GODDESS/GODLESS

ISABELLA DE BARDI ward of medici --------- twenty four. widower did you really think she was a tender flower you could trample upon, and damage her very soul? she is wildfire. and she is coming to devour you whole.

[dcbardi]

medicimater‌:

Another evening Bianca spend alone. She had no idea where her husband might be, and she wouldn’t dare to ask. “Duty calls” he used to tell her before leaving, but right now he didn’t bother with excuses, even vague ones. But she didn’t need him, nor his excuses as long as she had wine. She reached for a cup - and immediately was scolded for it. “ You can’t move, donna Bianca, please - “ a young painter smiled at her, his gaze moving nervously between unfinished painting and his model.  A long sigh escaped her lips; she almost regret ordering a portrait. After a moment a servant opened the door to her chamber announcing someone with an urgent matter.

“ Whatever the matter is, I hope it doesn’t require me moving from this chair “ she said, hearing the steps of the next visitor “ you see, the great Philippe here can work only with motionless women. “ she pierced a young artist with a cold gaze.

        It was meant to be an evening of frivolity, but her host had not been as entertaining as promised and as a result flopped in the presence of so many. They had all sat around a finely crafted table, a delicious spread of food laid across it, but the fool had nothing of merit to offer to the conversation. Isabella had made her excuses early, feigning a headache as she assured the party that she would be in good spirits come the morning. 

She enters Palazzo Medici with a soft sigh, noting the illumination of light coming from Signora de Medici’s chambers. The woman had become a mother figure to Isabella, whether either wanted it or not. She places the blame of her situation primarily on Bianca’s husband, for her own marriage has taught her how little power a wife can have. Although, she cannot help but wonder how much input Bianca had over her wardship. She motions for a servant to open the door, although they exaggerate the urgency of her intrusion. 

“ With so many dining with friends and patrons this evening, I did not expect anyone to still be here, ” she announces, following her interruption of the painter and muse. “ Does dear Phillipe know that it can give one a stiff neck? ”

[dcbardi]

violetaserafini‌:

SLENDER fingers ran across the hem of her dress, that was rapidly beginning to fray. looking at the tearing fabric, violeta muttered a string of curses under her breath. she would have to traipse about the city in a dirty dress all day, unless she could find a solution. concerns about seeking out a tailor, or perhaps cancelling all her plans for the day were occupying violeta’s mind, instead of watching her step and as she collided with another person, she heard the fabric tear even further. she bit down on her lip, to keep from letting out another string of swear words, simply glaring in their direction fury written plainly on her delicate features as she waited for an apology from them.

        A collection of new ribbons hang whimsically from her petite grasp, blowing in the gentle breeze which accompanies the mild-weathered day. The remainder of her expenditure for the day has already been loaded into her carriage, but she is not yet ready to part from the vibrancy of the town centre. She abhors quiet reflection and embroidery, although it is greatly encouraged among the female population of the nobility. Her late husband believed in those gentle habits, along with less kind nighttime rituals. But that is a period in her life which she will gladly expunge from her mind. 

Isabella continues her walk through the city with well-executed grace, only to be accosted by another body - forcing her to drop one of her new ribbons. She huffs lightly and bends to pick it up, quietly observing the obscene glare on the other woman’s face. “ Kindly remove that repugnant look from your face, it does you no kindness. You ought to watch where you are walking, the accident could have been far greater than a soiled ribbon. ” 

[dcbardi]

xoxthomas-charpentier‌:

“I just saw the a very sweet and quite comical scene some minutes ago,  while I was touring around the city. There was this small child who looked to be about 3 or 4 years of age, who had just stumbled over and was just about to bawl his heart out, as most young ones do when they fall over..And then out of nowhere, his older sister if I’m not mistaken, who looked to be about a girl of 7 or 8, immediately rushed over to pick him up. After gently holding his chubby little face in her hands a moment later, she then immediately begin giving him a long list of reasons why he shouldn’t cry, with such earnesty and seriousness in her facial expressions, that the baby that was about to cry, then instead changed his look to one of perplexed curiosity as he listened to his sister’s energetic chatter….And earlier this morning, as I tickled a babe’s nose a few times, she emitted out the most glorious sound of laughter I’ve ever heard in months!”he gabbed on, his face shining ever so brightly as he regaled the other with his tale.” My heart just went …ughh,.. I don’t know how to describe it,” he gushed, his facial expression melting into one of adoring rapture, while at the same time, putting a hand over his heart as he replayed the memory vividly, at the front of his mind. “Children really are the most precious and the most charming gifts ever to bless mankind, are they not?” he sighed happily. 

        Under a large white canvas with the Medici insignia embroidered on its otherwise barren landscape, Isabella sits in comfort shaded away from the midday sun as it bears down on the people of Florence. Drinking her crushed apple, she observes the hustle and bustle around her, as they fight for the finest wears that the marketplace can offer. Isabella likes to think that she is a little bit more refined than that, for the crowds often part for her. She considers half to be resourceful friends, and the rest envy or desire her. Her solitude had earlier been broken by a gardener, she is not certain why she chose to indulge in his story, but it has passed the time. “ You seem to have a fondness for children far beyond any man that I have ever spoken with. Do you have your own, Signor? ”

[dcbardi]

amaliademedici‌:

“SHH,” amalia said absent mindedly to the person nearby, who was making an obscene amount of noise, keeping her from being truly absorbed in the book she was reading. “it’s just getting to the good part.” as she flipped the page, the blonde drew her knees to her chest, the bright smile indicating her enjoyment of the novel.

        The comfortable damask which houses her body as she lounges across the chair, shifts with the weight of her body as she looks up from the letter. The words had been so consuming that she had barely noticed the loud manservant dropping priceless ornaments. It is only as Amalia speaks that she is pulled from her own thoughts. “ Clean that up and then get out, ” she orders the servant, her eyes drifting over the broken vase - a gift from Paris if she recalls correctly. “ Amalia, dear, pray tell me what has captivated you so? ” 

[dcbardi]

newhcpes‌:

isabetta was peeking her head around the cart she was hiding around. she was having fun watching her minders try to find her. she noticed someone looking at her, she raised a finger to her lips. “please don’t tell anyone i’m back here,” 

        Beneath the sun Florence thrives with the bloom of citrus trees, while imported spices waft through the maze of the local market. A myriad of colourful fabrics catch her eye, but the half-hidden figure is all the more intriguing. Isabella steps forward, satin slippers shifting against the dried mud as she navigates her way closer to the stranger. Upon further inspection, she realises that it is not a stranger, but a rival to the house of Medici that hides behind the cart. “ It is little business of mine. I can’t imagine that it is very comfortable to be hiding behind a trader’s cart. ” 

[dcbardi]

signora de bardi, ward of medici

[rp-suggestionbox]

Interview my OC about questions that has no easy answer.

1. Which should be saved – a bus full of innocent lives or a loved one?

2. You meet a man who has killed someone and done time for it before. Does this factor into how you treat him? Will he ever truly escape that sin?

3. If you could jump back through time to save a loved one’s life, would you? Despite what it might to do the timeline? To everyone else? Do you believe it is their fate to die regardless?

4. You have a secret you swore not to reveal. But this secret is the only thing that would prove your innocence in a separate matter. Is it worth risking your own well-being for the secret? Or would you betray the trust given to you?

5. Is it better to hurt others before they hurt you or let yourself be walked all over and hurt by others?

6. If you tell the truth, an evil person gets to walk away free. If you lie, you may be able to send them away like they deserve. Is honesty worth more than justice?

7. You have the key to immortality in your hands. But not for free. If you want it, as a price, your worst enemy also gains immortality. Is it worth it?

8. If you could gain as much money as you want for losing a sense, would you do it?

9. Can people be held accountable for things people close or related to them did or are they innocent?

10. If a lot of people, possibly innocent people, have to die in order to make a real change, is it worth it? Can you live with their deaths even if it helps people in the present?

11. Imagine there is a beast that craves attention. If you ignore it, despite being deadly, it will leave you alone. Could you live like that? Even if it possibly attacked others? Would you try and challenge something that unknown?

12. If someone else stole something and you stole it back is that a good deed, a bad deed or one of equal worth? Are you better than the original thief?

13. Could you sacrifice yourself for the good of everyone else?

14. What of love? Say you discover your lifelong crush on another has finally been reciprocated… but they are currently dating a family member or a dear friend the crush feels responsible to honour. Do you force the break up? Date on the side? Bottle it up forever?

15. Is lying to others to gain their approval more important than being genuine and hated?

16. Have you ever contemplated killing someone? Who and why? Would you ever act on it? Are you frightened you might?

17. Have you ever gotten sheer joy out of hurting someone else, either physically or mentally? To whom and why? Did it scare you?

18. Have you ever done something morally wrong? If it’s morally wrong do you regret it?

19. What is more likely a thought to you – that this world is wrong or that you are wrong?

20. Are there people in this world who, no matter how much time and penitence is given, should never be forgiven?

21. Are there people in this world you simply think the world would be better without? If you could erase them out of existence without physically murdering them, would you?

22. How do you feel about having an intimate relationship with someone you don’t love? What if they love you in return? Does that make you feel guilty?

23. Could you ever become your own hero? Is that a role you can fulfil or is it something you look to others for?

24. How do you feel about tears? Are they cowardly and weak? Do you cry? Would you consider that shameful?

25. What is more important to you? An idea of yours being used and appreciated or the credit for that idea beings yours and yours alone?

26. Is your personal happiness more important than anything else in the world? Than fame? Than the happiness of others?

27. How far would you go to achieve a dream or ideal? Does it matter who suffers? Does it matter if you suffer?

28. How long would you wait for the one you love? A year? Fifteen years? Forever? Could you honestly be loyal to an unfulfilled love?

29. Is genius equal to hard work? Does a genius deserve praise for doing well without effort? Are they above us?

30. Do we live in a world of parallels? Can there be no hope without grief? No happiness without suffering? Or is a utopia possible?

31. What is more important to you? Being respected and praised by your elders or being looked up to and championed by those younger or of the same age?

32. If you could choose to remove certain feelings such as anger, confusion, sadness, would you remove them?

33. If you could wipe certain memories from your head, would you? Why would you? What memories?

34. What path appeals to you more? An exciting dream that leaves you possibly penniless and alone or a drab existence where you have steady success.

35. Is every person in this world wholly unique or can they be categorized? Can they be grouped and mentally dissected? Are you just another sheep in another flock or are you the sole unique soul?

[dcbardi]

( adelaide kane, she ) have you heard isabella de bardi has arrived in florence? the twenty four-year-old ward of house medici is known for being both self-resilient and impatient, but would not want anyone to know she planned her husband’s demise.

The only surviving child of Giuliana and Cosimo de Bardi was placed into the wardship of the Medici family, after illness swept through the family residence and took many lives as payment for the vast riches which they possessed. As heiress to a large fortune, the control of Isabella was well sought after. Naturally, no one ever bothered to ask how she felt on the matter. All little Isa knew was that for the first three years of her life she had been made to feel like a princess, and then suddenly she was in a carriage being carted away from her home, surrounded by strangers. 

It could have been worse, but it wasn’t Utopia. Cosimo de Bardi had whispered to her every night that she was his golden jewel, and that no one would ever be as precious as her. But in the company of the Medici’s, there was no one to whisper to her how special she was. The result was pure resentment, she loathed her captors and longed to be free.

Isabella had always been intelligent, but she had an aptitude for dance and languages. It did not matter what challenge was place before her, she would crack the task sooner than anyone ever expected her to. Despite her charming nature, Isabella did not make friends frequently or urgently. She had always been a solitary creature, guarded to the world around her. All the childhood magic in her eyes had evaporated with the death of her parents.

Many proposals were sent her way, but it was the will of the Medici’s to choose who would be the bearer of her shackles. Isabella knew that she was trading one captive life for another. Lorenzo Bueri was an oafish man, round bellied and red cheeked, with a cruel temper and a preference for debauchery. She was to be his pretty little wife, young and sweet, with a fortune at her disposal. She loathed him. 

When his grip on her arm was too fierce, or he pulled himself away from one of his many whores to visit her bed chambers, Isabella silently cursed him. Stupid rutting pig! Even his laugh made her skin crawl, she was disgusted by him. Her lodgings with the Medici family did not see so vile, not compared to the marital home. One thing that greatly amused her was that despite his many lovers, he had never once sired a child, not even a bastard. He was not a man of virility. 

Without the burden of a child in his deplorable image, Isabella felt like there was still an opportunity for her to be free. She wanted to see him dead, so that he could no longer be a scourge upon the earth. There had always been a few individuals loyal to her, which came from the love they held for her parents. It did not take too much convincing for one to brandish a knife. She provided the details to the local brothel which he frequented, and her loyal friend cut open him like a skewered boar. 

Falsified shock stretched over her doe-eyes, when a messenger came with news of her husband’s death. It was only when the messenger had left that she had run to her chambers, locking them so the maids could not hear her laugh into her pillows. She was free! 

No one told Isabella that a young widower without an heir had no more freedom than a young maiden, and soon she was taken back into the care of the Medici’s. The ruling of the Bueri house went into the younger brother’s name, and once again her life was not her own. Funnily enough, it appeared as though she gained more attentions that she had as a prospective bride. 

The part of her soul which longed to run away fell victim to desire. In her marital home, the Bueri’s had many visitors, so the man was not a stranger to her. But he never had been. When she grew up in the Medici home, he was there and from the moment she knew what desire was, Isabella had longed for him. But misfortune parted their paths..for a while. She used to imagine him when her husband visited her. The restraint which she held before, no longer existed when she returned to Palazzo Medici and for the first time in her life, no one was telling her what to do. So she did what she wanted to. 

[emauxetcamees]

“BELLADONNA, n. In Italian a beautiful lady; in English a deadly poison. A striking example of the essential identity of the two tongues.”

— Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary

[dcbardi]

Vincenzo Albizzi | vincenzoalbizzi·

“Ah well M’lady, then  it is yours.” He said and watched her with the ribbon. “Because you are a kind hearted lady with a gentle nature.” He replied softly and then smiled. “ I jest, you do not have to give me one of your treats.” He chuckled and then put his finger to the corner of his mouth as if to think.”Isabella. It is a name of beauty is it not?”

      " Your instincts serve you well, signor, as does your flattery, ” she states, moving to examine the other fine ribbons which hang from the stall like a blanket of colours all rippling in the light wind. “ But, alas, my pastries are not for sharing. ” Isabella cannot disguise the small smirk on her lips as she moves to pay the merchant. “ They are particularly popular. I hope the baker still has some morsels your you. ” 

[mademoiselleboullan]

[dcbardi]

Alessandro de’ Medici | alessandro-de-medici‌

The blithe spirit seated beside him deserved much better than the life circumstances had decreed for her.  How Isabella had endured her sentence as a wife to the cretin she’d been bound to he couldn’t imagine.  He didn’t want to, either, when that would require envisioning her in the arms of that utter waste of human breath.  The face kissed by the soft golden glow of a morning sun was made to be adored and worshiped, spoiled and coddled and given her every desire.  She was fashioned by the hands of God to be kept happy all the days of her life, this precious bloom now freed to flourish again.

“Have you been to Rome?  It is a wonder to walk the crumbling ruins of Roman imperium.  To say nothing of the seat of the Holy See, St. Peter’s, whose foundation stone was set by the hand of Constantine himself.  There is so much of ages past about it that it’s easy to get lose in reverie,” he noted, settling back in his chair with an almost wistful expression. “But that would be a mistake.  Rome stands as a monument to failure.  It is the wreckage of a people who desired greatness and for a moment attained it but squandered that prize and began losing it piecemeal within mere decades of their apogee.  Julius Caesar never felt an emperor’s diadem upon his brow and Augustus’ legacy was as dust without suns.  The Republic’s transformation was incomplete, halted before it could mature properly.  That is what I take away from it, and a lesson for my House to profit by in this our Florence, the most faithful successor to the Roman ideal.  All of that probably bores you to tears, though, hrmm?”  Alessandro laughed, self-conscious of the diatribe he’d yammered on about and hushed, content to watch her breaking fast.  A shake of head refused sustenance for himself. “I only take a little weak wine in the morning.  Otherwise I feel drowsy long before mid-day and am tempted to abandon duty.  That, Isabella, I cannot do … though I admit the temptation is particularly strong this morning.”  A sapphire regard made an artist’s study of her lips, and drew his own strength from watching her eat, her desires sated.  His?  The inquiry got a blank stare and a series of blinks.

What did he want?  In the scope of tomorrow, a week from now, a year from now that was hard to say.  In the idyll of here and now, however, he found an easy answer. “At this moment what I want more than anything is to make sure you are provided for as you deserve.  What could you possibly desire that a woman of your station should not?  The world should be that egg, cracked open for you to take what choice morsels entice you, my lady.  Eat, and I will find succor in your pleasure.”

        If the hour were late, with burning fire and a jug of sweet summer wine, Isabella may have fallen into a blissful slumber. A reaction not based on disinterest or boredom, but instead by the calming lull of his voice. Her fascination for him only grows more fervent and her admiration more assured. It is not a litany of facts which he provides, which is greatly associated with her tutor, he is a storyteller. Through his eyes, she can see Rome and feel what it is like to walk through the ruined streets, wondering about the people who walked before her. “ It does not bore me, dearest Alessandro. Quite the opposite, actually. Perhaps, you ought to take me there - with the family, I mean, ” Isabella corrects herself out of politeness, but there is only falsity to it, she would rather the rest of the Medici rabble all stay before. “Please, tell me more. You tell the most fascinating stories.” She recalls that in her fascination with the story, she seems to have forgotten the task of eating her breakfast - although, she has little appetite for that none. But alas, so much trouble has gone into her receiving it and Alessandro does seem rather intent on her enjoying it. With a dollop of this and a morsel of that, she soon devours the egg and bread, all with ladylike precision. “ Only weak wine? ” she muses but says nothing more on the matter.

He wants what she deserves, how peculiar. Isabella cannot help but question what it truly is that she is owed and if happiness is among them. From the moment she was orphaned, Isabella had felt as though the world, god or even the people of Florence owed her something. But then with all the wealth that she swathes her body in, perhaps that is the balance. With every trinket, golden broach and luxurious gown which she demands, a life challenge is placed before her which threatens to crush her soul and break her spirit. From her parents' death to her odious husband, she is waiting for someone to call for her head. The murder of her husband had been the most joyful day of her life. Had it been his deplorable nature that had seen him get what he deserved? Or will judgement day come for her too? “ You think too highly of me, ” she reasons, pushing away her plate. After all her years of suffering, can she not simply be happy?

“ If we were sat at my husband’s table, I would still hold the same desires and not have the freedom to speak them. And yet, here I am now and as a woman, there is still a limit to what I must say. How disenchanting it would be to have my dreams spoiled because my desires cannot be sated. If you do not know of what I speak, Alessandro, I am not certain that I have the heart to tell you,” she proclaims, tearing her gaze from the deep pools of his eyes. If she feels the storm within, his eyes hold the heart of the ocean, a blue so pure that she wishes to dive into them and be consumed by the flood. Damn him. Damn him for every desire that she has ever felt, and the longing to be with him when it was her husband who claimed her. Isabella had wanted him from the moment she understood what want was, yet she could not act on it. She was powerless, and for all her actions to make her life her own, she still feels as though she has little control. He has been immortalised within her mind, like the deities which the Greeks believed in and only he can salvage her soul, or perhaps destroy it even further. 

[dcbardi]

Giovanni Albizzi | giovanni-albizzi·

“My mother instilled in me the finest manners, but life at large in the world and at arms to defend our fair Florence makes me careless.  Staring death in the face can do that to one,” Giovanni noted without apologetic mien.  He stared right back at the upbraided brunette and did not falter to fawn as others no doubt would to someone so lovely. “My belated condolences on the death of your husband, but isn’t one door closing the opening of another?  Look on the bright side.  You are young and free to marry again.  One presumes, free to choose which by the undescended left testicle of Saint John, few of us are!  Enjoy it.  Do so, and you may find a lot of these silly social conventions like dancing around what we want or who we want don’t matter a fucking fig.”

       " Your manner would suggest otherwise, Signor Albizzi, ” she retorts with a clipped tone, caring little for the string of excuses which lack the appropriate apology. The contempt in her expression does not relent, but the sharpness of her tone lessens. A woman of gentle breeding ought not to speak in such a manner, and if she is to live in a society which wishes her to be nothing but a caged bird, she will be the most beautiful and remarkabl dove. “ Well I certainly invite the opportunity to be more selective with my choice of partner. ” Despite her irritation, her words have a line of truth to them, but she very much doubts the choice will be her own. “ Is it not time that you were wed?  You speak so openly of my status, but you do not observe your own failure to society. Are the Albizzi’s not eager to extend their family tree?  ”

[dcbardi]

Vincenzo Albizzi | vincenzoalbizzi·

“Will you be giving me one of those treats?” He asked as he stepped up behind her with a small smile. “ After all I haven’t eaten all day and I do love sweet things, like your good self.” He teased as he stepped in front of her then pouted. “ Alas that is my favourite ribbon.” He smirked and took her hand and kissed it. “ Vincenzo… and you are?”

       There is a fleeting moment where Isabella is torn between annoyance and laughed, but she quickly twrils and tugs daintily at the ribbon, “ I claimed it first, ” she challenges, flitting her gaze from the ribbon, to her parcel of sweet pastries and then to her hand which is being kissed. “ Tell me, Signor, why would I share my pastries with a man I have only just made the aqauitance of? ” Isabella decides that he is dangerous, not in a quintessential way, but she is certain he has charmed many maidens. “ I will give you my name. Do I look like a Madelena or an Isabella to you?  ” 

[dcbardi]

Nannina de’ Medici | flcrentians·

‘       -   THE DOVE fretted like a bundle of lightness, its dappled feathers ramming against the net. Nannina held it down with steadfast precision, her eyes unabated, her hand flatly merged with the rod; glee and concentration took alternate turns on the girl’s expression. She had done this all her childhood, and though it was neither an acknowledged craft nor a passion, it still felt woven in her daily life. Most of the pigeons had practical use - everything did, in a Medici residence, from the last fresco to the sprawling verdigris. But every now and then, in the part of gardens that were open to the public, plump doves flew out. Or perhaps they flew in, and were strangers to this land altogether. Emancipated flock: the thought made her giggle, and she leveled herself. In the next moment, right as someone creaked down on the pebbles behind, she removed the wicker top and set the bird free. “It’s luck she dashed in the opposite direction, did you know?”, she mused, tone laced with all the authoritative pride of a child that wielded information dear only to them.

      She watches from afar with a hardening gaze, her stomach churning from the unsettling sight. It is a common practice, one which she has witnessed on several occasions, but she enjoys it less every time. Is she not a bird longing to be free, only to be caught in a Medici net?  The dole of doves which litters the land has no more liberty than she, so she steps forth only when Nannina releases the captured bird. A mercy not yet bestowed upon her. “ A most fortunate occurrence for you then, my dear, ” Isabella comments, concealing her loathing of the task. “ The day appears to be treating you most kindly, Nannina. ”

[dcbardi]

is anyone else rewatching ‘ medici: masters of florence’ because of this rp?

edit: also, i forgot how amazing the soundtrack is and i’m so mad they never released it. 

[dcbardi]

Francesca de’ Albizzi | @francescadelbzzi

        The hammering of rain dampens the spirits of those in the streets, as they seek shelter from the chilling downpour. Isabella has been tempted to dance in the rain, kicking off her slippers so that she can feel the squelch of mud beneath her toes - but she does not. It would be most unbecoming. She has instead found herself hurrying towards a carriage which she believes to belong to the Medici’s, where she now sits. Upon further inspection, the nobildonna realises her mistake, for the Albizzi coat of arms decorates the insides. Almost as suddenly as her realisation, a well-dressed footman opens the carriage door, allowing in a passenger, Isabella realises immediately who the other woman is. “ Signora de’ Albizzi, I seem to have made an error. ”