and he shall speak truth

Mentally unstable muses by Let. Aaron Joseph-Korey from Halloween && Thorne Geary from Taboo.

[ofmaskedmen]

“You can’t frighten me”

“You can’t frighten me.” || for @venusdefirenze

            "Can't I?" he sounded sceptical, because as she sat there, in the corner of the dark room, she rooked frightened enough to him. Perhaps it was some lie told to her by herself, of perhaps it was something that she needed to hear but would not from him. Either way it did not do away with the fact that he had eyes, and he could see the fear ooze from her pores in an almost literal manner.

            "That's a shame," he tugged the chair that was idly waiting for him closer, swinging his leg over it and leaning onto the back, lounging forward like that. He was a handsome man, really, if you did not know what hid behind the facade. His smile was charming and his accent delightful. It was all he needed to dazzle women. He had long ago learned that you did not have to be attractive, per se. You had to be safe. "Because that means I'll have to try harder, and for some reason I think you won't like that at all."

             His chuckle, low and soft and reserved for her. "Do you know what fear does to the body, Simonetta? True fright, do you have any idea? Perhaps you don't, but I know who did." He pulled a folder out of the backpack that rested at his feet, tugging out a newspaper clipping first. When he turned it around, she realised it was an Italian newspaper.

             "Stabbed 19 times," he hummed, watching Giuliano's smiling face on the front page. "That must instil fear in a man."           

[ofmaskedmen]

😠 [ for Thorne ]

Send 😠 for my muse to express anger towards yours || for @theboatbuilderswife 

               "Did you think that I would not find out?“ his voice had that tell-tale low tremor of booze mixed with the inexplicable anger of which, after all these years, she still had no idea what caused it. He stood on the porch of the grand mansion, and behind her, people were swirling, dancing. No one seemed to pay any attention to her husband, his cheeks red with rage. Or perhaps the sad truth was that it was an image too common to still be surprised about. "Do you think I am stupid?”

                Perhaps she did. And perhaps, so had many others that he had met. It was often that his relative brutishness, as a child due to his upbringing and nowadays due to his traumas, was confused with a lack of intelligence but, if there was anything that Thorne Geary was not, it was stupid. In fact, he had a mind that was keen and sharp. So keen and sharp, perhaps, that it had reached the tipping point from sanity to someplace where it would no longer have to battle its own inconsistencies. Perhaps, he was simply too clever for his own good.

                “You forget that I am still part of the navy, forget that I have, for many years, served those who deal in secrets. I can sniff them out as easily as anything and with you, my dear, it is like you are not even trying to hide it.” He stepped closer, one single step, his large form towering over her. His uniform was dishevelled, small stains of red wine spreading down from the white of his collar, like blood. It was brown, old, must have happened at an earlier party. Or maybe it wasn’t wine at all.

                 "If he touches you again I will slaughter him where he stands,“ he spat, "no mercies, no duels. I will take my sword and I’ll cut him down with my bare hands in the middle of the street. No matter who is watching, no matter who thinks that I should not. No matter what you think of him, of me. One more glance at you and he will pay for it with his life.”

                  He meant it. Helga could see that. His knuckles were white from the sheer force he put into clenching his fists. His eyes, for once, were not clouded by drink but exceptionally clear. This was a man who had made his decision. He would kill her brother, and if she would not give him reason to, he would make one up without second thought.

                  “Do you understand?”

[justanotherrpmeme]

Scared

“I’m scared” “You’re not scared, are you?” “Are you frightened?” “You can’t frighten me” “There’s nothing to be afraid of” “Are you scared of me?” “I don’t want you to be afraid of me” “You don’t need to be afraid of this” “Why are you so scared?” “I’m scared to death” “Doesn’t anything scare you?” “I’m not afraid” “I’m not trying to scare you” “Do I frighten you?” “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” “What’s your biggest fear?” “You gotta be afraid of something” “It’s designed to scare you” “There’s no need to be afraid” “I don’t want to scare you away” “Are you scared?” “I don’t scare easily” “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid” “You terrify me” “Don’t be scared”

[swcrnprotector]

           UPDATE TIME; today I will be cycling my arse off but tomorrow I’ll have all day to work on @swcrnprotector, @giulianodeimedici, @northernarrows and @ofmaskedmen - which I really want to. Like this post or send me a message if you want to plot and stuff, sorry for the long leave (thesis stress, ah).

[deactivated-blog]

📭 Reblog if you want curious anons in your inbox! 📭

[ofmaskedmen]

[ WIFE ]

                           She heard it, but whether she believed it was another case. It was difficult to believe after everything he had put her through– the things he had accused her of. She had forgiven him plenty of times, what if these were promises he could not keep ? She turned her head, forcing her gaze away from him. Wouldn’t it be better for him if she was dead ? Rumours had already spread. People looked down at her, insulted her behind her back.   —   did she still want all this ?

     ❝ You do not wish to see me harmed, and yet you are the one who does most damage ? ❞   Her voice was quiet, a hint of pain threading through it. She held her stomach, protecting what never really was.   —   Till death do us part. The thought nauseated her. Death was getting closer the more this disease would spread.   ❝ Australia is too far. ❞

               He knew that his chances were running out. She couldn't keep and keep forgiving him, and he couldn't keep and keep doing this. But if she would just do this one thing, follow him to Australia, where no one knew him, where her brother wasn't, where the disease wasn't. They could start anew.

               "Too far from what? A family you do not love? London we can not longer stomach? The city is going to waste, the smog is rising, unhealthy, tuberculosis will catch up with us and we have to go, first. It is one trip, a long trip, yes, but..."

                He reached out, made an attempt.

                "It will be worth it. A few more years on the docks, a few more, then we can, you know? Find a farm, maybe." His voice was too hopeful, too boyish. He was trying to tempt her.

[ofmaskedmen]

[ OBJECT OF DESIRE ]

                     Simonetta did not answer right away. These were things she had to think over beforehand– no matter how much her mind begged her just to send him away and crawl back in bed. Instead she toyed a little with the glass of water in her hands, often feeling her thoughts slipping away. She had taught herself to think of other things, Giuliano’s face was buried somewhere in her memories. At first she had been scared she would forget about him and his voice. The silly videos he had made once were still stored on her phone– the only thing she had left from their time together. Thankfully enough to never let those memories fade.

     ❝ Plenty of times, but I have my career here. ❞   A contract she couldn’t give up on that easily. She had gotten a lot more media attention ever since Giuliano’s murder– which also meant that a lot more magazines were interested to have her face printed somewhere. Part of her was disgusted that people took advantage of it like that, but she knew it was good distraction, for without her job she would have broken down entirely.

     ❝ I left Florence because of Marco, and because everything there just reminds me of Juul. ❞   The nickname left goosebumps across her skin, gently rubbing the palm of her hand across her arms.   ❝ I’m okay here. There are a few small villages nearby, the sea is nearby. It reminds me a little of my childhood. Which is a good thing, I guess. ❞

                 He saw the conflict in her eyes. Oh, it delighted him to see how much she fought with herself. He didn't know why it was that the pain of women pleased him so, but he had to live with that, now. He managed to force his face into understanding, however, and he crossed his impossibly long legs while he sipped from his water. He had checked and cross-referenced extensively, studied Marco Vespucci, made sure that he wouldn't behave or dress likewise. Nothing about him would remind her of him.

                Except for his words.

                "Your career," he scribbled something on his notepad. Sure, it wasn't more than a doodle, but she didn't have to know that, "can you remind me what you do in daily life, Simonetta?"

                He smiled at her, using her first name to build a base of trust. Oh, he had learned enough thanks to his minor in psychology. "Juul, the, Giuliano de' Medici. Trust me, Madonna. I know some people have given you a hard time concerning your relationship to him. I am not like that. I know love shows up when it shows up. That is not always in our hands."

[ofmaskedmen]

                 Y o I have been mad slow, I am aware, but it's busy at work and busy at home and, you know, busy in general so alas. I hope to write some replies at work tonight because all my boys are loud but I can't make any promises. Anyways, hit me up if you want to plot.

[ofmaskedmen]

[ WIFE ]

                    Was she pained by the way she was forced to act in front of him ? Undoubtedly. None of this was easy, and for a long while she had tried. Playing the loyal wife had done nothing. Caring touches were never reciprocated with the same care and last of her love she would pour into it. That love was now gone. It was but an act they put up in front of other people. Before she loved attending social gatherings like this, the laughter that would flee her lips whenever they would dance filled with glee. Now she dreaded every invitation that was brought to their home. It obviously did not help that Thorne’s status forced them to attend parties like these from time to time.

     ❝ —— hot, yes. ❞   There was a hint of mockery in her voice, never looking directly at him. Silk sleeves covered most of her arms, but unclothed parts were covered with goosebumps as the cold air licked her milky skin. Helga sat herself down on stone, part of her face illuminated by one of the many fires lit in the massive garden. It was quiet out here, the only sounds coming from inside the mansion. Perhaps for the better. It was one of the few moments she could drop her mask, a pained look dancing across her features.

     ❝ Why can we not return home ? What else do they need us for here ? ❞   The more drunk he would get, the more their already questioned image would be harmed. It was an attempt to prevent that from happening.   ❝ I doubt they will notice if we should slip away. They have been far too busy with their monkeys. I wish to leave. ❞

               "We are meant to be here till the end and make merry. I thought you enjoyed parties, Helga," there was boyish innocence in his tone, now and, had he been born many, many years after this, his manners and behaviour would have undoubtedly been picked up by a psychologist, maybe even by medication. However, those medical advancements were years in the future and here he was, just him and her, alone with his demons, and the fickleness of his mind. "We can't just leave."

               He looked over his shoulder at the flickering light behind the windows. Maybe she was right, maybe no one would notice. He had never been a man for feasts - that was how Helga had met him, after all, hiding from a party in her father's stables. He had always been one to avoid crowds, avoid drunkards - until he had become one himself.

              She saw him crack.

              "But if you think we must go we will go," he decided, his empty glass in his hand. He was swaying, a little bit, back and forth and back again, his eyes blinking hastily against the onsetting blur that being outside caused. Inside, glass crashed. He flinched.

[ofmaskedmen]

[ OBJECT OF DESIRE ]

                     Marco- even the name made her want to run to the bathroom and just throw up in the toilet. Simonetta had never known she could store that much hate in her body just for one person. Yes- it was she who had cheated on him, but their marriage had been arranged, and she had never felt any kind of love for the man. When she found love, however, she had accepted it with open arms, trying to keep it a secret for a while, but she and Giuliano had both been reckless. That said, murder was an inexcusable act. He and Francesco Pazzi deserved the lifelong sentence they had been given in court.

     ❝ The papers just treat this as some kind of juicy gossip, which it probably is in the eyes of many, but they forget that real human beings are involved. People with feelings, people who were actually scarred by this for a lifetime. ❞   She never wanted to justify any of her actions. What she had done was wrong, but the way it was dealt with on Marco’s side was even worse.

     ❝ Italy is a very religious and masculine country- always has been, ❞   she muttered with a small shrug of her shoulders before looking away again.   ❝ I cheated on my husband, so initially I am the bad guy. There are enough who take my side, but there are also plenty who think he did the right thing looking at what I did. ❞

               “I suppose it is rather different in England,” he said, because it would be. In England, they would be all over her pretty face and no one, absolutely no one, would dare to voice differently. Even now, there was outrage over de’ Medici’s murder and, to be fair, it hadn’t surprised Aaron at all. It was rather gruesome to stab someone to death during a church service, even in non-religious countries. Not that he counted England as non-religious, per se, but it was clearly a country in which Christianity was less ingrained in its inhabitants, still, whereas in Italy... well.

                “You never considered leaving because of that?” he asked, pretending to scribble something down. He couldn’t care less if he was honest - but he wasn’t here to be honest. He was here to take his sweet time with her before he stripped the flesh from her bones, and he might as well comfort her while he was at it. Screaming ones were never as funny.

                 “I mean, I might have,” he continued, “although you left Florence, of course. Very understandable. But I am here to tell your story - the story that people do not listen to, but that I am sure my listeners will appreciate.”

[xxpurplekidxx]

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[stilesstylelinski]

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[scotchymemes]

Non-verbal Symbol Starters

To reverse the action, add ‘+ reverse’ behind the symbol.

Send 😉 for my muse to wink at yours. Send 😓 for my muse to express worry to yours. Send 😲 for my muse’s reaction to being surprised by yours. Send 😭 for your muse to find mine crying. Send 😠 for my muse to express anger towards yours. Send 👻 for my muse to express fear towards yours.  Send 👍 for my muse to approve of something yours did. Send 👎 for my muse to disapprove of something yours did. Send 👋 for my muse to wave at yours. Send 👣 for our muses to go for a walk together. Send 👀 for my muse to meet eyes with yours. Send 🐙 for our muses to hug. Send 🐅 for my muse to growl at yours. Send ❕ for my muse to push yours away. Send ⚠️ for my muse to throw something at yours. Send 🌜for my muse to have a dream about yours. Send ✍️ for my muse to write something (a note, letter, message,…) to yours. Send 🎨 for my muse to express something to yours through drawing, painting,… Send  🎼 for my muse to express something to yours through music. Send 📱 for our muses to have a conversation through texts.

[ofmaskedmen]

“fuck’s sake, what’s your problem?” [ idem ]

Answered by Aaron for @venusdefirenze​

             "Oh, I don't know. The first psychiatrist thought it was narcissism, but I disagree,"  he scribbled something onto his notepad. "And the second thought it was a psychosis, but if it had been, I reckon it would have been over by now.  The third said... well, the third said hurtful things, I better not repeat them."

              A flicker of a smile tugged at his lips at the memory of his third psychiatrist. Originally, he had requested mental help for himself, mostly because it gave him excuses. He wasn't deranged, just a little confused, and all psychiatrists had told him exactly that - he wasn't a danger, he had just lost his way, momentarily.

             But not her. Not the third one.

             He still remembered the way she had looked at him after their fifth and final conversation. The horror in her eyes when she had realised this wasn't narcissism or psychosis. It wasn't even schizophrenia or anything else - it was inexcusable, because it had been nothing. Nothing more than his own mind and his own, clear decisions on the matter.

             "I took care of her."

[ofmaskedmen]

                  I'll be headed to the other side of the country - not my favourite side where my bff lives but the other fucking side - for a good cause today - new viking tattoo! Send me memes so I can answer ;)

[ofmaskedmen]

[ WIFE ]

                      So smile she did. Her eyes would not even show any sign of pain or conflict. She had become an actress unlike any other. He probably knew, but she cared naught about that. If he wanted her to smile in public, she would. The very moment they would set foot in their manor again that smile would fall from her face, and doors would be locked. Helga no longer felt the need or will to be in his presence– even supper had become nothing more than a play between the two of them.    —    hidden behind the role of husband and wife, but lovers no longer.

     She wanted her husband back, that was not something she would keep hidden. Whatever happened out on sea– in combination with the return of her devilish half-brother. It had broken him, or at least something inside him. Her past was something she could no longer keep hidden, and while she knew part of her was to blame for that change in his eyes– his actions had been inexcusable.

     She danced, her feetwork impeccable. Thankfully it wasn’t just Thorne’s foul breath she would feel against her skin, although his eyes were burned into her back at all times. She hated it, the drink in his hands, his loud voice booming through the hall. Even when she would hide herself and find a mirror his presence would follow– and not just his.

     The fresh air did her well, giving her a moment to close her eyes before she would join the masses again, the music creeping beneath her skin, but so did he with his penetrating gaze.   ❝ The air was suffocating me, husband. I had to take a step outside before I would faint. ❞

                Outside, he lost his desire to be mean to her. It was strange, almost as if the monster inside of him was only triggered in crowded rooms and empty hallways, but the outdoors brought a bit of him back, a bit of Thorne back, and for a moment he stood, unsteady, his tall body waving back and forth just slightly, a tremor creeping up his spine.

                 He wanted to fall at her feet to apologise. It was pathetic. He was pathetic, and he told himself just that. Again and again. He knew she no longer loved him - was not disillusioned enough to believe otherwise. Perhaps that was why his grip on her was always so painfully tight - because he knew she would run if it wasn't. Flee. Somewhere else. Somewhere better.

                 "I..." he started, but the bite had left his tone, and he raised one hand but seemed unsure of what to do with it. His body went through the monster's motions but didn't follow through - the cool night air allowed the old Thorne a little bit of leeway. "I suppose it was rather hot inside."

                  Husband.

                  The word was spoken wish such spite that even if he had doubted about her love for him, he'd have known right now that there was nothing left of that. Perhaps, if he cried, she'd forget the monster and she's stroke his face, but it would be temporarily. She would never forget and forgive. So now he was nothing more than a sad man in a dirty shirt.

[ofmaskedmen]

[ OBJECT OF DESIRE ]

                      Men, men. Simonetta had distanced herself from any opportunity to love again. She no longer wanted to bind herself to someone, it was that simple. Enough still showed interest, but it made her wonder what exactly they wanted. Her, or the money she had inherited and still worked for just like any other. Her answer was always no, not even bothering to give anyone a chance. Cruel, perhaps, but Giuliano had taken her heart with him into his grave. She still felt broken, after all this time. Looking at the man standing in front of her- Aaron -she started to wonder if she had made the right choice to allow him to interview.   —   did she truly wanted to speak about it all ?

     ❝ Just drink, ❞   She mumbled, taking a seat somewhere in the shadow of the parasol. She had the liberty to finally take off her sunglasses, rubbing her eyes for a moment before placing the glasses on the arm rest. She would not look directly at Aaron, instead gazing in the distance, trying to calm herself a little. She already wanted him gone, curl up in bed afterwards, perhaps. It had all sounded fine on the telephone, but Simonetta could feel her confidence seeping away slowly.

     ❝ What is it you wanted to know ? ❞   She repeated again, rubbing the pads of her thumb and forefinger together a little nervously.

                He sensed that she wasn't comfortable, and for a moment he wondered if he shouldn't have taken Dana after all. She was always better with people like Simonetta, comforting them with her soft English voice and her big Bambi eyes. He had, sometimes, wanted to murder her, too, but she was too valuable for simple pleasure. She served her purpose, and she had to remain right where he wanted her - as his companion. The meaningless sex that belonged with that didn't bother him.

                 "I am sorry," he said, then, sipping from the water, "I know this can't be easy for you - I apologise for throwing this at you. I was just.. intrigued by the way the papers handled everything. With your... ex-husband."

                 He smiled softly, giving her a gentle nod. He knew he had to comfort her before she pushed him away. He needed her to trust him - perhaps more than trust him. But grieving lovers were the most difficult.

                 "A lot of people seemed to... pick the other side. His side. And I can't seem to understand why. Don't worry, I am not recording this."

[ofmaskedmen]

[ OBJECT OF DESIRE ]

                     ❝ Water it is then- ❞   She hummed, walking past him to push one of the doors to the house open. Her home was what you would expect from a home on the countryside, although Simonetta liked to keep her interior minimalistic. Nowhere you would find photos- she had kept but one painting, a proper replica of Botticelli’s Venus and Mars that hung next to her dining table. It was the only thing that reminded her of Giuliano- a grim reminder perhaps, but part of her refused to forget about him. Their relationship had only gotten public after his assassination- Marco thankfully locked away in jail and the divorce papers signed the very moment he was carried away from the courtroom.

     She was going to need something stronger than just water to get through this conversation, her eyes momentarily lingering on the bottle of white wine that stood already opened in the door of her fridge. The thought was foolish, and Simonetta was quick to direct her attention to one of the water bottles before closer the fridge’s door again. It was time to mourn, to let go of the thoughts that had plagued her for so long now   —   right ?

     ❝ You have to drink plenty with this weather, ❞   She offered upon appearing outside again, placing a clean glass and the bottle of water on the table. The smile she wore was fake– it always was, especially on the photos of her that would appear online or in magazines.   ❝ — so, where do we start ? ❞

             He watched her go, taking in the sway of her hips. It was funny that she, of all people, allowed him in, because people had warned him she was notoriously difficult to talk to, and hardly ever did interviews. Only one search on the internet had taught him her exact weak spot - all those interviewees had wanted to talk about Marco Vespucci.  She did not.

             And frankly, he wasn't interested in Vespucci. Not even from a podcaster's perspective. A jealous husband - you could watch a random CSI episode to see that, there was nothing new or exciting about it. He supposed the forlorn Romeo & Juliet effect of Simonetta and Giuliano was more interesting than that, but if he had been here, in Italy, for a podcast concerning Giuliano's murder, the first person he would visit was Francesco de' Pazzi, serving a life sentence in the country's most notorious prison.

              Not this little broken damsel.

              "Oh, I know," he answered with that same, goofy smile. One of his curls hung in front of his eyes and he made no effort to push it aside, leaving it there on purpose, "but you know how men can be. We would forget our heads if they were not connected to us, and I had so much to think about this morning that I forgot a bottle of water."