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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of ROMEO. Admin Minnie: How many times can we tell you how much we love your Roman, Lia!! Our darling boy has changed so much since you began writing him, and it’s been a wild ride and an honor to see him develop. The crown weighs heavy on those whose hearts still believe in good, and Roman is proof of the burden of carrying that weight. I can’t wait to see how you continue pushing Roman forward and capturing our hearts and imagination with your writing. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Lia

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | 6/10. I’ll actually be more active than usual since my classes are online for the time being, but in general, I’ll be able to pop in a few days a week to do replies.

Timezone | EST.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Romeo— The beautiful boy king Roman Montague.

What drew you to this character? | Mannnnnnn… Honestly, my entire body and soul belongs to Roman. Watching him grow in the RP has really been like watching a child grow up??? (yeah I don’t have kids so idk how accurate this statement is) But I wanted to revist the *cough* second time I revisted this part of the application.

“There’s something I’ve always loved about his inherent goodness, and how much he was loved for it. He was never a false prophet, he didn’t need to formulate a false persona, he was always himself, and that was enough for him to be adored. To Verona, Roman was proof that there still was some goodness in Verona, that there was some hope that the entire city wasn’t completely doomed and corrupt. He was proof that the gods hadn’t completely forsakened them. So what happens when he is no longer being shielded from the destitute of Verona? What happens when it begins to corrupt him, when it permeates through his essence? This is exactly what I intend to explore, especially with it being my second time around, and with Roman being a bit more in touch with his sinful side than I left him. ;-)”

He’s just so much more than people give him credit for? And that leads him to be underestimated, but boy— is ready to prove everyone wrong. >:-)

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

(I’ve kept the majority of the previous plots as they are still plots I hope to see through!)

MOTHER DEAREST | There’s no secret that Alba’s mind is deteriorating, and Damiano and Roman’s dismay, not even the best doctors, flown in from all over the world, are able to find a cure. I’m interested in seeing how this would affect the Montague empire, with Roman’s own mother being one of the biggest risks for the empire. I think this would force him to make some tough decisions, ones not even his father is capable of considering, absolutely blinded by the love he has for his Alba.

KING’S NOT DEAD | Roman’s gradual transition of power from his father is occurring much faster than he’d hoped for. Although he’s learning the ropes of being a boss rapidly, it would be interesting to see how he’d react to suddenly being forced to step in for Damiano unexpectedly. Maybe his father suddenly has to suddenly go away on business, or something involving Alba. Shadowing is one thing, but actually acting as the boss, that’s something else entirely. Will Roman be able to step up to the task? Stay tuned and find out ;) (I figured this is something to further be discussed with the admins, lol.)

NO LOST LOVE | If there was ever a woman suitable to rule alongside Roman when he eventually inherits the throne, it would absolutely be Pandora Phan. She is a soldier at heart— clever, determined, and unrelenting. But despite having this in common— the two couldn’t be any less alike. It would be a union devoid of love, completely for purpose and betterment of the mob. Roman understands this, but his love is something he is unwilling to compromise about. Although he’s agreed to the engagement for now, he’s only been keeping it up for the purpose of appearances, and he’s been secretly plotting about a way to end his engagement. It’s only a matter of time before he lets Pandora in on it.

MOST YOUNG KINGS GET THEIR HEAD CUT OFF | Not to say that we have Dark!Roman now, but… we kind of do? I think what is drawing me to Roman once again is his multifacetedness. He’s gradually become a person that is no longer an extension of his father. His motivations have shifted enitrely— before he wanted to take over the mob to appease his father, but this is no longer the case. He recognizes what he’s capable of now, and honestly seeing my bb believe in himself now is amazing. He’s becoming the leader he was always meant to be.….but he’s far from perfect. He’s growing more comfortable with his own depravity. He used to be disgusted at the idea that he took pleasure in the harm of another, but there’s something oddly satisfying about watching the Capulets fall, and rightfully so at that. It makes him feel good— in a twisted, fucked up way actually. It’s as if he’s purifying the streets of Verona. To him, the destruction of the Capulets is his way of serving the greater good. He also now recognizes the benefit of his charm— more than charming people into bed, that is. When he was younger he was just naturally charming without any other ulterior motives? But now he recognizes the advantage it gives him. The adoration that it emits from the people of Verona. They worship him for it. And Roman likes to be worshipped. I think this is a dangerous line for Roman to be crossing… and I am excited to explore this further.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yeah kill him with fire honestly

IN DEPTH

SAMPLE:

SIDENOTE: So, I wanted to revisit Roman’s first heartbreak as a way to show his growth. This is still under construction honestly (as I would like to develop in further for in character purposes), but for now… here you go! I was hoping to show a shift in dominance??? Damiano’s voice is the dominant voice from the beginning, but in the second para, it shows how much he’s grown into himself by how he stands up to his father and by his taking control of this part of the narrative. :)) I’ve been Roman for so long good lord, so I felt it was only right to give you guys something fresh to show just how much he’s grown over time! Sorry this is long as fuck omg forgive me.

VERONA, 2012

He heard him before he saw him.

It had been Damiano’s idea to have Rafaella write the letter. In reality, Alba wanted to do far worse, but with time, he’d been able to talk her down. It was he who realized Rafaella had been playing him, something the mafioso suspected from the start— but Alba’s insistence that Damiano’s interference would only cause Roman to despise him—beyond repair that is, as he’d already been aware of his son’s distaste for him—led him to sit back and allow everything to play out.

You have to allow him to make his own mistakes, amore mio. We mustn’t interfere until it goes too far— until we suspect he’s putting the mob at risk.

It wasn’t long before the information got back to him— information that could only have been acquired from the loose, fickle lips of his heir. Rafaella had become untouchable and she’d known it. Allowing her back into society, with all the information she’d managed to extract from his gullible son had been risky— but having her blood on his hands would be even riskier. Roman would already despise him for her exile, but her demise? That wasn’t something he was confident his son would bounce back from. The mob was no longer the place for his delicate heart. The loving bubble in which his mother had carefully surrounded him in would no longer do. It was now Damiano’s responsibility to prepare him for his destiny— and he would do so on his own terms.

He recognized the sounds that could only be likened to a wounded animal— the quieted, choked back sobs that Roman so desperately attempted to disguise. Damiano sighed, a mixture of pity and disgrace surging through him. The letter, to put it plainly, wasn’t cutting it. He needed the truth. It would be the only way for him to learn.

Damiano pushed the slightly ajar door open, before taking the seat across from Roman’s bed. He did not acknowledge him, but he attempted to quiet his cries even more. Neither of them said anything for several moments.

“There’s more to it— isn’t there?” Roman began softly, his hands still firmly gripping the dampened letter. “I know it was your decision to make her leave, but I also know there’s more to it.”

Damiano placed his elbow on his thigh, cradling his head carefully in his hand.

“It’s only fair that I give the girl the credit that she’s owed. I wish I could say that this was wholly of my own volition, but unfortunately, there’s far more to the story. Far more than I wish.”

Roman’s head turns up slightly. It is not anger that contorts his father’s face, but disappointment. “C-Credit? For what?”

“She was playing you, figlio. And you made it so easy for her. But I recognized that weakness within you long before she did. You were raised that way, after all. But it will be this way no longer. I can no longer do you a disservice by allowing you to be weak. Naive. Gullible. Because if I do?” Roman recoils as if he’d been struck with every name that falls from his father’s lips. “Then another Rafaella will come around, chew you up, and spit you out effortlessly just as she did.”

“No… Rafaella wouldn’t…. would she?” His eyes searched his father’s for sincerity. Possibly for comfort, he would not receive. It was comfort he’d never received from Damiano, but he still sought it out anyway. Pathetic. Even after everything, he still could not fathom that her love wasn’t true.

“She would, Roman! And you know why? Because the entire purpose of her involvement with you was to undermine you. To undermine our family. She didn’t love you and you need to recognize this. You need to be able to recognize the weakness within yourself, to prevent such ridiculousness from occurring again. You made it so easy for her. Do you know what you do the next time you feel inclined to confide in someone you love?” He paused for a moment, knowing good and well Roman didn’t know the answer to that. “You don’t. Not people outside of the family, at least. People like Rafaella— the recognize what you have. You’ll come to learn that this life— the life of a princeling is a gift and a curse. You’ve never needed to want anything, but everyone will want what you have. And they’ll do anything to get it. When you lay with rats, Roman, you realize that every inch of their being is committed to not appearing like one. But a rat is still a rat. And you gave the rat everything it wanted with minimal effort on its part. And my biggest regret is I allowed it all to happen. I allowed you to be stupid— to be foolish, to believe that what the two of you had, that superficial—” He could not even bring himself to say the word love, not after knowing what true love was. As if Roman and Rafaella’s dalliances were a disgrace to the word. “Do not embarrass yourself like this again. If you are going to be a fit leader, then you can’t continue being somebody people recognize as vulnerable. They’ll never respect you.” His only regret was not turning Rafaella into a weapon— such wasted potential on the slimy Capulets. But even Damiano was not convinced his efforts would work on a pest so deeply committed to being a pest. She’d been better off with Cosimo and his deplorable ways.

“I don’t respect you. You make it so hard to do so when you… ” he bites back his disgust, but he recognizes his efforts are working. The gradual chipping away of Roman’s soft exterior. He would shed his skin in favor of an armor far thicker. “But nevermind that. Your official training begins tomorrow at sunset. We’ll be interrogating a suspected informant. Be prepared for things to get messy. Don’t embarrass me either.” Damiano stands up swiftly, no longer able to stand the sight of his son.

“Papa?” Roman utters quietly before Damiano has completely exited the room. “Would you not allow me comfort? Not even this once?”

“Comfort doesn’t win wars. Neither does compassion. I won’t do you the disservice of believing it will get you anywhere in this city. Not in this life it won’t. Do you know where comfort and compassion got you, Roman? Mourning the likes of your rat lover. A person who probably hasn’t even given you a second thought. And you really think that I came here to comfort you? Don’t be inane. I came to give you a wake-up call. You’ll probably hate me for it in the long run, and guess what? I’ve accepted that. You’ll be a better man because of it. A stronger one. And that what matters. You’ll soon realize that you can have practically any woman or man you’ve ever wanted— but never allow them to make you weak. Never allow them to steal your honor. You’re a Montague. It’s time to start acting like one.”

VERONA, 2019

He heard him before he saw him. The hurried footsteps. His father was late.

Roman watched as the minute hand abandoned it’s partner, opting instead to move forward, now noticeable enough that his father was obviously late. Instead of quickening to anger, he focused his attentions on the paper lantern on his desk, attempting to funnel his emotions inside of it. It’d been easy enough in that current moment, but would it when it actually counted for something?

The door to his office opened and closed swiftly, but even as his father settled himself into the seat across from him, his eyes still remained on the paper lantern.

“Roman,” Damiano stated in a low, habitual growl.

“Father. You’re late,” Roman says plainly, something that takes Damiano off guard, mocking laughter vibrating his large frame. There was an energy radiating off of Roman that had not been there years prior. Confidence. He was not asking for respect, but commanding it. Damiano recognized that there was little option for him in the matter. Had he been…? Had that time finally—

“I’m serious.” He momentarily tears his gaze away from the lantern in order to meet his father’s. “I expect the same standard of professionalism you’ve always held me to. If I am to take over the mob one day— I expect that same level of respect.”

This response is enough to quiet the mob boss— maybe more so out of shock then the respect he deeply desired, but it was a start. “I have several issues that I hoped to address with you today.”

There was a fierceness to his silence— one that subdued any ridicule, any possible patronization emitting from his father. He watched as his father’s eyes searched his stoic expression, waiting for the exact moment in which he would realize. He’d suspected it, but acceptance would take much more effort on both their parts. Roman no longer feared him. He had cursed the invisible hand that guided him. bit it, fought it, bloodied it, rebuked it. The heir refused submission— he refused to be a vessel for his father to enact his torment. He wholly accepted his destiny, no longer seeing any use in running from it— but the power he now recognized was entirely his own. Damiano had no choice but to listen. And this had been everything that he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d ever hoped for. A son who refused to take a shit, even from his own father. He had to ensure that it was not good to be true. That Roman was not merely enacting the facade of a leader.

He nodded, waiting for his son to continue.

“As of recent, there are a few concerns I’d like to address regarding the mob’s administration,” Roman began cooly, eyes still searching the paper lantern. “Long story short— you’ve lost your touch. I don’t think your pride would ever allow you to admit that to yourself, but everyone can see it. The world can see it. I know how much you care about the reputation of the mob— which is why I’m offering you an easy way out.”

Roman could see the tinges of anger permeate through his father’s being, but it meant nothing to the man who did not fear him. Not a boy, not a princeling, but a conqueror. Hearing that you’ve lost your touch is never easy, Damiano knew better than most that he was getting old. He knew the time to usher in a new regime was rapidly approaching. But he also knew that Roman could not be asked to take the throne. He had to do so of his own volition. He had to command the throne. Demand that what was rightfully his be handed to him.

“The easy way out would be you gradually transferring your duties as mob boss to me. You’ll tell everyone that in your old age, you think its best for you to spend time with your sickly wife. That it is time to usher in a new era. You’ll tell them that your mind isn’t what it used to be, that dealing with your wife’s debilitating disease has driven you to irrationality.”

In all 27 years of his life, Roman had never driven his father to the point of stupefaction. Confidence surged in every word he spoke. But he could not lose momentum. “The difficult way out is you’ll be forced out. I mean, technically, the first option doesn’t leave you much of a choice either, but at least in that instance, your exit will be effortless on your end. I currently have a board of advisors within the ranks. I won’t reveal their names quite yet, though several of them will be fairly obvious. They wholly support my transition to the throne.”

Goade him. Test the thickness of the armor; ensure that it is authentic. Better you than anyone else. “You can’t seriously believe that you’re—”

“No!” Roman begins through snarled teeth. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore. The gaslighting, the berating— you can entirely fuck off with all that, dad. I didn’t call you into my office for you to listen to yourself talk. You’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you destroy everything we worked for. I won’t let you destroy me. Not anymore.” What was it that swelled in Damiano’s chest? Had it been… pride, perhaps?

“I’m ready. In fact, I’ve always been ready, father. I just was never what you wanted me to be. And I’ll never be who you want me to be. I’ll never be you and I’ll be a better man for it. A better leader for it.”

Damiano looks at Roman challengingly— expecting him to back down, to recoil as he always has— but Roman does not flinch. This was not the same boy who once mourned his lost love. Maybe Roman liked to believe so, but Damiano knew his son far better than that. He was different, maybe not in the way that he’d raised him to be—but he’d been different. He had not molded himself to be fit for the throne but instead shaped it into something that would be fit for him. Damiano’s test had been nearly complete. “You expect to lead a mob? Do you truly think you can garner the respect that I have?”

“And that’s the difference between you and I. Me— I never respected you. You convinced me that was what respect was, but that isn’t respect. That is fear. Do you truly think this city respects you? They’re terrified of you! But me? I don’t have to scare people into following me. They follow me out of choice�� not because they believe it to be the only option. So let’s not make this any harder than it has to be, dad. It’s over. You’re over. What good have you or Cosimo brought to Verona from this stupid fucking war? Do either of you realize how ridiculous this all is? People are dying for your petty fucking war, and you don’t even care!”

I came to give you a wake-up call. You’ll probably hate me for it in the long run, and guess what? I’ve accepted that. You’ll be a better man because of it. A stronger one. And that’s what matters.

The authoritative air that seems to shimmer around Roman— it was real. Roman was not performing heir as he once had. This was real and even Damiano could now recognize it. He’d underestimated his son, a fault within himself that he was able to recognize. Maybe it’d been a result of his pride. Maybe he had lost sight of things. Maybe he and Cosimo had truly resorted to a petty pissing match. But nevermind that now.

He leaned back in his chair leisurely, hands coming together in a slow, dramatic clap. “I’m impressed, son. Truly. This backbone— where is it coming from?”

“I know you would like to think it’s from you,” Roman begins, laughing almost mockingly. “I know that you’re apart of me. I’m your blood after all. I tried to run from it— fearing that I would become you and lose every other part of myself. I thought becoming you was the only way that I would be able to rule, and that scared the shit out of me. But then I realized something— you have no true power. You only have as much power as everyone believes you to have. Without them— your power means nothing. So if you would like that illusion to be kept for the remainder of your days— then I wouldn’t cross me. You’re in the way of what I want, and if forcing you out is what it takes— then so be it.”

It had been this way for eons. Just as Kronos had overthrown his own father, Zeus had overthrown him. It had only been a matter of time. Even the gods got old and lost their touch. Even Damiano’s own father, who’d barely possessed such likeness in the first place. It would happen to Roman with his future child eventually— maybe not quite on the same terms, but it would happen with time.

“This is your final offer, father. I truly wanted to make this as easy possible for you, even if you don’t deserve it. After everything you’ve done— you deserve far less courtesy than this. So let’s not make this difficult for either of us. You knew this day would come. You just never knew when. Let my board of advisors and I proceed as planned, and your retirement will be a happy and prosperous one.” He smiles that 1000 watt smile— the one that will bring Verona to its knees. The smile that would end the war, that would finally usher in a new era. That smile had been the greatest weapon Damiano could’ve ever hoped for— how was he just now realizing this? That was the advantage Roman had and the one Damiano possessed no longer. That tantalizing charisma, and a clean canvas of a mind.

His work here had been done. Damiano had been convinced. Roman’s belief in himself had been genuine. He felt warmth— something he rarely felt at this point in his life, but it felt good. He was proud of his son. Of the leader, he’d become. But compassion had never been his way. Hw fumbled for the right words to say, something to encapture the depth of the pride he felt for his son—

“You don’t have to say it. I know you’re proud of me. I know that for whatever stupid reason you can’t admit that to—”

“No, Roman. You and your mother have shown me that it isn’t always a weakness that comes from compassion, but vice versa. Sometimes it is your own weakness that prevents you from showing compassion. A valuable lesson I needed to learn— even if it took more than half a century. Verona will be a better place because of you.”

He could see the emotion rousing in his son, the wetness settling in his eyes, and gods he had no desire to wait around while Roman ruined the moment.

Damiano began his exit in a single, furious motion.

“Thank you,” Roman manages, stopping him in his tracks. Damiano offers him a single nod before shuffling out of the office.

And for the first time in 27 years, Roman Montague had the last word.

EXTRAS:

SIDENOTE: This was actually the first part of the long ass sample I made, but I realized it had LITERALLY 0 to do with Roman??? Like he wasn’t even born let alone a thought? But it did help me find my daddy Dami and Mama Alba voice so it was fun afjwaeifj here you go!

VERONA, 1989

He heard her before he saw her.

There was something utterly engrossing about her voice, with the smokey richness only comparable to his favorite bourbon. But it was the huskiness that sold him— her passion unwavering even as her voice threatened to fail her, presumably from her repeated shouts.

Damiano stopped briskly in his path. He was late, but his curiosity bested him.

She was ferocious in every aspect— from the way her curls pooled heedlessly around her face, to her slender brows furrowed in determination. The dripping sweat only enhanced the bronze glow of her skin. Her willowy frame had been draped in a loosely fitted, Angela Davis t-shirt and dark bell-bottom jeans. She was chained to a towering tree, repeating over and over again,

Morte per gentrificazione!

Death to gentrification.

It was then he noticed everything else around them, the outside world previously silenced at the sight of her. Several police vehicles littered the surrounding street, as well as several aggravated men in suits discussing something fervently with a construction worker. He did not care to hear the circumstances of the situation from them, finding himself instantly pulled in the direction of the woman, disregarding the announcement made by several people that this was indeed private property he was entering. Even if he hadn’t been so focused on her— he couldn’t have cared less. He stopped at what he thought was a respectful distance, close enough to hold a conversation, but hopefully not close enough to impede her personal space. His mouth opened in preparation to speak, but the stranger managed to beat him to the punch—

“You can tell your bosses to stop sending stuffy fucking corporate lawyers my way. I gave them my terms already, and they’re non-negotiable.”

He blinked stupidly, not knowing how to react to her mistaking him for a stuffy, fucking corporate lawyer.

“I— was actually hoping to gain more clarity on the circumstances of your protest. I just moved to this part of town, and I’m not too familiar with the area.”

Her facial expression softened slightly, her eyes meeting his own with a raised brow. “Quite the nosey newcomer I see,” she begins challengingly yet playfully. “But this, mio amico, is the location of homeless shelter and soup kitchen. These bastardi di maiale—” she shouts in their direction as she states this, “—want to tear it down to build luxury apartments.”

This had evidently been enough to draw the attention of one of the bastardi di maiale, as he began his commute from the other bastardi, his face a sickly shade of salmon.

“This is my property. What don’t you get?! I have a right to do with it as I please. Now, if you don’t plan on getting off my property, I’ll have you forcibly removed, cang—”

All it took was Damiano’s hand positioned in front of his face to disrupt his throaty rant.

“I would stop while I was ahead if I were you,” he offered to the significantly shorter man. “You wouldn’t want to say anything you’d later regret.”

Gargles of protest exited his throat as he attempted to scramble for a retort. “Excuse me? How dare—”

“You’re going to sell me this property and go about your day. Understood?” Damiano says, lowering his hand. The woman watches him curiously, but his eyes remain on the bastardo.

“Now why the hell would I do that? This property is a gold mine! I’ll make mi—”

“Because your property won’t be worth merda once I’m finished with it. Build your luxury apartments. Fine. You will be reminded of my wrath each and every day. Your tenants will gradually forget what peace ever felt like. I’ll buy your property for whatever you paid for it plus 5%. And the more you run that bastardo mouth of yours, the less generous I feel, and the lower the offer will become. Do I make myself clear?”

The coloration of his skin reddens— a mixture of rage, embarrassment, and most likely fear. He did not truly need to build the apartments there, he supposed, and for some reason— his eyes met Damiano’s momentarily before returning to the ground— this man was someone he did not desire to have on his bad side. Maybe building luxury apartments on the property of a homeless shelter hadn’t been good—

“Sir? Have you considered my terms?” Damiano says smoothly, but there is no tolerance in his tone.

“I— accept your terms. We can draw up the paperwork immediately. I-It will be a pleasure doing business with you, signore—”

“Montague. Damiano Montague.”

The man’s eyes widened; he’d heard that name on some occasions, but never had the opportunity to meet the man in person. He’d been the man taking Verona by storm, with such a tightly held grasp that he did not need a face to accomplish such feats. He simply needed a name, and that was enough to bring the despondent city to its knees.

“Si-Signore Montague, it’s a p-pleasure—”

Damiano’s hand returned to its former place, heading the man’s blubberings once more. “Now, I would like to return to the conversation I was having with my companion before we were rudely interrupted by your ramblings. For the moment being, I’d like you out of my sight.”

His lip trembled but he did not protest— returning to the group of now wide-eyed bastardi di maiale. He returns his attentions to the strange woman— her arms now crossed, studying him peculiarly, attempting to figure out what he was after.

“Now that he’s taken care of—” he began with a sigh of relief. “Tell me more about this building. I hope to restore it to its former glory. In fact, I hope to make it even grander than before; in order to reach even more people than the original owners could’ve ever imagined possible. With your help, if you’d be willing, that is.”

She undid the chain, before sizing Damiano up, something not difficult for her to do as she could not have been more than two inches shorter than him. He couldn’t blame her for being wary of his intentions. This had all occurred in a span of fewer than fifteen minutes, after all. “Why would you need my help? You seem to have things pretty well handled.”

“This place means something to you. It means something to you to the point where you were willing to chain yourself to a tree and face off with these wealthy bastardi di maiale. You didn’t care about the consequences you might possibly face. The people are what was most important. They mean something to you, and quite frankly, something tells me you’d do a much better job of running it than I.”

She ponders his proposition silently for a few moments, before offering him her hand to shake. “Sounds like we have a deal. Alba Fascelli.” He shook her hand, before carefully bringing it to his lips, silently requesting her permission, only proceeding when she nodded. “I hope you know it’ll take more than a grand gesture to win me over, Dami. You haven’t even asked me out on a date yet.”

Damiano smiled warmly, as the familiarity the nickname roused within him made him feel as if he’d known her for years. “Trust me— I knew from the moment I walked over here that it would take far more than this to win you over. But I’ve never been one to step down from a challenge.”

She allowed her hand to linger in his for a moment longer, before crossing in front of him and releasing it. “0458446149. I’ll let you know when I’m available. Do forward more details about To Tame a Soup at your earliest convenience.”

He waved stiffly, still slightly stunned over her presence. “Addio, Alba.”

Alba. The name whose meaning he would come to understand later on in life. Sunrise. It would take meeting Alba for Damiano to realize that in his 27 years of life, the sun had not truly risen— not until meeting her, that is.

here’s his inspo tag!

there’s probably hella typos pls forgive me and tumblr deleted all my bold stuff and i’m sickkkkk but i’m too tired to fix it :/

#accepted #accepted: romeo

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