#:V: Iniquitous essence:

[hereliesbitches--me]

I know I'm trash at consistency but new job and learning how to work this job drains me... but I've found some energy to draw the traditional way again after months 🥺

[royalpainstodiefor]

The Knight and the King

Closed Rp

| @therosiesweetheart |

Under the shining moon was a tavern that was live with music, trying to be supressed from the inside.

The white hooded figure approached the place, he had a desire for drinking until he looses some troubles from his mind.

He made his way into the Place, which was filled with either loud men being loud while playing some sort of Card game, drunken souls who couldn’t get up from their spot to go to where they came from, and silent drinkers thinking about their inner thoughts and what not.

The White figure went to the bartender and asked for a drink, moments later, the short, chubby man handed him a cup of ale.

The hooded man didn’t just came here for a cheap drink….he came here because he was certain these hooligans had some answers regarding who he can seek out for help….

“Question…..do you know anybody who could….help me….regarding find that Wretched Demon…oh what’s her name….Nikki?….Nova?….Neikan….yes….” he said with a bitter aftertaste.

“That’s a high order for a new comer…..” the man said while he sized the man up and down, the hooded figure did an excellent job in preserving his identity.

“Do you or do you not…..maybe this with exercise your little Brain….” He said as he tossed a sack of Gold to him.

The mans eyes sparkled, however he pouted at his comment. He pointed at a lonely hooded figure who Also had a white cape as well, the male (or at least, that’s what it appeared to be) was drinking alone, in a corner.

“Your in luck….that right there is rumored to be Neikan Right Hand man…..” he said with a nod, “Careful Pretty boy, It’s dangerous to play with Fire…” he said with a chuckle.

“Thank you…..and not to worry….The Devil has experience” he through back at him as he got up and walked over to the Knights table.

He sat in front of Him, placing his drink on the table and crossing his arms.

“I see we both have a thing for White hoods….one of us has to change…..”.

[hereliesbitches--me]

Rosie had always hated the cold of New York. Hated the season as a whole since she was 10 and left the tropical weather of Florida for the dingy Smaug air of Washington DC.  It simply wasn’t built in her blood or her bones to tolerate it very long... and yet here she stood on her balcony, looking out over the frost covered woodlands that surrounded her upstate home. A cigarette burns between her teeth , her tongue prodding at the nub just beyond her lips with every tar-filled breath she sucks in from it. 

Rosie may hate the cold, but it makes her feel as dead on the outside as she does on the inside... It makes her feel like home. Hollow and empty. and Cold. 

" I consider myself to be a creature built from a great deal of suffering ; a lot of ripped strands and broken strands all shoved back together again.” 

To accompany Rosie in her home while she was not in her armor was to see first hand what the real Unbreakable Sphinx was beyond the veil of public perception. No longer grinning. No place for joking and people pleasing. When the children are away and the lense of publicity are turned off, what stands now is a living corpse weighed down by the weight of its own existence and guilt. She speaks plainly, more to herself than her company, her ungloved hand gripping at the snow covered railing and basking in the way her skin burned in protest. Her other hand plucks the cigarette from her lips and admires the white fog that seeps from her nostrils, like ghost dancing in the wind. She swallows her thickened saliva, her lips curl hopelessly,

“ What you see now is nothing more than a broken body held together by what I can only come to believe is spite and malice. Something keeps me going, but I've forgotten a long time ago."

[hereliesbitches--me]

“ Happy belated Fathers day for all those present fathers out there that deserve to be celebrated,”

Not to mention the bitterness of the holiday for herself, because the father of her kids were dead and her own dad left her hanging from the staircase when she was 15 years old -- the very beginning of the end of Rosita Roselyn 

BUT now she’s older, the past is dead, and she’s a little more than eager to celebrate the holiday in her own special way. With a devious smile, fangs poking out her lips, she rumbles and purrs,

“ As for the rest of you boys -- if you’re hoping to change that status and be part of the holiday, don’t forget I’m willing to help in that department~ “

She’s got kids that need dads... but she can always do with some more strong kids.

[hereliesbitches--me]

Fun little headcanon time but because of Rosie's identity as a Moon, every child she has does in fact have a piece of her soul in they that's passed down every generation until- for whatever reason, the bloodline meets an end when they don't reproduce. When that occurs, because of Rosie's immorality, the piece would be reborn and reincarnated into the next child Rosie births.

It is for this reason that many of her children share the same qualities of the children in her past because they are, in fact, reincarnated into them in some aspects. Soul particles can even be split when there are twins.

I realize that the nature of Rosie's children ,no matter the timeline, is usually categorized as:

- Group 1: we love our mom no matter the flaws. She needs us (Malakaid/Saeren Quillo)

- Group 2: We hold our mother accountable for her misdeeds but we understand she is sick and needs help. It doesn't make her automatically forgiven but she's trying and we do love her just as she loves us (Thursday)

- Group 3: Resent our mother because of her (perceived) willful shortcomings and not trying hard enough. Would beat the shit out of her if given the chance (Mia)

Rosie is not a perfect mother, as hard as she tries. Motherhood has been more of a traumatizing experience than it has a good experience, but she tries her best not to let that negativity translate onto her kids. But even then they will see her weakness when she's run thin. She doesn't blame her kids for resenting her and if they wanted to hurt her, she'd let them if it would bring them peace. Because she knows she wouldn't stay anyways, and she thinks it's a punishment she deserves. All she really wants is their happiness even if she can't provide it herself

[hereliesbitches--me]

Sorry about my random appearance and then disappearance, ya girl has illustration projects she's suppose to be doing but then she, a dumbass, will procrastinate them and will guilt herself from doing anything else. But after May 1 , I should be a little more free with deadlines met

In the meantime, I offer you a wonderful new piece of info on Moon mom:

Rosita Roselyn has, in fact, never finished highschool or any kind of college education.

In 1998, 16 year old Rosie was fully indoctrinated into the Divine Calvary following the untimely "suicide" of her father. With no caretaker to claim her and the refusal to enter the foster system, she is taken under the wing of her father's late friend Clifton and forced into the calvary system where many would live and die in as religious cultists set on cleansing the world of nonhumans.

Within the calvary, Rosie learned the scriptures in English and Latin, trained in military tactics, horseback riding, operating high tech machinery, and learned the historical bestiary of demons and supernatural creatures alike in how to kill them. She learned rudimentary social skills in blending into society, but overall all the soldiers are indoctrinated as cultists crusaders under the name of God.

Rosie spent 5 years in this system until finally escaping in 2003 after setting up bombs to cave in the military base and faking her death, escaping with the experimental subject and the girl she would take care of for the next 8 years, Nikki.

The two girls escape to a mountainous town in Tennessee where they're able to blend in under the disguise of many shipment and tourist traffic that passed through the town. Rosie, upon leaving the calvary, had to get fabricated papers and a new identity after Rosita Roselyn was considered legally dead after inscription into the Calvary as all knights are. In her papers it says she had a college level education at an associates level and a background in criminal justice, but the reality is that rosie had to in fact teach herself how to function in this world beyond the calvary.

She had grown up poor, initially from birth to 9 years old, then she was fortunate but alone when she lived with her father from age 9 to 16. She was never taught how to function as an adult, but she was lucky enough to access her father's inheritance left behind for her in cash as a cushion while she learned. She had to learn to drive normal vehicles, learn about credit cards , check books, stocks, how to work among civilians, cook, and take care of another person.

Fortunately when she got a job within the local police department as a deputy, her boss at the time was suspicious of her but sympathetic for the girls and decided to look past it. Seth Johnson was a major help in teaching Rosie how to function on her own.

As an adult now, Rosie has gained most of her knowledge through in field experience. She excells in monster fighting and strategizing to make up for her physical weakness she suffered while in her youth. She's learned the legal system through a career as a deputy and detective, then as the representative and head of the angel project.

Admittedly she would be embarrassed to admit she had never finished school. She has eloquent manner of writing, but she would never be able to write an essay or research report. Her abilities have required that she learned to understand blue prints and molecular structures in order to manipulate the matter that make them up, but there is a lot of basic science facts she may not know off the top of her head. Much of the knowledge she has is really only practical if it applies to her every day activities, otherwise she never bothered to learn it.

[hereliesbitches--me]

I'm gonna make it a goal to draw one scene a day to practice character interactions. So sit tight yall!!

[hereliesbitches--me]

A B and C

Valentine’s day Asks (Always accepting!!)

for Rosie

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

Ironically, Rosie does live up to that double standard of being a cat.   Selective, loving and deeply physical while at other times being distant and exploring at her own pace. With a lifetime of conditioned trauma and the expectation that every person's intention and touch is with harmful intent, she has a tendency to tread cautiously and play her cards on a purely as-need basis. Rosies private and creates a specific character for every person she meets for the sake of achieving a larger goal Up until her heart gets roped into it. Then the gloves are off and rationality goes out the door.

As her ultimate Achilles, her carefully guarded heart finally setting itself on a person as sanctuary breaks her every failsafe because it draws her out of her natural character. Shes forced to fumble around, to be herself, despite her rational brain insisting to keep it all a secret. Once Rosie has her heart set on you, she blossoms into someone entirely new. Her love is raw, and she opens herself entirely. Like the cat she is, she becomes incredibly physical and insistent about expressing her interest and affection. She wants to be close to her partner, always a breath away -- leaning on them, brushing her hands along their body in some ways, staring longer than she should with a rare spark of life in her tired eyes. What she can't express in words, she expresses in action and physicality. A sudden surge in hunger to please her partner in any way she can for the sheer satisfaction of knowing that she is the one with the power to make them melt. Aside from the physical expression of her affection, what people don't know is Rosie is also incredibly wealthy, and actually utilizes that wealth far more when she has a partner to dote on. Not for pointless gifts, but what she thinks are necessities that her lover deserves. She will go out her way to buy groceries, cook meals, buy you clothes when she sees you've wanted that specific outfit or maybe the current coat/shoes you have are run out. Shes a penny pincher and careful investor, having grown up poor til she moved with her dad at 9, shes learned the tricks of the trade and has had that careful management instilled in her since her childhood. Its only when she finds a worthy cause does she got about to use it. Rosies love language is about physical presence and gift giving on her side of things. She feels the need to lavish her partner with her rare love and gifts, in hopes that it'll keep their interest. That they won't be turned away by the ugly truth and trauma underneath the public mask. All she wants is their love in return, to be wanted. She'll do anything if only they'll want her back.  Just touch her gently and say you love her, then the Unbreakable Sphinx becomes far more fragile.

B   :  BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favorite?

Living up to her namesake, Rosie's favorite flowers most definitely have to be red roses and baby's breath. The warm color of love and blood, as cliché as it is, its the symbolism of love that really makes her love the flowers. They brighten the room and the way they blossom with so many layers feels like seeing the potential she herself has , if only she has the right conditions to bloom. She adores the smell of the baby's breath especially.

A subconscious love for the flowers stems from a muddled memory from her days as a celestial Moon, where she was first given a name by a vampire in the  golden age of Rome. Compared her charm to the roses in the garden , and established for the first time that she was more than just a nameless Little Moon. But a being with an identity.

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

Rosie is a sucker with a sweet tooth, and chocolate is her ultimate weakness. While the craving for chocolate is not always there (besides her daily cup of chocolate milk in the morning, because she can't stand the bitter taste of coffee), she certainly can't help herself once she gets a whiff. Rosie prefers milk chocolate, but hazelnut chocolate is her absolute favorite. Gotta hide in the bathroom eating her chocolate so the kids don't ask for it like all good parents do

[hereliesbitches--me]

I broke in my new sketchbook with the main family and I love them. This is who the story is all about

[hereliesbitches--me]

" Im going to go ahead and scope the town ahead. You guys stay here for now until I know what we're dealing with. " 

     On her way out the door, jacket pulled over her shoulder, Rosie paused when she felt the burn of suspicious eyes at her back. She knew exactly what was coming next as she bit the inside of her cheek and faced the two youngsters that glared irritable, " How come you get all the fun? We're capable adults, We should be able to go out too!" Ashley stomped her heeled boot against the wood floor and folded her arms, a display that could only emphasize the answer which they all knew. Jay stood on the staircase, equally persistent in nagging their leader, though only with his pout. Rosie pulled the hood over her head and gazed between them evenly, " You know why. This is new territory, and you stand out like sore thumbs in a small town like this.” “ And you don’t, Miss Hello Kitty? ” Ashley raised her perfectly sculpted brow in retaliation. Rosie scowled, but did not feed into that despised nickname as she turned away, “ I know what i’m doing. That's all there is to it. Jacob is boss while i'm gone.”

Last thing she heard before the door shut behind her was the groans of despair as the heavy footsteps of their designated warden came out of the kitchen, no doubt grinning with the milk carton in his hand at the youngsters he would push around for the night. Rosie would probably ask about it later, if she managed to make it back sober.

     She’s been sober for so long now, broken the habit long ago. But passing months of grief have called back that nasty habit, her throat itching for that self destructive burn to dull the mind of all the pressure built. Away from the kids, away from prying eyes, she can allow herself to be someone else for a little while, under the excuse it's for a mission. No one needed to know. This place was a quaint little town, not much different from the place she once lived in further north. Full of hills, expanses of woodlands freshen the air with a quality she often forgot could exist since moving to the overcrowded big city. It's one of those travel towns, quiet save for the foot traffic of passers that stop for a night before moving on, the perfect place to start looking for their runaway when one could perfectly blend in with the sea of new faces coming in and out. In the worn out truck they were leant, Rosie leisurely cruised the town and marked out on a map every suggested point given within the casefile sitting in a manilla folder on the passenger side, til x marks the spot at the very end of her adventure. A perfect bar at the edge of town, where few cars parked tell her exactly what she wants to know. The scene is set at 9pm on a Wednesday night, the truck no more memorable than any other vehicle in the lineup as the little cat works her way into the night. Her files safely tucked away in the glove compartment, a skully pulled over her head to hide her ears, without those odd features, she was just like any other woman coming into a bar to forget. Given the country, she figures her hanging tail can be acquitted to a hunted creature she now wears as a pride. That was common in the south, wasn't it? And the point of coming around was blending in (Or so she likes to tell herself ). She slips in and already the motions feel like she’s reliving a dream ; something deep below the surface stirs and begins to alter her presentation. Not the confident Sphinx that fights monsters the size of buildings, but a more reserved, meek kind of woman. Its a push and a pull, spinning a web of lies that will be her fabricated life story to share with anyone willing to listen tonight. Wordlessly, Rosie takes her seat within a corner, nestled comfortably in the shadows where very few occupied -- save for another man just as bundled up as much as she was. In her mind a familiar habit clicks in place, the predatory instinct that hones in on the target and begins the invisible pull at the corner of her lips. The gears shift to set her into her role, relaxing with the rhythmic tapping of claws on the countertop, she feigns interest in the room ; what's playing on the TV, the conversation of the men around the pool table, the bartender, the menu… then her eyes drifted back to him. The point of interest for the night. Good to make friends with locals for points of reference, so she works the nerve and gears to string together the perfect opener. Lightening her expression, she smoothed the harsh edges of her features, lips pulling to the side, her drooping eyes seemed lifted as she found her voice and tapped her knuckle against the wood for attention,

“ You look like you had a rough day. Even worse for wear than me,” Warm, friendly affection laces her chuckle, “ Looks like you already have one, but How’s about the next drink is on me? I hear that's how you make friends in places like these.” Body language is key to setting down the bait, Rosie leans up on her elbows, her palm folding under her cheek in rests, those honey eyes seemed glowed around the rim in the dimness of the room,

“ Care to tell me about it? ”

|| Starter for @victimplagued​ ||

[hereliesbitches--me]

brent: *coughs up a ball of fur* Rosie! This is your hair! (idk man idk)

She always warned her guest beforehand when entering her home, when lingering in her presence long enough, that her hair would find a way into their lives. Like any pet owner would know. Those pale creamy strands that would clump in bunnies around the house were she not so adminant about cleaning every chance she had off.  But the same could not be said for her guest. Especially the slippery presence of the museum curator that introduced his way  into her life, with his pristine clothing ripe for the sticking.  Was it an insecurity of hers? In a way, a slight embarrassing quality , yet that did not sway the man who seemed to absolutely adore cats.

Being a cat herself did not mean that Rosie enjoyed the feline qualities in her crafty partner.  That much was evident by her disgusted, unamused glare at the hairy mass sitting on her floor.  The fur along her tail bristled to a puff , matching the ears flattened against her skull.

“ I just cleaned my floor, Brent....  You couldn’t do that in the bathroom like a normal person does?” 

How fuckin inconsiderate. It takes a lot to keep her repulsion from turning her scorn upon the cat man himself. She settled on rubbing her temples and turning away with grit teeth. 

This is why she liked Dogs better.

[hereliesbitches--me]

I been experimenting with linework for my babies and Jacob is my favorite boy

[hereliesbitches--me]

Continued from here @ribbedxgloves​

“You should join us for a little trick or treating, if you’re not doing anything. It could be fun.”

A week ago , a fleeting conversation had Rosie offhandedly invite the busy museum curator to join her for a little night on the town with her energetic kittens, all matching themed in their undead costumes. Had Rosie actually expected him to show up? No, no she hadn’t. And that much was evident by the sputtering sound that slipped from her lips when she felt her hand tugged. She turned sharply to reprimand a fool -- only to find Frankenstein’s beast in that place. It takes time for the cogs in her mind to make the connection, to properly respond beyond the sudden tensing in her bicep and the sharp furrow of her brows, her fingers flexing before those sharp features finally cleared the haze of identity. Ah, she knew those ears most definitely.

“ Jesus, Brent! You nearly gave me a heart attack -- look at you!” Rosie blinked and fully took in the details. Quiet the extent he went with making this costume -- down to the missized coat, the stitching of his forehead, to the bold in his neck. Well worn by texture, but unnoticeable in the darkness lest they were hit by the streetlight. The undead creature to join a family of ghouls straight from the Halloween realm, a fact which drew a fluttering giggle. “ I really didn’t expect you to come, with all your work. But you surely outdid yourself big man.” Yet Brent was all too eager about something to really hold the conversation. She waited, watched him fumble, then took the precautionary scan for her munchkins before his taking of her hand again pulled her back to focus. It was a rather bold move in taking her hand, a stage in time which she hadn’t really felt all too confident in when it came to their relational standing, with her walls still built high with worry; Her facial features and tail had a habit of twitching in the transitioning of controlling her impulsive responses, and that had been the case when she faced him, to find that he dangled something shiny in the darkness. The cool stone skimmed the palm of her scarred hand as her fingers flexed, its sheen caught in a street light catches her feline interest with a quiet gasp, “ What is..”        The stones. Those stones that went missing from her drawers a fortnight ago , which she had nearly blamed the children in hiding, now make their appearance. But how had Brent taken them back without her notice? The logic of the task flicks across her mind to ask, however she decides against it when she knows Frankenstein's creature is waiting for her reply. Rosie released a breath, pulling her hands to gently take the chain within her own, “ Its..”     Respond, be responsive! How long had it been since she could muster up a response of sincerity? Truth be told, she’s unsure how to respond beyond her quiet appreciation. She lacked the excitement of youth , not blown away by the gift enough to squeal and jump around, still she admires it closely.  Her ears stand, to match the subtle widening of her eyes and the way her brows arched up in surprise.  A small smile curled upon her lips, “ This is…beautiful, Brent.. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to bring me any gifts every time you see me.” Because she would always feel the need to pay it back. Would always feel like she could hurt feelings if she didn’t respond the way her gifter had expected -- as the way cats are. Fickle creatures at their root. Rosie hoped Brent would accept her quiet appreciation as she brought the stone to her chest and regarded him warmly,  “ But thank you. Really. I nearly lost my mind over these stones, but now,” Her smile tilted and raised mischievously  one side,  “ I suspect I know who the true culprit is. A strange man that always finds a way to sneak around my defenses without me ever noticing. Just what kind of museum magic do you wield, creature?”

    Whatever answer he would have given her went unsaid, however, for the little cry of an eager voice interrupted their conversation. As did the little footsteps of her three, as Mia parades herself in and leaps around Brent like a puppy , “ Mr.Brent! Mr.Brent! You’re here! How’d you get in here? What are you?” At 10 years old, Mia was getting a better grip on her words, and never lost her youthful child energy  with the ability to shoot off every thought from her mouth. Amusing, and never a feature her mother tried to smother, Rosie laughed and stepped back to welcome the trio. She would let Mia take over and distract from the result of whether Brent was pleased with the response,  “ I invited him to join us, Mia. I figured the ghouls come out at night, and he could use time out of his basement.” Mia’s violet eyes grew wide in wonder, “ Wait, you live in a basement? ”               That would keep him busy. Rosie clutched the necklace and tucked it away within a hidden pocket of her dress. Malakaid and Thursday, dressed as the little devil and skeleton, joined them, though walked around Rosie timidly. Thursday, at 5 years old, did at least. Rosie’s circle of friends had always been small with familiar faces , thus Brent’s sudden appearance in their lives was something that the young boy still needed to get used to.. He hid behind Rosie’s leg, clutching both her dress and his basket , but observing the man Mia bombarded and circled. He whispered, “What is he, mama..? Is he okay…?” Rosie reached down and smoothed her hand through her son’s orange mane of curls, “ He’s a monster that was popular from when I was a kid, called Frankenstein. Those things sticking out are just props, and he’s not actually hurt.”

“ F..Frankenstein..” Malakaid worked his tongue slowly, to taste the name like a flavor of information. He looked up to Brent, though he stood tall for his 12 year old age, and signed as he spoke, “ Why.. that monster..?”

[hereliesbitches--me]

Sorry I'm not writing, I've just had more energy to draw as of late so that's what I'm doing. Been practicing some concepts for my babies

[hereliesbitches--me]

Pov: Rosie seduces u like a bird with her pretty feathers

[hereliesbitches--me]

"Do you think you can lower my guard just by pouting and keeping your shirt half buttoned?" (ALSO TAL)

( Secret service starters : ALWAYS ACCEPTING ) 

Okay, so maybe she was a little rusty. Or maybe she was just losing her charm with age.

But to call this stunt an embarrassment was one hell of an understatement.

A year outside of the field has stunted her, and a quick recovery was nowhere in sight, a grievance realized far too late. In the back of her mind, Rosie considered this an easy target; in hindsight, that was her first mistake. To compare hunting for info now to her youthful days of makeup and disguises, to call it easy now that she has nothing but herself to pretend to be,  shines a glaring light of fact that humbles her in place. Men in this modern age don't give up information easily -- nor do men with his charm. Who likely dealt with these antics all the time from a woman looking for free handouts from young malleable men. Rosie’s cheeks flushed slightly, though she maintaining some sense of dignity by concealing it with an innocent smile,

  “ Who’s trying to lower what guard? Girls get hot out there in the city,  This is probably the closest I can get to having some circulation without taking my shirt off.” Slick, but the cat is too old to play the young naïve card anymore. She knows it. It's all she can do without kicking up a fuss. Nonetheless, she takes her defeat with subtle grace and adjusts herself onto the bar top seat, her arms moving away from the folding that perked them up on the counter. What was the next card to play? How to strike up a conversation?   Her shtick of physical appeal going up in flames, she yields to Tal’s gaze and retreats, feline ears tilting back and her swaying tail stilling. Hands, unused to disuse, find their way to the plastic laminates menus and peruse the selection, tapping rhythmically with the tips of her claws. Rosie feigns a sigh of defeat and scans the menu, “ And here I thought boobs can get a girl anything… you’re a lot tougher than you look , Mister. Maybe I make it up by buying the best thing you have on the menu? ”

    A thing, or three. Because where looks failed, Money could pick up and open the door. In the ruse of her character, the gears in her brain churn and already rework the options to understanding and getting to the roots of the strange shopkeeper that seems to be the focus of trouble as of late. A slim finger came up and tapped her chin, then the corners of her lips tilted sideways in a lopsided grin. Her gaze, despite the sunken state beneath them, held an expectant warmth shrouded by aged secrets,

 “ I’d like you to pick.. Since I’m not actually sure what I want. If I cant seem to get you. At the very least, maaaybe I could get the story on what makes a young guy like you open a coffee shop? ”