#Cosimo core

[heartmachinez]

CELEBRATING 10 YEARS OF HEART MACHINE

A Decade of Creativity and Community

A decade ago, we began a journey that would lead to the birth of Heart Machine - a game studio committed to crafting immersive, vibrant experiences that resonate with players on a profound level. As we celebrate our 10-year anniversary, we reflect on our history, achievements, community, and the exciting future that lies ahead.

THINKING BACK

Glitch City, Kickstarter, and Hyper Light Drifter

In 2013, we took a leap of faith and launched a Kickstarter campaign for our debut project, Hyper Light Drifter. Little did we know that this campaign would not only secure the funds needed to bring our project to life, but also ignite a beautiful connection with supporters, players, and community members who believed in us from the outset.

Fueled by a need for camaraderie and knowledge, we spent those early days of Drifter’s development as a part of Glitch City, a then-small collective of independent game developers, artists, and creators all working together out of Alx’s basement. Those early days and (often) sleepless nights vision were critical in defining our design philosophies, studio culture, and grassroots community connections - setting the stage for what was to come.

Our Heartfelt Gratitude to Our Early Contributors

To date, thanks to the incredible support of our community, the Kickstarter for Hyper Light Drifter remains one of the most successful game projects on the platform. It smashed through the initial funding goal of $27,000 and ultimately raised over $600,000.

To our early backers who believed in us and our vision, and those fellow devs who helped us through endless rounds of playtesting and feedback, we extend our deepest gratitude. Your unwavering support enabled us to bring our dreams to life and emboldened us to continually push the boundaries of game design.

Special shout out to core Drifter team members: Alx Preston, Beau Blyth, Teddy Dief, Casey Hunt, Rich Vreeland, Akash Thakkar, Sean Ward, Lisa Brown, and Cosimo Galluzzi.

The critical reception following the release of Hyper Light Drifter was incredible - beyond our wildest expectations. We never could have anticipated the accolades and recognition it received, or the impact it made on players far and wide. It was humbling, and affirmed our dedication to continue to make great games to share with the world.

Moving Into a New Dimension

We started development on Solar Ash about a year before the multi-platform release of Hyper Light Drifter. Early on, we joined forces with Annapurna Interactive, whose expertise and resources facilitated our exploration of 3D game development. Over the next five years, Annapurna's support played a pivotal role in bringing this ambitious project to fruition. The vastness of the game's ethereal landscapes and fluid movement mechanics opened new avenues for worldbuilding and storytelling.

To date, Solar Ash continues to engage new players and inspire returning ones to create beautiful works inspired by the game. It is following in the footsteps of its predecessor and is now available on a a wide array of game platforms for a worldwide audience.

All of the positive reception that followed Solar Ash’s release proved that our community was ready to continue along this new aesthetic path with us. Just as Drifter smashed through its initial Kickstarter goals,  we are poised to once again smash the boundaries of possibility with our upcoming projects.

HEART MACHINE TODAY

Reimagining a Familiar World

As we celebrate our 10-year milestone, we're thrilled to now be well underway with our newest title set in the familiar Hyper Light Universe. This new project, Hyper Light Breaker, builds upon the foundations we've laid, evolving our creative vision in unexpected ways.

A Shared Journey

Our journey would not be complete without acknowledging the invaluable contributions of our community. From community leaders who pave the way forward with creativity and kindness, to creators who challenge us with incredible skill and passion,  to modders who continuously breathe new life into our games, to wiki writers who meticulously document every detail, to speedrunners who push the boundaries of possibility – you are the heartbeats that keep our worlds alive.

Over the years, we've had the privilege of connecting with our wonderful community at conventions and events across the digital and physical world. These gatherings allowed us to share our passion, hear your stories, and learn from your insights. Your presence and enthusiasm continue to inspire us.

We’re so grateful to: Polare, Lukas, Durtle, Clark, Yrrzy, CornMayor, Aza, Andreas, Conscy, Perfectly Mediocre, Thunderbrave, Bryonato, Utsu, NicowithaC, Covert Muffin, Sylvi, among many many others who make our work worth doing.

Our Company Vision

At Heart Machine, we've built more than games. We've cultivated a company culture that values kindness, inclusivity, and pushing the envelope. Our mission has always been not only to entertain but also leave a lasting impact. This dedication has enabled us to support and grow a thriving studio of some of the most talented, thoughtful, and fun people in the entire industry.

Our ethos revolves around fostering a work environment that prioritizes professional advancement, mental and physical health, and employee happiness. This commitment takes shape in various dimensions of our culture. We proudly offer Heart Machine University (HMU), a collaborative peer-teaching initiative where we cover everything from how to LARP or make sculptures out of driftwood to environment, concept, and tech art techniques. We also organize activities like group gaming and anime sessions, provide access to networking and learning resources, and support social and charitable initiatives to reinforce our team’s sense of purpose. As a studio, we strive to hang our culture on a framework where each individual can flourish and achieve their own growth and learning goals.

It’s no accident that the trajectory of these past 10 years has led us to forming the team we have now. We have always and will continue to adhere to our culture of high quality standards, emphasis on creative innovation, and heart-first leadership practices.

LOOKING AHEAD

As we stand at the threshold of the next chapter, we're excited to announce that Hyper Light Breaker will be arriving in Early Access in 2024. This project represents our ongoing commitment to pushing boundaries, taking risks, and creating experiences that captivate and challenge players in our specifically unique ways.

Beyond Hyper Light Breaker, we have other projects currently under wraps that will continue to define us as a studio. We can't wait to share these journeys with you as we forge into this next decade.

Thank you thank you thank you for joining us on this incredible ride. Heart Machine wouldn't be the same without each and every one of you. Here's to the many more adventures that lie ahead!

With love and gratitude,

The Heart Machine Team

[snarkybluechristian]

I have a fan theory that pieces of the character’s real names are in the names they have now and these names gives clues about their nationalities and identities.

Ragatha = Agatha, the most obvious, She is named after a Greek saint which could point to why she tries to be a good person.

Jax = Jackson or Jack, a nickname for John, a name of Jesus’ disciple and one of his closest friends. Jax has no traits of a disciple on the surface, but he could be a disillusioned one. He started out believing in salvation. Then he gave up on it and turned into a dick to hide his own pain.

Zooble = Zhu, a Chinese girl’s name for bamboo. This is a stretch but a bamboo is a plant with a hard outer shell that can grow through most obstacles. Maybe Zooble’s hard exterior and her apathy are hiding her soft core.

Gangle = Gyeong-Ja, a Korean girl’s name for a child who’s worthy of honor. Gangle is a pushover who cries a lot. Her arc might have a lot to do with growing into a stronger woman who stands up for herself and makes her own choices.

Kinger = King, This one is also obvious. King might not be his given name, but it has a lot to do with his job title and possibly how he was the creator of the game.

Pomni = Pamela, specifically this name is a play on the French word Pomme which is apple while Pamela is a Latin name for honey. Apple and honey are sweet treats with their own connotations. To get honey, you have to get past the bees and brave their stinging. This might be a way of saying Pomni will find the exit, but gaining freedom could be deadly. The apple supports it too since it’s, traditionally though not biblically accurately, seen as the fruit that Adam and Eve ate when they rebelled against God to get the knowledge of good and evil. They brought death into the world. Pomni might find what she’s looking for, but at a deadly cost.

Kaufmo = Cosimo, Cosimo de Medici was the first ruler of the Medici political dynasty in Italy. They ruled the banks and the arts and were sometimes shady people. This is also a stretch but Kaufmo may have been someone who had influence in his past life. Maybe he was a comedian or something else, but once he lost that fame, that was when he began questioning life’s meaning.

I know my theory holds little water, but it’s interesting to think about.

[libidomechanica]

Muttered here I have him who on the sky, or when your fancy frae me

Thus policy in love, what in which our earthly comfort shut out, and

no less thought of soür ale sometimes to melt; the prosperous House with Golden

Vessels all a sleepy hand of spring! If Master Cosimo

of the day, right so doth take my Muse and then believes till death of God

to refer to. As gently heavy Saturn laugh’d and godwit, if we

can scarce, yet thou then maids on the cool shade. And we were Together came

familiarly and virtues keep the eyes looked, and she repeat. Muttered

here I have him who on the sky, or when your fancy frae me. To take

their dams—how blest were enough to break of light, aSTREA works by Virtue’s

image, that he was their pattern steeps, and anchor’d in the tillage of

the sun declining shot a slant and Duty be the town without a

burning core, though he be dead, and hearken how I plot to make her lips

that the waters of the breathe sweet side by side. When Night well he knowes

no man to him can come. But there is something more; be wise and how true

my lady is, doth both legs in war’s alarms; but to the mountain’s height

with gory blood rushe, but gie me my shame to the sweet Stellas face, counting

their show; their elegies and more desolate, where he might freely

come, and nip each chink and with heavy tufts and shades, changes, survive them!

[markantonys]

i’m concerned that s3 doesn’t have anyone to fill the “teenage boyfriend with whom our main character went through a messy breakup, and now antagonizing each other in the signoria is the only outlet for the sexual tension” role

[minetteskvareninova]

Minette watches Medici, part 16 (Mass)

- HOLY FUCKING SHIT. Screaming, crying, throwing up. This season was underwhelming af, but what a finish!

- There were a few stupid moments, of course. Giuliano’s death was way too prolonged, ideological conflict at the core of the Pazzi conspiracy made no fucking sense, the swordfight between Lorenzo and old Pazzi was completely unnecessary, and so on. But overall it stirred emotions in me that I haven’t felt for a long, long time, and honestly it ended as well as it could have given the bellow average season that preceded it. Apparently, the dude who wrote this only worked on these two final episodes, and judging from his output here he’s the best writer in the staff...

- I am still kinda shocked that they managed to wrangle some actual themes from this mess, like Lorenzo being a living saint before that almost helped to make the point after he goes full on Nemesis mode? And if they stuck with the self-perpetuating Pazzi-Medici family feud as the main source of conflict from the beginning and didn’t try to add any kind of ideological component into it with the whole “true republic” bollocks, it could work absolutely splendidly. The point about self-perpetuating feuds was also kneecapped by the fact that Francesco didn’t have a good reason to turn on Lorenzo, leaving me almost cold during their final confrontation. Well, almost, because “cold” isn’t really an option when one is confronted with Francesco’s tousseled hair and face artfully covered in blood and dirt... As for Lorenzo abandoning his principles and Pazzi achieving a small victory in seeing that, I actually kinda liked it? They didn’t emphasize it enough in my opinion... But maybe it will lead to something later? Like in the next season that said I am not going to watch???

- CLARICE MY ANGEL. I COULD CARE LESS FOR YOUR DUMBSHIT HUSBAND, BUT YOU... She kicked so much ass this episode, I fucking love her. And her and Lorenzo fending off attackers together, maybe Lorenzo x Clarice deserves rights actually? Fuck, I AM going to watch season 3, am I not? Curse you, final episodes, why do you have to be so good?!

- This episode also made me feel for Sandro of all people! Imagine, me caring about Sandro! The fuck??? This writing is truly something else...

- The moment when mob turned on the Pazzi and backed Lorenzo was kinda overdone, like I wish his popularity with the people was actually well-developed and wasn’t just taken as a reflection of the objective truth that he’s just that awesome... But like. It is historically accurate, mostly? Lorenzo did prevail over the conspirators thanks to his overwhelming popular support, which in turn did stem from the things mentioned by the mob (support of arts, economic prosperity of the city etc.). I adore the scene in concept, even if the actual writing was piss poor.

- I was a bit miffed at the rando employee of the Medici getting all of that spotlight, especially since I don’t remember him even being there before - I mean, he could’ve been, but either way he didn’t have a big enough role to justify him being that big of a part of the climax. Heck, even the relationship of the Medici family to their subordinates in general wasn’t a big part of this season, so Nori’s death didn’t work for me at all. But, credit where credit is due, he is based on a real guy that really died defending Lorenzo from the assassins, so kudos to the writers for that!

- Another testament to the quality of the writing on display? I gave a shit about Gugliermo and Bianca! Their conflict first with each other and then with Lorenzo was short, but did kinda slap. The exile was kind of a non-resolution to their story, I guess if I am watching season 3 anyway, might as well find out what happened to them afterwards.

- To think a lot of this was indirectly caused by good old Ugo shanking his asshat boss fucking sent me. Though I guess the Pazzi really did shank Lorenzo, brother of Cosimo? Dunno, don’t remember who killed the older Lorenzo and at this point I am way too lazy to look it up.

- Overall a 4/10 season, would’ve been 3/10 without those final episodes. I most definitely do not recommend it, like there’s just way too much stupid for that, your life is short and with so many better period dramas out there, you’d just be wasting your time. That said, if you’ve watched season 1 and want to finish the series, I guess it’s not completely unbearable. Now, if you excuse me, I’ll be in my room writing the filthiest, sappiest, most self-indulgent Clarice x Lucrezia D fanfic you can imagine...

[ttrpgart]

source: LANCER core book artists: cosimo galluzzi / connor fawcett / tom “abbadon” parkinson-morgan / simon roy

[bitchin-beskar]

I Just Want to Kill You (Except That I Don’t)

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: T (Mentions of blood, war, religious themes, and kissing) (also there are approximately (2) uses of the word f*ck)

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Ever wonder about what it was like for the other crusaders watching Joe and Nicky kill each other over and over? Well I did, and this is what happened! This story is from Ferrando’s perspective, watching as his fellow soldier figures out that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t hate the enemy (or more specifically, one singular enemy) all that much. 

Warning: I am not religious, but there are mentions of Christianity and the Crusades, along with potentially racist connotations when referring to Yusuf and his people. This story is not historically accurate, and any mistakes that I make are my own. This story does not personally reflect my own views on Christians or Muslims.

Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin @perropascal

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my works!

Please consider liking and reblogging, I love the feedback!

It had been three weeks since the Saracen had killed Nicolo, and by the grace of God, Nicolo had been brought back. Their commander had declared Nicolo’s resurrection a holy sign, that their cause was just in the eyes of God, and that their siege of Jerusalem was the will of God. 

Ferrando had believed their commander, he’d had no reason not to, until the very next day when Nicolo faced off against the same Saracen as before. Ferrando thought that Nicolo had killed the Muslim soldier, just as the soldier had killed Nicolo, but now, here they were, fighting ferociously. 

Ferrando watched, stunned, as Nicolo and the Muslim struck each other at the same time, burying their weapons in the other’s chest, falling on the battlefield once more. Surely Nicolo was only entitled to one miracle, and now that he had struck down his foe for good, God would be gracious, and Nicolo would be allowed admittance into Heaven. 

But, as Ferrando fought his way over to his fallen brethren, he was shocked to see Nicolo’s eyes open once more, a shuddering breath escaping his fellow soldier as Nicolo grasped the Saracen’s scimitar, removing it from his chest in one swift movement. On the ground, across from Nicolo, the Saracen jerked awake as well, removing Nicolo’s sword from where it was buried in between his ribs. 

Both men sat up, and Ferrando watched as their wounds closed, miraculously. The Saracen stood up, and Ferrando raised his sword, ready to defend his shield-brother, but the Saracen merely held out Nicolo’s sword, hilt first. 

Nicolo stood slowly, eyeing the Saracen warily. He slowly held out the scimitar, trading weapons with the enemy. An understanding seemed to pass between the two men, and the Saracen turned away, heading back to his campsite. Nicolo watched him walk away, a funny look on his face. Ferrando tried to get Nicolo’s attention, but Nicolo just waved him off, heading back towards their camps. 

And so the pattern continued day after day. Every morning, Nicolo would charge onto the battlefield, but he always seemed… distracted. That is, until he managed to cross paths with the Saracen. Ferrando didn’t always see them fight, but he heard stories from the other men. Over the course of three weeks, Nicolo and the Saracen had killed each other in practically every single way imaginable. 

At some point, Nicolo learned the Saracen’s name was Yusuf–when on earth did Nicolo find the time to lean the Muslim’s name in the middle of fighting to the death–and there wasn’t a night that went by that Ferrando didn’t hear at least one complaint about their enemy, and more specifically, Yusuf. 

“Why must God torment me so?” Nicolo lamented one night, sitting beside Ferrando in one of the tents. “How can it be God’s will that I strike Yusuf down when he rises the same as I each and every time?” Nicolo sounds so despondent, and Ferrando might feel bad for him if this wasn’t the third or fourth time he’d heard this complaint. 

“Surely this is the work of the Devil, tempting me so that I may stray from my holy path,” Nicolo mutters, and Ferrando looks over at his shield-brother in shock. But Nicolo doesn’t seem to realize that he’d spoken aloud, and Ferrando is left to wonder just what it is that Nicolo meant. 

Ferrando gets his answer two days later, when he once again witnesses Nicolo facing off against Yusuf. The men are evenly matched, and Ferrando notices much of the fighting seems to cease near them, as though the others, Christians and Muslims alike, are waiting to see the outcome of this fight. 

The battle seems to last for ages, the clash of metal ringing out, the dusty ground stirring up around the two men, creating the illusion of two otherworldly beings. Finally, Yusuf managed to gain the upper hand, trapping Nicolo between his chest and his blade. None of the other soldiers move, they all remember Nicolo’s anger when a fellow warrior of Christ had struck Yusuf down. Nicolo had raged at poor Benetto, nearly causing the young soldier to faint from fright, yelling about how only he was allowed to kill Yusuf. Ferrando had raised an eyebrow at that, but Nicolo had been too angry to realize what he’d said. Ferrando watched as Nicolo gathered Yusuf’s body into his arms, and to his surprise, he saw fear on Nicolo’s face.

Perhaps their divine blessings only kept them alive if they were the reasons behind each other’s demise. But surely Nicolo should be pleased? His enemy might finally perish? But as Ferrando watched Nicolo press his hand against Yusuf’s wound, pleading with the Saracen to come back, he wondered if perhaps there was something more than just anger tying the two men together. 

Now, with Yusuf pressing his blade against Nicolo’s throat, the only thing the Nicolo could do was press back against Yusuf’s chest. Ferrando watched with no small amount of interest as Yusuf leaned forward, his lips a hair’s breadth from Nicolo’s ear, whispering something. Ferrando can’t hear his words over the sounds of the battle raging around them, but he watches as a blush spreads across Nicolo’s cheeks, right before the scimitar slices across his throat, spilling his blood on the dirt. Nicolo manages to stab Yusuf in the side as he goes down, taking Yusuf down with him. Somehow, Ferrando doesn’t think that blush is the result of threats, and he can’t help but wonder what Yusuf said to Nicolo to make his cheeks turn as pink as they did.

***

Ever since that day, Ferrando noticed that Yusuf was getting bolder and bolder in his attacks. He seemed to find ways to ensure that he was in contact with Nicolo in some way each time they fought: pining Nicolo to the ground, against a wall, against his chest. Yusuf seemed to prefer grappling with Nicolo instead of fighting with swords and scimitars. Every time, without fail, Nicolo would flush, which delighted Yusuf to no end. He seemed to enjoy making Nicolo feel embarrassed, delighting in every blush, stutter, and gasp that he could wring from him. 

And every single night, Ferrando had to listen to Nicolo complain, moan and whine about Yusuf. He listened, with the patience of a saint, while Nicolo begged for someone to tell him why Yusuf tempted him so. Nicolo was not normally a very talkative man, but in his frustration with Yusuf, he’d spoken more in a month than Ferrando had heard him speak in a year. 

By the thirtieth time the two men have killed each other, most of the soldiers in their regiment and the enemy’s camp know of the two opposing soldiers, touched by God, fighting to the death every day. Ferrando is quite proud of the fact that he was the first to notice when their little dance stopped being so angry and hateful and something… other.

He’d run out of fingers if he had to count on his hands the number of times other soldiers had come up to him to ask if the Saracen was Nicolo’s bedmate. Their tension on the battlefield had transformed, and all the men could see it. Except for Nicolo. He refused to. Ferrando would hear Yusuf speaking in Arabic to Nicolo while they fought, and despite not understanding the words, the tone in which Yusuf spoke made Nicolo flush a brilliant red. Nicolo was quite vicious in his kills whenever Yusuf would taunt him, although Ferrando thought it might be less out of hatred and more embarrassment. Nicolo was a priest, after all, at his core. Not a soldier. 

But even priests can be tempted, and according to Nicolo’s rants when he thought the others were asleep, Yusuf was the most tempting of all. Cosimo and Giacomo had started a betting pool on when Nicolo would finally snap, and either outright rejecting the Saracen or finally fucking him. Ferrando really should shut it down before it came to the attention of their commander, but he couldn’t bring himself to. There was so little entertainment in the camps, let the men have their fun.

***

Two months from the day that Nicolo and Yusuf rose from the dead for the first time, everything changed. Ferrando wasn’t entirely sure why things changed, today of all days, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. It had started out normally, just like every other day on the battlefield. The two armies clashed, men fighting and dying like they had every day for the past two months. Once more, Nicolo and Yusuf met on the battlefield, to fight to the death, like they had every day for the past few months. Yusuf had gained the upper hand for the past week or so, and Ferrando knew that it angered Nicolo to no end. 

Today, Nicolo gained the upper hand–and fought ferociously to maintain it–rather quickly in the fight, and he managed to force Yusuf to his knees, the tip of his sword pressing into the hollow of Yusuf’s throat. Ferrando was still shocked at the fact that Yusuf never once looked afraid, before any of his many, many deaths at the hands of Nicolo. Somehow, the Muslim managed to look smug, even when on his knees, with a deadly blade at his throat. 

Nicolo was red in the face, panting from exertion, his white-knuckled grip on the longsword betraying his nervousness. Both men were dirty, covered in dust and blood from wounds already healed. Ferrando could hear as Nicolo began to yell at the man before him, the one who’d been tormenting Nicolo for two months. He couldn’t hear everything Nicolo was yelling, but he was yelling in Genoese, so Ferrando doubted Yusuf even understood him. Yusuf had shown no indication that he understood Genoese, so Ferrando wasn’t sure how effective Nicolo’s scolding was going to be.

“Why? Why must you torment me? Surely you’ve been sent by the devil, for there can be no explanation for why God would choose you to rise by my side!” Nicolo was frantic, begging for answers, answers no one had, least of all Yusuf. 

Ferrando watched as Yusuf looked up at Nicolo, and for a moment, Ferrando thought he was going to speak. Instead, he winked. 

Nicolo stared at Yusuf, a blush spreading across his cheeks as the Muslim stared up at him, smirking lasciviously. Ferrando thought Nicolo was about to run him through, but to his and the other soldiers’ shock, Nicolo dropped his sword, yanking Yusuf up by his tunic and pulling him into a kiss.

Ferrando felt his jaw drop, but he made no move to close it. He never could have imagined that Nicolo would actually act on his feelings, but the evidence to the contrary was clear in front of him. 

Nicolo pulled back suddenly, his grip on Yusuf’s tunic weakening. He blinked, looking stunned, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. Yusuf slowly opened his eyes, a dazed look on his face. Nicolo started to apologize, stuttering and stammering over his words, but Yusuf was having none of it. Gripping his cheeks, Yusuf smashed his lips against Nicolo’s. 

Ferrando and the other soldiers watched as Yusuf kissed Nicolo more passionately than any of them had ever seen, let alone experienced. Many of the men looked away, cheeks red. Even their enemies had stopped fighting, choosing instead to stare at the two men kissing like they would die if their lips stopped touching. 

Nicolo buried his hands in Yusuf’s hair, holding the other man as close as possible, and Yusuf’s arm wound around Nicolo’s waist, clutching tightly at the fabric of Nicolo’s shirt. It was as though they’d forgotten they were supposed to be fighting. 

Ferrando was startled when he felt a tapping on his shoulder. There stood Cosimo, a smug grin on his face. “You should’ve joined the betting pool, I just won twenty bezants!” Ferrando smacked him across the back of the head, but that didn’t deter the grinning soldier.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be here when the armor starts coming off.”

[archiveddvrpg]

IN FAIR VERONA, OUR TALE BEGINS WITH JULIANA CAPULET, WHO IS TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD. SHE IS OFTEN CALLED JULIET BY THE CAPULETS AND WORKS AS THEIR BOSS. SHE USES SHE/HER PRONOUNS.

Our heroine’s story, at one time, may have been based upon something essential, the question that plagues both the living and the dead: what is worse than living without love? Juliana Capulet, heiress to a throne fit for the gods, had finally found her answer. Worse than living without love — living without strength. Her father had not built their legacies through love, or adoration, accompanied by the stroke of a gentle hand to one’s cheek. The Capulet legacy had been built through sheer power of will, bringing to heel those who had once refused to obey. Once, she had BATHED in the light of Cosimo Capulet’s love, and before her ugly death, her mother’s, her little sister’s. All she had ever known was love, and the war ripping the city entirely in two had taken that from her without remorse. Like daylily flowers, Juliana was determined to bloom into something great, something strong, something that would lead Verona back to a new age of peace, whether love warmed her to her core or not. She would not wither away like her mother or sister, pallid and sickly. She would not fall to dust like her father. She would rise to the call that she had turned her cheek from her entire life, and pray that the GODS themselves would forgive her for answering their question without their aid. No more GHOSTS. No more ONLOOKING NARRATORS. Juliana’s power would be hers.

She would embody her mother’s memory most of all. She would become the woman who could throw Aphrodite into a fury and put Hera in a jealous rage. With the guidance of her Underboss and her newfound Advisor, her two faithful devotees, she would keep vigil over Verona and end this war once and for all. Before, she’d been helpless to stop it. Put up on a pedestal, hair brushed away from her face, bound to a feeling of WEAKNESS. She was determined to never feel it again, even with the memory of it clinging to her like the silken threads of a crafty spiderweb. She knew, now, that this was the work of her father, determined to keep her as close to him and at arm’s length at the same time. He would’ve had her look at their future as something gilded, golden, just out of reach. He would’ve had her see his NARCISSUS-LIKE obsession as a boon instead of a curse. He showered Juliana with gifts, both exotic and quaint, in hopes that she would sit in her ruby-crusted cage and keep her head low, her mouth shut. He had deemed the birdcage necessary, and never noticed when his daughter refused to sing him any more tunes. Others revelled in his success, his savvy, even with RAFAELLA CAPULET whisked away to pick up the pieces all on her own. Even with his flippant disregard for VIVIANNE SLOANE and TIBERIUS CAPULET, both denied their true wishes without so much as a second glance. They shouted his name with joy as he ruined his soldiers, his Captains, and his Emissaries, and all their prospects. They wept for him even as he struck the match that would burn the great House of Capulet down. No more.

With all this sitting atop her shoulders, filling her hands, Juliana made her choice. Rather than stay by his side faithfully, adhering to his rules like a SAINT, she broke away from her father, and with the aid of Vivianne, finally stepped down from the tower of Babylon that he had built for her with his own two hands. They’d brought her into the business in increments, at first, and had not seen how far and how quickly she had progressed since poor Alvise Vernon’s death nigh over a year ago. BLOOD, now bedecking her finery, would be another accessory to be worn, as did other tools of the trade — knives, guns, bullets, blades. She would not allow her father to hide from the consequences of his own sins any longer. She would do as he had once done, and embody the SYMBOL of the violent elite. No longer would she be just a girl. She’d be more than that. How quickly this angel could bring ruination to those who stood in the way of the Capulets — her father being the first among them. How quickly this angel could bring down the spear of the Gods and wipe the blood from her cheek in a smear. Maybe this was the way it was always meant to be. Maybe this is what she’d always been meant to become. Someone had to take the throne, sooner or later. Her father’s actions and quickly dwindling sanity have proven more than ever the time for her ascension had come. 

Juliana laid her sacrifices before him, hands shaking and eyes upturned – hoping against hope for a miracle. She had once thought that she could slip into her father’s life and pry him away from the business that had enraptured him for as long as she could remember. Maybe he would step away, admit defeat with his head bowed, and return to her. Return to her and the ghosts of her mother, her sister, gaps in their family that were too big to fill. She had underestimated, at one time, the strength of the thrall that it had him under, even as her own blood succumbed to the call that her ancestors before her had answered to. It had become clear, now, that LOVE would not do Juliana Capulet any good. It hadn’t served her, or Rafaella, or her mother, her cousin, her sister, her father. Love had failed her, ruined her, left scorched earth in its wake. Love had failed her people. Her father had pressed the knife to cut Valentina Gallo’s throat into her hands, and she’d done it without hesitation. Before, love would have made her weep with the pain of it. Now — JULIET would not fail anyone, especially not her legacy.

RAFAELLA CAPULET & TIBERIUS CAPULET: Cousins. The three of them at one time might have been compared to planets, their gravitational pull. Infinitely different but relentlessly routine in the way they were drawn to one another. Now, with Rafaella gone and seemingly doomed to never return, shattered into a thousand little pieces neither Rafaella or Tiberius can help her to pick up, things are… different. Things feel off-kilter, unbalanced. The tension that sat between all three of them has now come to rest entirely on Juliana and Tiberius, a fraying wire that could shoot sparks at any time. Before, she’d never doubted Tiberius, or his loyalty to her, and she can’t say even now that she actually does. But the weight of the Capulet title has become her burden and her burden alone, an unwelcome cross. With the shifting power dynamics and no Rafaella to complete their balancing act, she worries it may be Tiberius that places the crown of thorns atop her brow.

VIVIANNE SLOANE: Pseudo-Mother. “You can never be her,” she had hissed as she slammed the door to her room shut, but Vivianne, ever-patient with Juliana, had taken her time. She’d pried the door open with her own two hands, and it’s a wonder that she’d never quite made the connection before. She’d snapped and seethed and raged in her youth, entrenched in the ocean of her own sorrow, and through sheer will, Vivianne had soothed her. Dulled her pain. Held her head and stroked her hair when all Juliana could do was cry for the sheer loss of love she’d once possessed. Taught her how to rule when her own father -- her own supposed teacher -- fell short. It had been Vivianne to bring her into the way of things. She knows that, and she owes her a great debt for it. But she sees the way Vivianne’s eyes drift, now, settle in the middle distance, after dethroning her father. Unspoken agreement of guidance or comfort aside, mother-figure or not, things have changed. They are not the way they were before. The dynamic of the Capulets has shifted, and so, too, it seems, have they.

ROMAN MONTAGUE: Enemy. She should hate him. By all means, by every predisposed legacy of their birthright, she should want to rip him limb from limb. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t have the capacity to hate someone without good reason -- it’s not in her nature. Juliana understands, now more than ever, that he wishes the Capulets ill will and nothing more. That should be enough, but she was never equipped with Tiberius’ natural brutality or Rafaella’s fury. Now, with the crown sitting atop her head, sword and scepter in each hand, she wonders further still if he struggles with bearing the title of his father. If he will ever truly rise to the occasion of his bloodline as she had hers and continue this war or crumble to pieces before getting the chance. Maybe she pities him. It would be a better word than hate. Her path was always illuminated -- she’d simply sped the process up, a little bit, with the aid of those she now knows to be hers. Roman, on the other hand, must fend himself among the Montagues, men and women more likely to cannibalize themselves before putting another Montague on the throne. She wishes she could hate him. If only it were that easy.

PRIAM TARAVELLA: Betrothed. She looks at him and can only think of them in the context of Zeus and Hera. Ending up here, with engagement rings and bright futures to look forward to, well. It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Cosimo Capulet had chosen Priam for his daughter. They’d grown up together. They’d seen each other shattered, built each other back up again. This is a love that is supposed to make sense, and to Juliana, it does, in many ways. She loves him. Could love him more, if the weight of the Capulet legacy were not so heavy, if she felt she could share the burden with him. What if she can’t? She’d made the difficult choice in dethroning her father. She’s put the Capulets first in every regard, in every way, by ascending and taking the throne. He’s a good man. Certainly not a bad one. Knows just how deeply entrenched he is, now that she moves the pieces on the chess board and has to strategize at every turn. What if there are choices to be... made with Priam, too?

Juliana is portrayed by ASHLEY MOORE and was written by JULIE. She is currently OPEN TO CURRENT MEMBERS.

[hauntedwhispers]

THIS DAY in Lacuna Coil history

BLOOD, TEARS, DUST, released March 22nd, 2017 is the fourth single from the band eight studio album ‘Delirium’.

Cristina Scabbia about the video: “This is the core of who we are as a band: the sweat, the dirt, the raw energy. It’s our insanity and all of us feeling comfortable with it. I love how by Cosimo Alemà filmed this. The photography, the colors and the hints in the story are perfectly placed and it is the first time we are really ‘acting’.”

[rothorns]

WHEN: MARCH 26TH 2019 WHO: @la-bella-falco

He hadn't been able to reach her for some time. Revealing such information would mean potentially compromising her position, and Roman would have never willingly put Valentina in danger. Not after she came to him, not after he'd offered her protection and acceptance— she was now bound to him, and though she'd been a wholly capable person, he'd felt responsible for her in some regard. Valentina was not Damiano's spy. Valentina was Roman's spy. She'd chosen Roman to volunteer that information to, not his father, and that had made all the difference in his mind. 

How many days, how many hours until he should have sounded the alarmed? Who would he have asked for help? What was there even to ask for help about? What was it he could have possibly done? He scanned over the potentialities in his mind tirelessly. There was always something, there had to be something, anything that would have prevented what occurred. Anything that would have stopped Valentina being strung up against the wall like a Cosimo's sacrifice. Her body, bloodied, beaten, sliced— every part of her had been etched into his mind. He knew he would not forget, not even if he was able to save her. He knew that for the better part of his life when he closed his eyes, he would see her battered figure when he should have been met with darkness instead. It was different than the other cruelties he'd witnessed. There was an aspect of responsibility he could remove from his being. Something in the Montague heir shifted, something contorted, blackened and rotted, the sadness and remorse morphed into something awful and bitter, something absolutely vile— and he was suddenly overcome with such rage, that he could no longer fit it in his body. It was wholly unforgiving, it was not rational, and it was blinding. He could see nor feel nothing else. He knew one thing and one thing only in that very moment, and that was that each and every Capulet would pay. They would all pay some due to him, whether they had a hand in the coup or not. They would pay for whatever he could not erase, the taint that was eternally etched in him. Roman would engrave a piece of this wickedness in each and every one of them. They would not forget coming across the Montague heir, not after this. If he could not rid himself of the darkness that nestled itself behind his eyelids, then the least they could do was all pay. 

She'd been the first person he immediately locked eyes with. How beautiful she had been in her dress, how much attention to detail had gone into her makeup, her hair, her accessories. It was as if she'd been laughing in Val's face— in his face— by merely just existing. How dare had Lucrezia Falco mocked him? How dare had all of them just gathered at this pretentious dinner as if Val had been some newly curated art exhibit, for all the word to see? If there had been gods, they had forsaken them all long ago. How else could something so revolting occur in his very house? Cosimo and Damiano had to have scared them off. They had rightfully forsaken Verona. Nevermind that though. No gods meant he could take things into his own hands. He wielded justice and judgment in his core as he began stepping towards Lucrezia. He saw no one else. Separating her from Mikael would be for the betterment of them all— and with her being the more treacherous of the pair, it only made sense that she be taken out first. Those rapid steps soon transitioned into a swift run. Adrenaline surged through him, tainted by violence, rage, and atrocities. He rushed her, striking her chest with the full force of his gun. Separation had been his first objective. Force her away from the crowd, so there would be little interference. He would tear, destroy, and batter his way to Valentina. "Miss me?" he taunts between gritted teeth, his voice low, reverberating with an edge that is almost unrecognizable. He reaches for her chin, with the intent of forcing her into a wall. 

[deadagainmaevepetre]

december 13th at five o’clock in the evening, in the penthouse. closed for @evcravens

Call her a child or a fool, clinging to the past and all the things she wishes could be as she races to Everett’s door. Her heart has yet to accept Easton as her captain, even if it was his command that unraveled the core of her being. And she knows it’s terribly unfair, but the thought comes anyways: would it be different if Everett were still her captain?

She can’t bring herself to resent him for accepting the promotion. Can’t hold it against Everett for being himself, the good and proud and talented man he is. Of course Cosimo noticed. Of course he is destined for limitless potential within the Capulets. And of course Maeve is left behind. Still a little girl who has no idea what her father does after the sun flees, still waiting outside the room where grownups deliberate and discuss with her ear pressed up against the door.

No longer. If she will take anything from this, it is that she cannot remain a soldier any longer.

By now, Everett’s security team are well-familiar with Maeve. The bounce in her step, the spring of her curls, the smell of freshly baked cookies that always seem to linger when she’s around. They take a little longer to let her in this time though, sensing that there is an unfamiliar darkness in her eyes as she asks, “Is Everett home?”

She has no plan of what she’ll say to him or if she even plans to say anything to him. Right now, Maeve wants only to be near Everett, a balm to her troubled soul.

When he arrives, Maeve immediately folds herself against him, cheek pressed against his chest and eyes tightly closed. “Long time no see.”

[markantonys]

I didn't watch the first season of Medici because straight vibes but Lucrezia is making me change my mind, is she in a lot of episodes?

she’s in every episode! iirc she doesn’t have any lines in the first episode and is just shown briefly in some family group scenes, which may dishearten you at first, but rest assured she will soon grow to have a pretty prominent role as she starts becoming more involved in politics and the family. i’d probably call her and piero second tier characters compared to, say, cosimo and contessina, but they’re still definitely among the core group of s1 characters (which is a much smaller group than the big cast of s2 characters, so screentime isn’t spread as thinly)

[catherinedaly]

task 002 - vocation

      Above ground, Catherine Daly is a rather well-known interior designer. What started as merely a hobby at the tender age of eighteen blossomed into a lucrative career in which she garnered the attention from the likes of prominent dignitaries across the globe who fawned over Italian décor. In the beginning, as she was still a full-time student studying political science and international relations at Università di Verona, she sparingly did freelance work for families close to her own. But, after facing pressures and expectations, she put her studies on hold and joined the ranks of the Capulets as a soldier a week before she turned nineteen.        To help maintain a semblance of a good image to the world uninvolved with mob business (and to stop herself from being reduced to another one of Cosimo Capulet’s killing machines), Catherine graciously accepted the offer extended to her by CAVIO CASA, the Italian furniture company that had been pining after her since she decorated the homes of a handful of critically-acclaimed celebrities. She began as an intern, but quickly climbed the ranks to one of the company’s most coveted lead project manager. This is the title she still proudly holds to this day.       In this position, Cat is responsible for adhering to CAVIO CASA’s core beliefs and their philosophies, which include (but are not limited to): maintaining the Italian tradition, relying on her passions and artistic abilities to guide her in her decision-making, capturing moments of timeless beauty, and (her personal favorite) transforming a house into a home. But even still, there are no rock-solid guidelines which she must follow, and the Daly woman is incredibly pleased with creative freedom to company affords her.       In the grand scheme of it all, Catherine Daly answers to the family from Bovologne that founded CAVIO CASA in 1954. Realistically, however, she answers to no one except her customers. As lead project manager, the Daly woman has free rein in what she and her clientele come up with to decorate their homes.        Catherine rarely does any of the dirty work involved--that is, the actual movement of the furniture has nothing to do with her. She has a team of movers that work under her and follow the meticulous plans laid out by her and her customers to turn dreams into realities. Every so often, she collaborates with other designers based on the tastes of her clientele in order to ensure that complete satisfaction is achieved in every project marked with her signature: ‘C. Daly.’ 

[carmeloffie]

Several of the aristocratic leaders made pleas for armed resistance, took up arms for a day, but then lost heart, withdrew, and were overwhelmed. Cosimo and his brother returned victoriously to. Florence on 6 October, and the Eight, the high office charged with the city's political security, now began to deal out the expected reprisals.

this is sooooo pathetic core of them like you couldn’t even hold arms for more than a day???

[natasya2000]

IX SWАР —STO/TSO ЕXСHАNGЕЅ

On the Ethereum blockchain and driven by the Ethereum smart contract, IX Swap is a decentralized exchange for tokenized security tokens and securities. Poolz and Occam will be distributing the business's initial decentralized exchange offering (IDO) on September 8th, according to the company. As with the KuCoin Spotlight, which kicked off on September 3 and will run until an IEO and IDO occur simultaneously on the same blockchain, the IXS token multiplatform dispatch will be deployed in a similar fashion (International Decentralized Organization).

Because this asset class has never been traded before, one of IX Swap's core goals is developing liquidity strategies and mechanisms within the security token context, enabling trading and bringing this hitherto untraded asset class to mainstream use. IX Swap is a San Francisco-based venture capital firm.

 How It Works And What It Is

Liquidity pools and Automated Market Makers (AMMs) provided by IX Swap tackle the problem of insufficient liquidity in tokenized security obligations (STOs) (TSOs). As a result, token holders will be able to participate in liquidity mining and earn more money by trading and staking their tokens more effectively.

IX Swap is a DeFi-specific solution that addresses difficulties such as passing, joining, and onboarding in order to help clear channels for the private market and the wider blockchain community. Think about the fact that private assets total more than $7.5 trillion, and that the removal of the liquidity barrier has prevented many large financial backers from entering and investing in the illiquid portion of the private market, such as venture capital, privately held assets (private worth), and common assets (such as timber).

 Tokenomics

"Publicity stunts," according to some financial experts, are the new promises from IX Swap, which use tokenization of securities tokens. New promises from IX Swap have piqued the interests of some of the industry's most notable companies since they address critical challenges and help the company overcome significant obstacles in the service of a potentially addressable market.

DeFi and the related funds are no longer a concern for IX Swap, thanks to this arrangement. The numerous advantages that STOs provide to organizations, such as the capacity to conduct initial public offerings (IPOs) and retain continuity, are also addressed in this document The usage of STOs helps raise savings, break away from an over-reliance on illiquid assets like speculation, and enter new businesses through their use of STOs, among other things.

First, a small number of tokens were given to a restricted group of financial professionals and cryptocurrency enthusiasts to demonstrate the platform's reliability and potential before it was officially launched. SMO Capital, Tokenomik Inc., Bakh Capital, Baksh Capital, JST Capital, Faculty Capital, COSIMO Ventures, and N2H4 Capital are among the new investors who have joined the company's existing investors.

 Partnership

According to AllianceBlock and IX Swap, the two companies have discovered an important link between cutting-edge DeFi applications and the organic IXS architecture. Tokenized security offerings (TSOs), security token offerings (STOs), and tokenized security offerings (IX Swaps) all have different IX Swap restrictions. The IX Swap is the initial step in any investigation of the STO/TSO industry's AMM limits and liquidity capabilities. A variety of cryptocurrencies, such as security tokens and tokens issued by administrators, will be used in the future to exchange health tokens on the network. Blockchain-cynic AllianceBlock's website states that the company is focused on decentralized financial institutions' interoperability and funding transactions. Additionally, it has been praised for providing conventional financial institutions with data-driven and reliable access to liquidity resources.

As a result of AllianceBlock and IX Swap's collaboration, it is expected that the capital markets and financial industry would benefit from a more simplified organic framework in the future. IX Swap hopes to develop its organic structure by using AllianceBlock's DeFi applications. AllegianceBlock Liquidity Mining as a Service (DeFi) is only one of the several DeFi programs that are available. IX Swap's cross-chain and DeFi limits will be lifted as a result of this arrangement in order to increase liquidity and make the acquisition and management of Blockchain assets easier.

AllianceBlock has been tasked with addressing any conflicts that may arise between traditional currency and DeFi funding. When it comes to mechanical events and capital work processes, AllianceBlock employees say they are strongly interwoven. AllianceBlock, which is developing new markets, climate-scaled devices for interoperability and finance, and new DeFi initiatives, as well as establishing a global financial structure that will provide DeFi contraptions to coordinated money-related associations in exchange for admission to the DEFI, will provide these contraptions.

 Team

With over 15 years of experience in both the financial markets and blockchain technology, Staff IX Swap's team has a wealth of knowledge to draw from in both sectors. Both dialects and dialects are spoken by people who are fluent in both languages. The team had highlighted a fundamental infrastructure problem, namely the lack of liquidity in the natural architecture of security tokens, as something that needed to be solved.

 More Information :

Website : https://ixswap.io/

Litepaper : http://ixs.loc/app/uploads/2021/08/IX-Swap-Litepaper.pdf

Medium : https://ixswap.medium.com/

Twitter : https://twitter.com/IxSwap

Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/IXSwap/

Telegram : https://t.me/ixswapofficial

Linkedin : https://www.linkedin.com/company/ixswap

YouTube : https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCaYPNR-eLs9iuB5ZVKRx-fw

 Writer :

Bitcointalk Username : Natasya2000 BitcoinTalk Profile URL: https://bitcointalk.org/index.php?action=profile;u=3396747 BSC Address : 0x820E340003f937a3d86aAF5A2D4d4736B7Eda8a2

[archiveddvrpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with PRIAM TARAVELLA, who is TWENTY-SIX years old. He is often called PARIS by the CAPULETS and works as their EMISSARY. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

Verona was a city as coveted for its opulence as it was glorified for its legacy. Every street seemed to bear the mark of history and every window seemed to bear the phantom sigh of a dreamer who had once gazed through it. It vigorously preserved any greatness birthed within it but it just as vigorously SHUNNED those who bore the mark of mediocrity. Priam Taravella bore no such mark but he never aspired to shine alongside the brightest stars in the Veronan skyline. And so, he might as well have carried the brand of normalcy that left so many people ostracized and rejected in a city of such glory. He had been born a prince and yet he was meant to carry a HEAVY, ill-fitting crown. However, one could not perceive a skewed crown when it was balanced atop a steady, poised head and Priam, ever the opportunist, flourished under the guise of that illusion but the core of his being never changed, merely CAMOUFLAGED itself. As a child, when he didn’t like something he didn’t do it and although that rigidity carried over into his adulthood, Priam learned to soften it in his own ways. Now, his dislike would be expressed with merely an elegant snort to undermine your argument and an idle wave of his hand as though your presence was nothing more than a hindrance. However, it had taken a lot for him to learn the value of pretenses; unlike the grey-tinted world in which he now thrived, the world in which he struggled as a child was starkly black and white.

He grew into a man of shifting skins; of clashing motives and ambivalent actions but one thing remained constant throughout his metamorphosis, locked away from prying eyes and prowling beasts alike—his VOID. A byproduct of the environment he had grown up in. Suffocated by an unsentimental, work-oriented family, Priam was an anomaly of a child with his deeply-carved scowls and his tendency to wander. His eyes were never trained on the sky; instead, they lingered on the earth; on what’s attainable and in reach, constantly scanning for a place where he could truly belong. For all their attempts, his parents could never instill the notion of ambition and greatness in their son and as he was the sole heir to the Taravella name, they grew disappointed in the prospect of him taking over the family business. Priam was too stubborn to adapt but he was too stubborn to bear his throat to the world that set on casting him astray, either. So he grew and he built himself anew, burying the hollow core of his being underneath fervent smoke and elegant mirrors. But just because he could glance at the specter of his reflection and recognize it as himself didn’t make it any less of a pretense; a LIE shrouded by his perfect image and dazzling smile. If he looked closer, he would find hairline cracks in the projection and a skewed tilt to the smile for that was all Priam Taravella grew to be—a FABRICATION birthed from Verona’s apathy and arranged by influence of his own emptiness.

Regardless, he would stand tall and say that he was a fabrication that had PURPOSE, if nothing else. As loveless and detached as his relationship with his family was, they saw potential in the man he had become and in turn, Priam saw potential in himself.  He took the initiative and started running the Taravella corporation; although his family might as well have been a pack of strangers, the Taravella name meant something to him. Perhaps because it was the only part of his identity that was TRUE or perhaps because it carried a sense of belonging with it. It gave him direction and for the longest time, it was enough. Until it wasn’t. Life had turned into a blur of days and and the purpose he believed he had found proved to be nothing more than another convenient illusion to mask the hollowness that continued to surge within him, always screaming—feed me, fill me up. Until the moment where Priam finally answered its howling call. He came to the pitiful conclusion that he couldn’t lose what he didn’t build; couldn’t destroy what he never had. But on the tail of it came another conclusion: he would not turn into a man who had nothing to lose. He would not allow himself to be DISHONORED that way. And so, with the same vigor with which he cast away the throne that had been built for him, Priam left to build his own and he knew he would only find the tools in the Capulet fold.

The board was wiped clean and Priam re-arranged his pieces flawlessly. In no time, he was able to claim his self-made throne as a Capulet emissary. But this new world he had submerged himself in was starting to prove that he may have picked a WINDING path on his search for purpose. The smoke of war is bellowing on its horizon but Priam continues to walk it the same way he walks the glorious yet unforgiving streets of Verona; with shrewd disregard, elegant cunning and the same brand of RIGIDITY that brought him this far down the road. Only time will tell if he should have picked the one less traveled. After all, isn’t that what all wanderers do?

JULIANA CAPULET: Betrothed. She’s seen beneath his armor just as Priam has seen beneath hers and for that reason, Juliana has always been more than a mere childhood friend to him. As children, she had been the only person to accept him rather than shun him. He only felt like he belonged when he was with her. Even now, despite how differently they’ve both matured and how radically their circumstances have changed, he still feels like he belongs when he is around her. That’s why it didn’t feel like a bitter obligation he had to mold himself around when Cosimo Capulet had approached him with the prospect of marriage for the two of them. If anything, it has made Priam feel less alone. But that was yet another truth to be hidden and shielded from prying eyes.

RAFAELLA CAPULET: Confidante. Perhaps it is because both of them have clawed and bled for their positions in life. When like finds like, it is difficult to pass judgement when different hands have committed the same sins. Originally, he had gone to her in order to vet his acceptance but when the two of them had met it became a lot more than they bargained for. Abandonment, disappointment, then the birth of ambition. But what had initially started as a means for him to move up in the Capulet ranks became a substantial relationship that benefited the both of them. No one quite understands the pain of power-climbing quite like another who is determined to sit on the throne. Although neither of them is quite ready to admit it, there will come a time when both of them will decide who wears that crown.

CASTORA AGUILAR: Enemy.  She thinks herself something to be reckoned with, a storm that calls for the sea to rise and waves to crash. But little does she know that she is nothing more than a drizzle of rain, cold and annoying yet nothing to be feared. To exchange words with her gives him a vindictive kind of pleasure, because she reminds him of everything that he hates about his parents and more. Like his parents, she ridicules any form of affection, she looks down on everyone as her lesser, and, moreover, she considers herself his intellectual equal. To goad Castora is to goad the Virgin Mary to sin – and who wouldn’t derive a particular type of pleasure from that?

BORIS KOVROV: Hatred. Priam used to believe that he has no capacity for hatred—until he met Boris. He doesn’t know enough about the man to pinpoint the cause for the resentment that simmers within him whenever they cross paths but he’s seen what Boris can do. And he believes that Kovrov’s actions are a testament to who he is; a man bare of loyalty or any principles driving his actions forward. Priam knows that his conclusions could be completely baseless but the experience he’s gained as an emissary and everything he’s seen while working for the Capulets has made him trust in the frame of reference supporting his conclusion that Kovrov is nothing more than a treacherous beast. And it’s made him rigid in his disgust towards the man. Verona’s underworld has made him apathetic towards most things but he has no tolerance for men without honor.

Priam is portrayed by SEAN TEALE and was written by JEN. He is currently TAKEN by LIZ.