#stagborne

Send my character a ★ and I’ll bold everything they feel toward your character.

Bold for definitely, Italicized for circumstantial or sort of, Strikethrough for 'won't admit it' & either of the prior.

Mason toward Will!

This would be the perfect opportunity to say something witty or cool. Instead of that, Ethan just grunts, "Mia and I weren't exactly honest with each other, either." Maybe not the comparison he should be making, but Mia lied about her work and Ethan lied every time he said it was fine and dropped the argument.

Ethan pauses, hand still half raised towards the doorknob. He looks over his shoulder, scowling as he considers his options. Is Will going to actually chase him if he goes? Most likely, yeah. He found Ethan in the lobby the first time Ethan wandered out. Is Will going to be able to drag Ethan back? Honestly, actually drag him back if he doesn't want to go? Ethan isn't sure.

But he can't stay here. He feels too penned in. He feels too- Ethan almost stays because he can't stand the thought of being alone. He and Will have been though so much, of course there would be some kind of fucking Stockholm or whatever the fuck. But this? After how badly Eveline wanted a family, he can't help but think he took some of that crazy with him. It scares him, not that he's going to admit it out loud.

"The fuck you can."

relief flood through him at a more composed sight, the profound anger from earlier dissipating slightly. only slighly. he's still agitated, still seething below the surface.

who would ever dare make him angry? make him cry? who cares about the facts or reasons?

immediately, they're categorized as scum and scum ought to be dealt with.

"i'm not," not initially. his intention is merely to eliminate an aggravating presence, to eradicate any obstacle his prince might have in his journey. and as iskar stands there, half believing her would earn a scorn, he received veiled praise instead.

is there a ship you used to like, but not anymore?

is there a ship you used to dislike, but now you like?

@stagborne asked character creation questions / accepting

what’s your BROTP when it comes to your muse? Oh, I've got a few. The fun thing about vampires is that romance and friendship tend to become intermingled. Sex isn't necessarily involved, but deep emotional intimacy can (and often is). I'd be remiss if I didn't mention @evilanew as the friendship between Nicki and Lestat was the foundation for everything that came after. They are best friends, first and foremost. However, my less talked about, but no less loved, friendship is with @vilentines Gabrielle. Gabrielle and Nickia are two people stuck in a world where they are both privileged (money & education) and discriminated against- one being a homosexual MoC and the other a woman. Their friendship begins as mortals in Auvergne, before he and Lestat really kick things off, as Gabbi visited Nicolas to hear him play and talk to him about Paris (and the larger outside world). They delighted in small acts of defiance only known between them. & while this friendship becomes coloured with increased complexity as vampires I'm very soft for it.

is there a ship you used to like, but not anymore? Not anything in regards to Nicki. I'm pretty chill with shipping because these are fictional characters and we are dealing with Freak Queen herself, Anne Rice. I think it would be more accurate to say that my perception of relationship styles has changed as I've read the books and I no longer look at the dynamics through strict lense. If anything, I've only become more opened-minded with mixing and matching.

The usual warmth behind her eyes is muddled with a hazy exhaustion, vacant and unfocused, falling aside in favor of lost sleep weighing on a half-lidded gaze. She's distant. Like she's somewhere else entirely. Another plane. Another lifetime. Trapped in her own thoughts, or rather, haunted by them.

"No, no you didn't wake me," she reassures him softly. "I couldn't sleep, anyways." It's easier not to offer an explanation as to why, and seeing as he'd shown avoidance in the past with discussing more personal matters, it's safe to assume he wouldn't want to know, anyway. What was it he'd said again? 'You don't need to know me. I don't need to know you.'

Or something along those lines...

She lifts a hand to quietly rub the sleep from her eyes as she approaches, other hand reaching out to pet a drowsy Winston who lazily thumps his tail against the cool cement patio beneath them. "Hi, good boy," she coos absentmindedly.

The wood swing creaks in protest when she takes a seat beside him. It chases her momentum and sets them both into a gentle rocking rhythm. "I didn't know you smoked." Far from accusatory. She wraps the purple knit cardigan tighter around herself, glancing down at the pack of cigarettes before following billowing smoke plumes to the one caged between his lips. Feels that itch creeping back up.

A yawning sun webs its way through the cracks in their kitchen blinds and sunlit reflections bounce scattered fractals of light off dirtied breakfast plates onto Will's watered-down hands. “I know, I’m sorry. I wish forgetting was that simple," she says softly. This house is cold, but he feels colder. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked.” Always so naive in her search for the best in others, here it’s easy to figure the past is simply hard for him to discuss and nothing more. Who knows what he's been through? After all, Will was in this protection program just the same as her. 

… right? 

Violet shifts on the kitchen countertop she’s seated herself upon, icy creep of earthen marble drawing goosebumps to her skin’s surface. These clothes… this house, this gaudy decor– this husband? It’s all so alien. It’s all so… lonely. 

“Is it really so wrong for me to want to know at least some of you?”

They’re not supposed to talk about these things, she knows that, but they’re also not supposed to seem like strangers in the public eye. Young, newly married, and hopelessly in love was their assigned M.O., but things of that depth aren’t so easy to fake. Not when he’s a stranger holding her at arm's length… like looking through a glass cage. Invisible barriers to keep from getting too close. Would he always divert the attention away from himself?