before relinquishing it. For the first time Rosaline sees a soft and happy smile spread across Benvolio’s face, it morphs into a grin, laughing at the way the child’s eyes grow wide during the trick. Rosaline’s adds this exchange to the growing list of things that surprise her about her betrothed, a new feeling curling inside of her.

The innkeeper is a rather large man with a soft smile. He greets the couple as they come through the door, handing off their belongings to a shiny faced young girl. “Been traveling all night, my lord?”

Benvolio nods, trying to think of a plausible explanation. Their circumstance is strange, to say the least, but not entirely unusual. “My wife and I will be needing a room for the next eight hours or so. Her dear mother is sick and we’re trying make our travel as quick as possible.” He reaches for her hand to sell the story, bringing it up to brush his lips against her knuckles. “We make haste, but exhaustion has caught up with both our horses and us too I’m afraid.”

Rosaline is speechless. She can still feel the warmth of his lips against her skin, the slight tickle of his beard. The lie slips so adroitly from his mouth, it’s concerning and reassuring at the same time. She turns back toward the innkeeper and nods without saying anything, pretending to be shy. She doesn’t enjoy lying.

It works, and within moments the two find themselves alone in a tiny room with an even tinier bed in the corner. It’s only now that the full weight of her actions falls on Rosaline. This is it for her. There is absolutely no going back. The knowledge makes her feel breathless and stricken. Benvolio notices immediately.

“Capulet?” It garners no response. Gently guides her to the bed, urging her to sit. More softly he asks, “Rosaline, what’s wrong?”

The sound of her name snaps her out of silence. She looks up at him. “I chose you.”

She sounds somewhat astonished, and in any other circumstances he would be offended, but her tone of voice has him pausing.

She continues. “There’s nothing left for me after this, Benvolio. Even if we figure out who was behind the attacks, my reputation will be that of an unmarried woman who ran away with a man, a woman who spent an untold amount of time alone with him.” She shakes her head slightly. “The alternative wasn’t any better. I would not tie myself to your uncle in any circumstance, but still…”

He can hear the wistfulness in her voice, and it catches in his own throat. Would it be the worst thing in the world for them to get married? They aren’t in love, not like their desperate cousins had been, but he respects her, likes her even. Maybe Romeo and Juliet’s kind of love wasn’t real. Maybe it was just infatuation. It was the kind of thing he’d felt for Stella, and surelysomeone who had actually loved him wouldn’t have been able to betray him that way. “Rosaline…”

She doesn’t hear him. “When I was little, I always imagined loving someone the way my mother loved my father. I could see it in her eyes, the adoration. She glowed with it, and he did too. I knew it was real, I just didn’t know it was so rare.”

He laughs softly, the sound tinged with bitterness. “Rare indeed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. In fact I was just thinking it didn’t exist.”

Her eyes flash at him, sympathy for whatever his childhood must have been flooding her, but also a curiosity about his adulthood. “You’ve never been in love?”

“I thought once…” He trails off, Stella’s betrayal still too fresh a wound. His voice is thick when he continues. “… but I was wrong.”

Rosaline nods. “That’s something I’m entirely too familiar with.”

Benvolio is sitting beside her on the bed now, the ropes holding up the lumpy mattress creak as he shifts uncomfortably. “Escalus betrayed you.”

It’s a matter of fact statement, and Rosaline simply nods. “As the fair haired woman at the bawdy house betrayed you.”

Benvolio’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “How did you–”

“I’m fairly observant, Montague. There were looks between the two of you, and don’t think I’m happy about me being the subject of your pillow talk.” She tries to sound stern, but her expression is soft, almost pitying.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

She shrugs, looking down at her hands. “There was no point. Why didn’t you tell anyone about Escalus and I?”

“What good would it have done other than to besmirch your name and force the king to call me a liar?”

She sends him a sideways glance, amusement once again creeping into her voice. “I would have thought you’d enjoy besmirching my name.”

He can’t help but respond in kind, the corners of his mouth twitching up. When did it become so comforting to talk to her of these things? “My uncle would have beaten me black and blue.”

His tone is still light hearted, but Rosaline cannot help but feel for him. She reaches for him, again instinctively, a need to comfort and be comforted propelling her. His hands are graceful, an artist’s she’s so recently learned. His palm is warm where it presses against her own, graceful fingers intertwined with her own. She raised it and brushes her lips against the back of his hand in an echo of his earlier gesture. “We have to fix all of this. We can’t let them continue to hurt us.”

Benvolio nods, the tops of his ears suddenly red. It’s not the touch that has him reeling, but rather the soft vulnerability behind it.

She releases his hand and looks at him sheepishly. “Forgive me, I’m tired and everything seems so surreal.”

He gives her a crooked smile, the façade of the dashing rake firmly back in place. “No, my beloved, forgive me for so rudely interrupting your slumbers.”

And with that he’s rising from the bed, the slight flush to his skin the only thing betraying the churning emotions fighting inside of him. “I shall return shortly with a few provisions. Get some rest.”

[elephantinparis]

Still Star Crossed

Now that the show is over I wanted to rank my favourite to least favourite episode of SSC(all of them were great in their own ways)

1st place goes to episode 5: rosvolio being all tropey™ like and building their friendship with a fragile trust. Rosaline peeking at her future man like: yaas guurl inspect before purchasing lmao The repeatedly mentioned trust throughout the whole seaon is killing me & also Isabella being all bad ass and having her sexual awakening?! *Helena says heeey* SIGN ME THE FUCK UP!!!

2nd place goes to episode 7: the finale was heartbreaking and so full of angst for Ben & rosvolio fans also poor boy Escalus and precious Livia. I choose to resolve their stories with my imagination. ALSO THAT ANTICIPATED ROSVOLIO SMOOCH THAT ALMOST SENT ME INTO CARDIAC ARREST!! It was so perfect(Lashana and Wade brought it home AND THEN SOME) We truly don’t deserve them. Sure I’m not thrilled about a cliffhanger that will never get resolved, but I still thought it was well done for a finale. We could have had worse, honestly. Just ask TVD fandom and they had 8 seasons lol But SSC was quality tv so I probably shouldn’t compare. (Yep you’re not wrong I’m bitter but lets move on lol)

3rd place goes to episode 3(oh look at that haha): again rosvolio being the ship of tropes™, shakespeare’s sonnet ANYONE?? I laughed so hard when Nurse offered her comments “Not very good, is it?’’. Damn Shakespeare needs this burn treated lmao, Livia and the snake having a moment(I carried a torch for #CountLivia back then) Benny boy kicking ass and being depressed while doing it(poor Benvolio) Lord Montague and his sass making an appearance: ‘’Don’t spend it all in one place’’ *facepalm* Also shit blowing up is always welcome in my book. Isabella telling Escalus how it is and that she could’ve saved the ambasador.Boss ass bitch!!

4th place goes to the pilot episode 1: It was one of my faves, but others were just a teeny tiny better. Getting to meet everyone was awesome. Romeo & Juliet being all precious and in love and then rosvolio meeting for the first time sealed the deal for me. Too little of Mercutio but what can a girl do, right?? The Prince’s decree for Rosaline&Benvolio started it all. Also shoutout to that makeout scene between Escalus&Ros it was hot as hell(Sterling and Lashana again were on point) and Benny boy be creping like: ‘’that’s my future wife pal’’ lol

5th place goes to to episode 4: Again rosvolio working together and lowkey flirting was gold!! Rosaline’s reaction to a brothel made me laugh so much that innocent precious cinnamon roll. To think one episode later she checks out Benvolio’s goodies lmao An amazing performance by Lashana in Rosaline’s childhood home that scene deserves freaking awards people!! and then Benvolio&Rosaline balcony scene *heart eyes* Romeo and Juliet who?? jk jk love my precious still-star crossed lovers haha(Clara and Lucien left us too soon) Also my boy Escalus beats up a trash can bc he insults his sister. ‘’My sister is a princess NOT a whore’’. You tell ‘em Escalus, you tell ‘em.

6th place goes to episode 2: It was interesting to see young Escalus and why he is the way he is(daddy issues) but heavy head that wears the crown Isabella would say!! We learned Benvolio was an art hoe™ and I’m living haha Also heartbreaking ending to roscalus romance(another great kiss)but Escalus brought it on himself. Like Rosaline says in the finale: ‘’You made me a friend of my enemy’’. The rosvolio cute moment and those synchronised looks?? just put me out of my misery already. *fans myself* Lord Damiano Montague and his savage sass making an entrance: ‘’Meet me outside with your dignity...if you can find it’’. BUURN.

and last, but not least 7th place goes to episode 6: I wasn’t really into the whole cathedral plotline if we had to spend almost all of the episode with the grown-ups they should’ve come up with something better *sorry not sorry* also the heartwrenching ros&ben moment. He came back for HER and she HAD to betray his trust. and those looks thy kept serving each other?? Escalus being stupid as fuck (I was done giving him the benefit of the doubt) The writers ruined Escalus tbh in the book he’s quite different and I love him! Also no Isabella?? I’ll pretend she rode back to Venice and had a quickie with Helena in that carriage lmao

That’s my thoughts but what were your faves? share with me ;) 

@sheireen @yes-everhopeful @kalena-henden @parisblakestuff