I can't stop thinking about imaginary friend Eddie...

Only he's not actually imaginary...

Like... what if your family moved into the Forrest Hills Trailer Park while you were little and that's when you first met Eddie.

No one else ever seemed to see him, but he always kept you company. He'd tell you the very best fantasy stories and was always happy to play prince/princess with you.

One Halloween when you got a little older, some kids told you about the cult murder spree that started in the trailer park where you lived and how the suspected killer was never caught. Eddie had been with you when they'd started telling the story, but he'd disappeared by the time they'd finished. That night was the first time he ever failed to appear when you'd called for him.

In fact, he'd stayed away for a whole week and when he showed back up, he acted like nothing had happened; changing the subject when you tried to ask him about where he'd been and why he'd stayed away.

As you grew and your friends' imaginary friends started to disappear, Eddie stayed with you.

You didn't even think to question why he was still around until you mentioned him to one of your friends and they scoffed at the fact that you still 'pretended to see him.'

You asked him what they meant, but he'd been quick to dismiss their comment.

When you began puberty, your relationship with Eddie began to change as you started to really notice just how handsome he was. You found yourself comparing every boy your friends said was cute to him and none of them ever measured up.

You were able to keep your blooming feelings at bay until you finally snuck a boy into your bedroom in your senior year. Things were starting to heat up with the boy until he froze as the two of you passed by your mirror on the way towards your bed. The boy mumbled out some ridiculous excuse before he nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get away. That's when you saw Eddie's reflection and realized that, somehow, the boy must have seen him standing there.

Tears pooled in your eyes as you rounded on your imaginary friend and landed into him; letting out all your frustration about how you'd finally found a boy who liked you that you'd somehow managed to not subconsciously compare to Eddie and Eddie had just scared him away. How you thought you were going to end up alone because no one measured up to your imaginary friend. How you'd wished and prayed for years that Eddie could somehow be real- be alive- because you just knew he was the one you were meant to love.

As you'd been so focused on yelling at him, you hadn't noticed Eddie approaching you and you were stunned when you actually felt the sensation of his hand cupping your cheek.

"Princess... I am real... but I haven't been alive for a long time..."

I’m bingewatching 999 playthroughs again because it has become my Homework Background Noise this year and so I of course have several AUs percolating. The ORV one will have to wait to be revealed because I ALSO just got a jolt of girl genius inspo.

Anyway. The hardest person to cast is always the Akane of the group—she’s dead. She’s alive. She burned in an incinerator when she was twelve years old and she saw through time to save herself. She’s the mastermind, she’s the victim, she’s the love interest. She’s shrödingers cat and chekov’s gun and the ship of theseus. How much is a lie? Who is she? Is she simply playing her part to keep the timeline stable? Does Akane Kurashiki have free will or does she simply don a mask and play her part?

But with Girl Genius, it’s almost too easy. It’s Anevka. A girl in a box. Is she dead or is she alive? If she says all the right things and we can’t tell the difference between her and the mask, is the mask a real person or is it just an executed series of programs? How much of her can you change before she’s no longer herself? Does the process of saving her own life change her into a stranger?

Anevka Sturmvoraus dies on a boat when she’s twelve years old. Her brother mourns. Her best friend never sees her again. Anevka Sturmvoraus makes it off the boat, except she can’t make it off the boat until nine years have passed. Agatha Heterodyne wakes up in a flooding cabin with a 5 on the door and a numbered bracelet on her wrist. It has to happen this way.

Anevka already saw it.

the way lucrezia is open to a friendship with giulia bc she knows it would be advantageous but she’s also just struck by how immediately kind and beautiful giulia is. but also then pretends like she’s just innocently rambling on about her new friend when she describes giulia as “a different beauty not spanish or italian, her hair is light” to vanozza, but really she’s just tattling on her dad while still keeping up her daddy’s girl routine so she can continue tattling on her dad if necessary. i love her.

@steavia

❝As she busies herself behind the counter, Alice's voice still carries over, echoes in the small interior, with only the noise of water boiling as its company.

"To be honest, no. And… I'm happy for it. The cafe is pretty chill around now, and I like it. It gets busier later, sure, but… right now… it's just peaceful. Gives me room to think. To be," then Alice remembers they're in a service position. They look at Tea Brunette from behind the counter. "And the drinks I make turn out the better for it, too," the easy smile widens artificially, and then, when Alice turns back to the drink making, it softens again.

"We got a batch of fresh mints and chamomile from Lucrezia's flower shop today," they say, offhandedly. Alice might not be the best talker, but they do enjoy filling the air. "I was trying them earlier… I think you'll find the tea a little sweeter than usual, so maybe, like, use one drop less of stevia, yeah?"

Alice observes the infusion with attention. When the desired hue appears, they pour the liquid into the delicate porcelain teacup. They don't realize that their "filling the air" has turned into rambling.

"Y'know, I've been getting really into mints, lately," and their face turns serious, almost intense, as they place a decorative little sprig of chamomile on the left of the cup. "I've been experimenting with the hot cocoas and different types of mint… how it changes the taste to use spearmint, peppermints, apple mints… "

Alice also does not notice the opalescent aura starting to enclose them. Moonchild begins to manifest, called forth by Alice's mint excitement. Or, perhaps, excitemint. They add the courtesy amaretto on the right of the teacup.

"I think I like it with peppermint more, but I have to add on less of it or it gets nasty instead. Man, when the cold seasons come, I'll be so prepared. The hot chocolate specials will be to die for. Ah, but listen to me, rambling on about mints. Sorry," Alice's cheeks flush a little as she sets down the cup on Tea Brunette's table. Damn… Alice really has to learn their customers' names instead of giving them these silly nicknames in their head.

Alice realizes, then, that their Stand has manifested. She notices its butterfly-like wings moving on the corner of her vision, as it swims around her in soothing motions. They try not to startle, after all, "normal" people can't see them and Alice doesn't want to creep Tea Brunette by getting spooked from nothing. Still, Moonchild's presence isn't unwelcome.

"Enjoy your tea!" Alice says, and finally looks up from the cup to her client.

i've been following you since you were greyjoyvs and tbh you're my fave mutual. you chill af, love that you found your place in the world and that you're all okily dokily, and yeah i just enjoy seeing you from the sidelines every now and then. it's just like.. ok cool, anna's still about. i see those halfway unhinged tags of yours and idk, it's nice. i'm rambling. happy new year, you cesare X lucrezia gremlin!

SINCE WHEN. good lord we're like family at this point help 😭😭 and a happy new year to u as well beloved cousin xoxo

✿｡・✦:*:・ﾟ☆,｡・:❀

AstralCamellia | she/her, somewhere in my 20s, and very much a sleepy artist. you can call me rezia or lucrezia !

most of my creations are a mix of original works and fanart, including throwing my OCs at canon characters and seeing what gives me a crumb of serotonin.

sometimes i also post commissioned artwork, gifts for and trades with friends, and dumb scribbles / daily sketches.

please do not repost/reupload my art; you can ask to share fanart I make, but please do not assume I am comfortable with my work being shared outside of that.

you can visit me on my not-just-art blog, @oneiricazalea for mundane ramblings, a sea of reblogs and miscellaneous interactions. :>

thank you reading; have a nice day. ♥

Currently: Largely focused on a mix of Genshin x OC shipping and original story characters.

a letter delivered to @garlandhightower privately within his chambers, shortly following the letter that was received by lady simonetta hightower to lucrezia redwyne, in which she told her of lord dante hightower's early death.

gar,

please do not throw this letter into the fire until you have read this once, and then read it again. ensure your raven is away from your chambers and not causing you further unrest in your ear. i need you to do that for me as you read this.

there is nothing that i could say to you that another cannot: you've heard everything official by now, and i know leyton and gael both intend to come home to be with you in the run up of the funeral. i told auntie i would come too, inshallah; so i will see you soon. i know the apologies will only continue to come, and the notes, and the conversations that seem to go on and on even though your mind wandered elsewhere some time before. i will try to keep this short, and not ramble.

remember i once told you the gods do not punish you in this life? they only test you; and they do not burden a soul with more than it could handle. this is not punishment for anything you have done - it is only a test. that is not supposed be a comfort; no doubt sometimes we wish the test to be over so we can simply handle the punishment. sometimes we want to ask when it will all be over. but this is not happening to you for any other reason than to be tested. and the gods test us in different ways. the gods would not take back what was their own for the sake of punishing another; only to test.

mama once told me when we get to jannah, you will find the mother herself, sitting beneath a tree, surrounded by the children who have been awaiting their parents all those years. their mother specifically. know that the last you see of dante, is not truly the last. know that he lives in ways we all wish to live someday. please have patience, garland. this is not an equation you can work out, or a problem you can create a solution for. it's about taking it a day at a time in these early days, where they seem never ending. days will drag, and then suddenly days will go by so quickly.

trust in the decree of who are closer to us than our jugular vein. we will never rule the world, as much as we try to- for to the gods we belong, and to them we will return. even if you cannot bring yourself to pray yet, organise for them to be held in recitation so they can be heard within the halls. distribute alms to the needy, now more than ever before. please have patience.

you are being tested, not punished garland. i will see you soon, and we can talk about everything. until then, have sabr.

lu

Tarquin

( send a name & i’ll ramble about the muse )

Tarquin is one of many that serve under a celestial, his entire existence set to ensure the survival of Ziseyr and the Kresvian race. Despite his appearance, he's a rather calm and collected man. Fierce in his duties and vigilant to his surroundings. He obtains information as to the movements beyond their borders, particularly where Lucrezia is concerned. Perhaps even to a fault considering that Tarquin refrains from unnecessary connections that could dare distract him from service. Don't get me wrong, he's certainly the type to go and explore when able. Sometimes curiosity gets the better of him but he's hesitant when it comes to just throwing himself into the flow of a mortal's pace, if that makes any sense???

|| @cxrsedsouls ||

y’all I am SO obsessed with this show The Borgias

Not-so-imaginary friend Eddie... (part 2)

After he revealed to you that he's not actually an imaginary friend, Eddie immediately disappeared and he stayed gone for the better part of a month. Despite trying every trick that used to work to draw him to you, he just failed to appear.

You even started to convince yourself that you'd made the whole incident up until you saw the boy you'd invited into your bedroom at the mall. When his eyes landed on you, his entire body went rigid and he looked as if his entire life had just flashed before his eyes before he broke out into a frantic run in the opposite direction.

No, after a reaction like that, there was no possible way your mind had fabricated the events of that night. So... where was Eddie, then? You didn't get your answer until the following weekend.

What had started out as a perfectly fine Saturday devolved into ruin when your parents excitedly informed you that your dad had been offered a job on the other side of the country. Your family was moving out of Hawkins at the end of your senior year.

Choking back the emotions that settled like rocks in your stomach, you mumbled out a congratulations to your father before stumbling back into your bedroom. Locking the door behind you, you face-planted into your bed and let the tears begin to fall.

Everyone you knew was in Hawkins. Your friends. Your family- both immediate and extended. Your future was supposed to be in Hawkins. All your plans for your life revolved around staying in Hawkins. Everything that ever mattered to you was in Hawkins... your Eddie was in Hawkins.

Eddie... what if you never saw him again? What if that fight had been the last time you ever got to talk to him... to look at him... to feel him...

Wallowing under the weight of all the 'what if's', you were startled when you felt the bed dip at your side.

Wiping the emotions from your eyes, you turned towards where you felt the displacement on your bed and were immediately met with Eddie's concerned eyes.

Without hesitation, you surged forward and wrapped your arms around his neck- not even sparing a thought for the fact that you'd never been able to touch him before- until he quickly pulled away from you.

About a million different thoughts fought to pass your lips, but none of them were voiced. Instead, Eddie got to his feet and began to silently pace along your floor.

"I owe you an explanation..."

PART 1

VERY niche and outside the box medici opinion but lucrezia t and general sforza would've been a kinda hot pairing

“sforza was a brute but he was a strong man” speaking from experience there lucrezia? 👀👀 anyway congratulations for sending me the truly most niche and outside the box medici opinion i’ve ever seen oh my god reading “niche and outside the box medici opinion...” in the ask notification in no way prepared me for what the rest of it was going to be jdkfg

medici really fucks you up because sometimes we don’t want some things to happen but they still do and we can’t even yell at the writers for bad writing because that’s literally what happens

date: sometime in 2012 location: Giovanni Ricci’s second home  availability: @la-bella-falco

How boring. They had always loathed Giovanni Ricci; sniveling, cowardly, pathetic. When it was clear he was eluding them, and payments were still nearly a week late, Marcelo had hope he’d perhaps have something sharp hidden in the billows of his sleeve. Maybe he’d run off to Rome, or France, or Sweden, or meet them at his home with the barrel of an AK-47. Maybe he was not the little mouse they’d reduce to entrails, but rather the one to release the Montague’s lion from its net of persistent monotony. When they had trailed Giovanni from his law firm, away from his home and family, and to the edge of Verona they had thought, finally.

Until the familiar driveway curves into their view, and Giovanni rolls his Bugatti into his private garage. His second home, as if it wasn’t the third place Marcelo would have cased. They watch him now through the kitchen window, pacing while speaking, perhaps bluetooth or on speaker phone. There were no other cars in the driveway. No sign of anyone but Giovanni Ricci. They’re aware of the key hidden behind the fourth brick to the right of his patio door knob. They’d seen him swear a month ago when they’d followed him, and watched him drunkenly drop it atop his foot. The key was easier than breaking the window, and without the noise of lifting the garage, though Marcelo did love the shock of a client watching their fist smash through their precious glass.

They edge nearer, back pressed against the brick as they gently pry it apart, and fit the key in the space between their knuckles, when they hear a voice. Not Giovanni, not the soldato that lingers on the opposite end of the house, awaiting their signal to approach. It’s a female voice; one that sounds so eerily familiar. Marcelo’s chin tilts, pressing their ear closer to the door and closer to the conversation muffled behind it. She speaks again, as if underwater, and Giovanni responds — just the two voices. Maybe an affair, with the woman’s car parked down the road so there’s no risk in Mrs.Ricci happening upon her. They consider retreating, backing into the shadows for when the mystery woman leaves and Giovanni is most vulnerable, but then they hear it. Three syllables, seven letters, dripping from the woman’s tongue like honey. Capulet.

The lock clicks as they enter, gun cocked and situated in their grip. The conversation continues as they near, can hear the fluctuation of the woman’s words, the shake in Giovanni’s. They know when they turn this corner they’ll come face to face with the two, and that the soldato will follow suit in less than five minutes at their entering the residence. Their footsteps are nearly silent as they trace the path of the blueprints and step, finally, into the living room, the barrel of their gun pointed directly at the man pacing its expanse. “I'm wounded you didn’t invite me, Gio.” They click their tongue, as if to remind him that their teeth are next, “I go out of my way to find you, and all this time you’ve been cowering away, settling for such repulsive company.”

The man gapes, open-mouthed as they near and keep the firearm pointed at his thick skull. It’s only as they step closer that the woman turns from her spot on the sofa, brown strands parting to reveal the slant of delicate features. Marcelo’s brows pinch, “Lucrezia.”

((Going to be making some relationship tags! For all kinds of relationships, too, not just romantic. Like/RB if you want one! Even if we haven’t interacted I’m happy to discuss a relationship and make a tag for it.))

Italian female historical figures are so underrated, in my opinion. We have tons of gorgeous, smart, courageous, gentle, creative and strong women in our history and I feel there is not enough appreciation for them. They deserve more love and respect.

date: august 30

time: 1:45 pm

location: the cathedral

status: closed to @lucreziafalco

She’s loved the Cathedral for as long as she can remember, long before she learned of the underground business that runs rampant when the Capulets assume God is not watching. It’s always been a home away from home for the littlest Daly and, after moments of tragedy, she finds herself gravitating to it more often than she usually does. 

It’s why she finds herself here now, nestled uncomfortably in her family’s pew as she tries to reconcile all that’s happened with all that’s to come.

Catherine gaze tiredly falls to her hands clasped neatly in her lap. Her hands, once unmarred by scrapes and cuts and bruises are now mottled, covered in sin and regret. The bruises aren’t as prominent and her knuckles are healing, but the ache still lingers, reminding her of her misdeeds. She separates her hands, flexes one slowly, and winces; her eyes squeeze shut and, suddenly, she’s back at the trial, pleading with Grace, begging her to stop and just go. Her ravenous older sister does not and Catherine reacts with only one thought in mind: to protect--Regina, herself, and even Grace from the aftershocks of going too far with either of her younger sisters. She does her best to forget the details of her brawl with the eldest Daly, but the devil inside of her basks in the terrible satisfaction of the thump she felt when her closed fists came in contact with her sister and forces her to relive the moments over and over and--

Her hand falling back into her lap snaps her from her reverie and she opens her eyes, lips pursed tightly as she fights the urge to mourn--for her lost patience when dealing with Grace, her saintliness, her disconnect from her morals. The youngest Daly lets out a sigh she didn’t know she was withholding and she slowly rises from her seat. When she finally finds the courage to look beyond herself, she drinks in the sight of the cathedral: it’s ethereal, breath-taking, and she is not the only one present.

Embarrassment wishes to make itself known on Catherine’s still-bruised cheeks, but she fights the warm feeling until it has begrudgingly settled within her stomach. “Mi dispiace,” she murmurs softly, “I hope I wasn’t interrupting any plans of yours, Lucrezia.” The soldier picks up her ivory clutch in preparation to leave. “I was just on my way out, though, so the cathedral is all yours.” Whether the other plans to use it for as pious reasons as she, she does not know and does not want to know--not now, not when she’s feeling so downtrodden. 

A pause, and then, “Do you know if the confessional is currently in use?”