Milord, may I offer thee a juice box? 💕❤️ It's apple flavor take it don't deny my love

"... Thank you, Varré."

He stabs one claw clean through the tiny box, emptying its contents onto his tongue before handing the oh-so-gruesomely impaled carton back to the Mask. Mm, fruity! In more ways than one!!

"Lambkin!" His arms spread wide welcoming his sweet pet with such love. "There you are!"

@blccdrose

Here she is. After another harrowing trial. Tired, weary and covered with blood that had yet to completely dry. Her hands are sore. She had used everything. Her daggers, her hammer and her fists. There wasn't a spot on her that was clean anymore.

It just wouldn't... die. And the sounds it made...

Pale eyes stared to him before they darted to the side to collect herself. Even if he was cruel, Marie found Varre to be the kindest thing in these lands thus far. Coming back to camp to a warm greeting conjured dual reactions within her - an involuntary warmth and an immense amount of guilt for what she had just done.

With sluggish footing the young woman walked straight into his open arms and pressed her forehead against his chest. The hammer in hand, still damp, dropped to the ground beside them. Her weight leaned in, legs so utterly sore and tired - hands aching, every joint screaming. Everything hurt, from the inside - out.

i will give you this plate of spaghetti to burn the roundtable hold to the ground right now

He stood like a statue of a saint next to the crumbling brickwork of the church. The dirt and grime that smattered his clothing did not look out of place. It was in the smallest swaying that the lantern next to his feet sheen in shadow that one could tell him to be more. And sharp were his eyes even in the pitch of night, as ought to be when standing vigil in a world so full of murderous creatures that would turn on themselves as quickly as strike another down. He did not speak loudly, harkening to the ghostly figure that dances through the trees, but his voice did resound so softly by her as though he were next to her. And soon did move around a trees trunk to make that true, a thorny bloodrose toying in his fingers. "Excuse me. I mean not be rude. Please not take it so," his unique voice soothed a lilt or two too sweet. "But must I pay compliment when it is due. You look much alike a goddess even in the darkest night. May I gift thee a rose as fair as thyself?" A rose that would prick upon touch no matter how one may hold it, forever thirsting for more blood.

@blccdrose

玫:

The presence of the other was evident to her, but she did not approach. They; however, did. Like a moth to a flame, she stuck out as a beacon under the moon’s presence. Shining upon her pallor with an ethereal take. Perhaps it is why he compared her to that of a goddess, but it was a compliment she has heard before. Angel. Goddess. Luminescent Beauty. It made her mentally roll her eyes, but her bare soles came to a pause to humor him. He did come from his position at the church to just... Give her a rose.

Which, violet irises looked at briefly, then shifting back to his false face. Staring. Unyieldingly so. Her snowy head tilting slightly aside, like a curious predator. “This rose you hold harbors more hue than me.” she says, her hand coming up from her side. Not to take the rose, but to curl her fingers -- notably the black ‘nails -- into her palm, above its blossom. Red-violet, as vivid as her lips and eyelids, dribbled from the wrinkles in her palm and into the center. It was a blood rose, after all. They need blood to live, yet hers does not fester. It is also very aggressive, and her roses do not like competitors...

The red of that rose and all its evergreen foliage seemed to wither. Consumed. In the tandem that her hand returned to her side, the green faded to black, and the red of that lovely rose was robbed of its warmth. Brightening more and more until it was the whitest of white. Just like her hair. The thorns became more pronounced and sharp, the edges of the leaves like razors, and the blossom became animated in his hand -- turning to stare at him like an eye.

     “Now it holds true to your word.” Fair, he had said. “A blood rose is a blood rose, but never as bloody as mine.” It was true, too. Her roses prospered in any and all blood -- so long as it was human or willed to take what was present. They could go for years without blood supply, and they would move accordingly to find proper anchorage with the nutrients necessary. A savage bloodthirsty beast, but was just a small plant. How much harm could it really be?

     “Keep it, for humoring me. The next time you kill someone, plant it on the corpse.” she advises, leaving one of her children with the stranger as she resumes her wanderlust.

@blccdrose replied to your post “Miquella’s classical education briefly makes an...”:

I bring you juice you fucking crispy ass cornhusk

Should Miquella tell him that the ‘crispy-ass cornhusk’ was just a protective flesh covering while he grew inside? Nah. It was more fun to let Varre think he was some twenty-meter tall, organic alabaster lord.

Instead, Miquella puts away the first violin, pulls out an even SMALLER one, and starts to play a jaunty tune.

"Make yourself useful again." The knife dug deep and savage without a single drop of empathy. "Sacrafice yourself for this noble cause."

Perhaps it had been his own fault, for letting such a mysterious stranger come up to him so close and for letting his guard down. The pain of being stabbed was far from unknown for Adrian, but it stung nonetheless, screamed to make itself known as it turned the blue cloth on his armor a horrid sanguine shade dulled by the tones of the material it soaked. He let out a strident, anguished gasp with his sable brown eyes wide and wild, pupils shrunk to a mere pinprick.

Even if he knew that his gracelessness meant he would return again as if Unharmed did not ease his mind. Instead, the mere thought of eternal pain made the puncture wound ending him painfully as he bled out all alone all the more terrifying.

With rasping and uneven breath and gritted teeth, the Carian Knight says, "I hope the shades of the long, cold night find you well."

@blccdrose ; brief starter

Darkened eyes lingered upon the white-masked figure. Hesitant, perhaps to truly speak up. Rubbing at her arm gently as they remained folded and she stood quietly. He always was rather mysterious of a person she never truly understand. Always an unsettling charisma to him. Is that not how he always recruited the masses to his Luminary Mohg?

“Are you in need of something…?”

@on-stained-glass-wings gave me the image of Finlay and Salvius marching into the Moghwyn Dynasty Mausoleum, beat up Varre and hang him upside down to steal his lunch rune for what he did.

@blccdrose

blccdrose

You sure act like a cuck 😔

Dude, I know you’re joking, but I am not exactly finding this funny at this point. The thing is this: Yeah, Rosalind is cheating on Jarrod, but Jarrod’s not exactly going to take it lying down.

Cuckolding is a fetish, but within the realm of Jarrod’s RP storyline, it is actually a legit painful experience that he won’t even know about yet. Jarrod’s whole thing is his fidelity.

I try to treat the concept with respect, but you are hardly the first to be making such jokes. I did not respond to the previous anons made in poor taste, and I wanted to believe I was being a sensitive stick in the mud, but it’s happened multiple times.

I apologize for putting you on blast like this, but I am kind of irritated by jokes like this for a lot of reasons.

“Spoken like a true milk-juggling slutbag. I have eyes and ears everywhere, my love. Do not act coy.”

would die without u 100000/10 you deserve every bit of love everyone ever gave you

@blccdrose

n-no. NO. you can't. ;////; ilu too much. i'll kick your corpse if that ever happened. i am here for the long game, bbbbyyyyy!!!!

you deserve love too, okay. you're my goodest friend and i'm a soft because of it. you're so fucking incredible and sweet, i admire how strongly you feel and just. adore you, okay?? you as a person, you as a writer, you as an artist (don't fight me on this). you're so ready to give for your friends and take care of them. you're just. so fucking good. and i'm so happy we've been friends this long and i hope it never quits.

if i go, fucking bet i'll haunt you.

especially since you'll deserve it after bullying me with everyone else. fuck you very much. i love you.

"Oh, my sweet little lambkin. You must have been positively terrified." He held her head between his bloodied gloves gently as though she may break. "Dont you worry. I am right here." And behind them both, a sea of unidentifiable meat that had once been living.

@blccdrose

She still is terrified. She almost died. The weapon in her hand was tightly gripped if only because she couldn't uncurl her fingers - muscles taut, tense as her body trembled.

He had stepped in and she... she couldn't turn around once she had gotten up. The sounds behind her were awful. Atrocious. It was only when he walked back to her and came around her side that she dared to peek back. The smallest glance to see meat and gore that had her head snapping forward once more. Right into his grasp.

Her gaze lifted to his mask, splatters of red dashed across it. His eyes always so unwavering in their stare as he spoke words she knew he meant. In his own way. Which was always the scariest part when he was still such a mystery. Marie finally let go of her weapon and held onto his wrists as she wept, light-headed and full of adrenaline still. "Varre." I was so scared. It's the only song she knew at moment - that of fright. It had her loosening her grip upon his arms to grab at him as she squeezed around his middle and sobbed. She was bloody, he was bloody - it didn't matter that her face pressed against it anymore. There wasn't even a thought to it. Just cries of terror that gradually turned into relief as his words finally sank in - when her hold could not be one done in fear but out of sense of gratefulness that he would protect her.

blccdrose

The all smelling

Gideon of Every Odor

Hey ilu

@blccdrose

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