Babydxhl - Tumblr Posts
@babydxhl asked: “ come walk with me. let’s get some air. ”
there was a certain sadness — or, melancholy would probably be a better word for it — stirring within blamore today. the fact that the cause of it was indiscernible is what led it to this conclusion. though he supposed it wasn't altogether uncommon for him to get like this sometimes... having a heart at all in this life did pretty much guarantee that you were going to suffer in one way or another, he thought. but feeling nothing was worse; so, as mary stood but an arm's reach away from it while it absentmindedly pruned another stem of a young olive tree, blamore gladly agreed to take a walk with her.
❝ alright. but only because you asked so nicely, ❞ it was a small tease, a bit more life entering it's bones at just the concept of getting out of there. maybe it was feeling some sort of variant of cabin fever. blamore didn't know, though he put down the shears he held on a table nearby, before grabbing the trenchcoat currently on it's coat-rack. shrugging the oversized thing on was as easy as pie for blamore; red-rimmed eyes lowering to meet mary's at the same time that it attempted to give her a small smile. and he succeeded, luckily. the last thing blamore wanted to do was drag mary into being in a sort of downcast mood as well, ❝ you know, i was surprised that you came to see me today. though don't get me wrong... i mean that in a good way. ❞
with it's eyes still set on mary, the soft pitter-patter of steps began resounding through the greenhouse, ❝ it gets lonely here sometimes, but it's whatever. why don't you tell me more about how you have been faring? ❞
@babydxhl sorry not sorry 🤷
Even in a city full of psychopaths, Anne somehow manages to stand out. At least right now there’s a fair reason for it: no one sits or idles at her booth, despite the place being jam-packed. And it’s not because of the blood or the broken glass, but because of the way Anne had calmly reached up and smashed a man’s face into the table, causing the blood and the broken glass. His weak moans have long since faded, having been dragged out halfway to unconsciousness by the security Anne’s surprised to learn is actually here.
The problem with standing out is that she isn’t supposed to do that yet. Her job was to work her way inside of the Iceberg Lounge, scope the place out, and find a new friend for Jack. Someone suitable to their cause—tough, unfucked with, and looking to raise a little hell. Jack’s exact words had been to find “the craziest, best-known psycho in town” and arrange a meeting for him. Anne…was reconsidering things now. Quite a lot of things. Including Jack.
She’s knows the feeling of eyes on her because they so seldom are. Even when she’d been dolling out the what-for for the fuck-nut who’d copped a feel, people hadn’t looked; acts of violence were common here, even if the woman engaging in them was not. (Truthfully, she had been mistaken for another femme fatale altogether from the back, and so most people looked pointedly anywhere else to avoid the ire of the woman she wasn’t.)
Anne looks up and meets those eyes head-on, her expression dispassionate and uninterested, though her look becomes somewhat pinched at the brow as she takes a look—a real look—at the person staring back her.
Christ Almighty, but Gotham takes ‘em young! She takes another swig directly from the whisky bottle before thumping it back down on the table.
“I’d offer ye a glass, but half of it’s stuck in some arsehole’s face. Aren’t ye a bit young t’be fuckin about in a place like this?”
Anne considers the question with more seriousness than perhaps is deserved: it’s a clear come-on, and even though she doesn’t rise to the bait, she’s still feeling dangerous.
“It’d be none of my fuckin business if ye was, frankly,” Anne answers honestly, shrugging, and adds, “but aye. Prob’ly hers.”
Anne fingers the broken half-glass on the table and considers it before nodding, as if having made a decision. “Aye. Tint cunt like ye, might bleed out—and then I got a corpse t’deal with. So. Glass t’her face, knee t’the big fucker’s nose—this is assuming I get on the table, mind—maybe a boot t’yers.” Not the girl, one of the dodgier looking bastards with her; he clearly doesn’t appreciate being called on, like she gives a rat’s ass. “Don’t fancy my chances if ye’ve got knives, but it’d take a real mad bastard t’start shooting in here. Everyone here’s got a fucking gun and more lint in their heads than sense.”
She’s made a good show of hiding it, but Anne hadn’t been expecting that voice out of that body: the big eyes, the cutesy curls, the fact that she all but needed a high chair at the goddamned table—but she had a voice as rough and hard as a fucking brick, if not worse. Anne feels a bit dazed by it, like it’d hit her in the back of the head and left her stunned. Gotham really does take ‘em fucking young—here sits some mobster’s brat, to guess from her company, but instead of spoilt she sounds days away from taking to chain smoking.
Anne shrugs again, unbothered and probably starting to feel the effects of the last few drinks. “Why, whose face would ye recommend? And don’t say mine—‘cording to ye, I’m the one using the glass.”
@babydxhl sorry not sorry 🤷
Even in a city full of psychopaths, Anne somehow manages to stand out. At least right now there’s a fair reason for it: no one sits or idles at her booth, despite the place being jam-packed. And it’s not because of the blood or the broken glass, but because of the way Anne had calmly reached up and smashed a man’s face into the table, causing the blood and the broken glass. His weak moans have long since faded, having been dragged out halfway to unconsciousness by the security Anne’s surprised to learn is actually here.
The problem with standing out is that she isn’t supposed to do that yet. Her job was to work her way inside of the Iceberg Lounge, scope the place out, and find a new friend for Jack. Someone suitable to their cause—tough, unfucked with, and looking to raise a little hell. Jack’s exact words had been to find “the craziest, best-known psycho in town” and arrange a meeting for him. Anne…was reconsidering things now. Quite a lot of things. Including Jack.
She’s knows the feeling of eyes on her because they so seldom are. Even when she’d been dolling out the what-for for the fuck-nut who’d copped a feel, people hadn’t looked; acts of violence were common here, even if the woman engaging in them was not. (Truthfully, she had been mistaken for another femme fatale altogether from the back, and so most people looked pointedly anywhere else to avoid the ire of the woman she wasn’t.)
Anne looks up and meets those eyes head-on, her expression dispassionate and uninterested, though her look becomes somewhat pinched at the brow as she takes a look—a real look—at the person staring back her.
Christ Almighty, but Gotham takes ‘em young! She takes another swig directly from the whisky bottle before thumping it back down on the table.
“I’d offer ye a glass, but half of it’s stuck in some arsehole’s face. Aren’t ye a bit young t’be fuckin about in a place like this?”
An apology springs to Anne’s lips, a protest—she’d misunderstood, thought this was based on someone come to even the score for the unconscious man she’d split open—but it dies almost as quickly as Mary continues. Right. This isn’t a place of people on their right minds, on the one hand serially threatened with extinction merely for existing in a way some fanatic or another thought abhorrent and on the other never seeing actual justice due to a meddling egomaniac playing vigilante. All while calling a prison a hospital—or worse, nice versa
They don’t just carry guns in Gotham. They look for reasons to use them.
Jack would be pissed she’d given away the game this easy. So Anne tilts her head back with another swig, thinking it over, pretending to drink. (It’s very convincing; it’d needed to be, once upon a time.) The only tell is that the level never really lowers after all the sloshing, a fact she guards by leaning on the bottle and using it to help prop up her arm, the other wrapped around her in front of it.
“‘Fraid I misunderstood the question, but now I’m curious. The way I hear, he lets very few in personally. Who’s he to you, then, that he lets ye in?”
Anne considers the question with more seriousness than perhaps is deserved: it’s a clear come-on, and even though she doesn’t rise to the bait, she’s still feeling dangerous.
“It’d be none of my fuckin business if ye was, frankly,” Anne answers honestly, shrugging, and adds, “but aye. Prob’ly hers.”
Anne fingers the broken half-glass on the table and considers it before nodding, as if having made a decision. “Aye. Tint cunt like ye, might bleed out—and then I got a corpse t’deal with. So. Glass t’her face, knee t’the big fucker’s nose—this is assuming I get on the table, mind—maybe a boot t’yers.” Not the girl, one of the dodgier looking bastards with her; he clearly doesn’t appreciate being called on, like she gives a rat’s ass. “Don’t fancy my chances if ye’ve got knives, but it’d take a real mad bastard t’start shooting in here. Everyone here’s got a fucking gun and more lint in their heads than sense.”
She’s made a good show of hiding it, but Anne hadn’t been expecting that voice out of that body: the big eyes, the cutesy curls, the fact that she all but needed a high chair at the goddamned table—but she had a voice as rough and hard as a fucking brick, if not worse. Anne feels a bit dazed by it, like it’d hit her in the back of the head and left her stunned. Gotham really does take ‘em fucking young—here sits some mobster’s brat, to guess from her company, but instead of spoilt she sounds days away from taking to chain smoking.
Anne shrugs again, unbothered and probably starting to feel the effects of the last few drinks. “Why, whose face would ye recommend? And don’t say mine—‘cording to ye, I’m the one using the glass.”
Tonight’s a fucking carnival blur and the laughing doesn’t help matters. The room feels like it’s staggering under the weight of its own manic tension, like a pair of clowns doing a high wire routine. It’s lurid, dangerous, vulgar. Anne shivers and pretends she isn’t on display here, even though she is. Everyone is. (That was the whole fucking point of coming here to find a local friend!)
Anne leans forward as the others flee leave, choosing to take it as a gesture of good will, or least interest, rather than an omen of death. She offers Mary a salute with the bottle as she fakes another shot, weighing her options.
“Fucking stranger,” Anne admits with a shrug. To be friend or foe, she’d have to know him, right? And if it’s the wrong answer…well. She’ll figure it out. “I bribed a doorman at the back t’let me in.” Sort of. She’d sort of just stabbed him and taken her bribe back when he’d tried to press his luck on their deal.
“Ne’er been t’Gotham afore,” she continues, slurring her words a little even as she slides closer in the booth towards Mary’s table. “Thought the thugs here would be scarier-lookin, reputation like they’ve got. My two-bit biker boyfriend knows a two-bit bike gang leader who’s scarier’n anyone in this room, and he’s supposedly a fucking purring kitten compared to some of what I hear this lot’s done! What in the hell’s in the water here, hey?”
An apology springs to Anne’s lips, a protest—she’d misunderstood, thought this was based on someone come to even the score for the unconscious man she’d split open—but it dies almost as quickly as Mary continues. Right. This isn’t a place of people on their right minds, on the one hand serially threatened with extinction merely for existing in a way some fanatic or another thought abhorrent and on the other never seeing actual justice due to a meddling egomaniac playing vigilante. All while calling a prison a hospital—or worse, nice versa
They don’t just carry guns in Gotham. They look for reasons to use them.
Jack would be pissed she’d given away the game this easy. So Anne tilts her head back with another swig, thinking it over, pretending to drink. (It’s very convincing; it’d needed to be, once upon a time.) The only tell is that the level never really lowers after all the sloshing, a fact she guards by leaning on the bottle and using it to help prop up her arm, the other wrapped around her in front of it.
“‘Fraid I misunderstood the question, but now I’m curious. The way I hear, he lets very few in personally. Who’s he to you, then, that he lets ye in?”
Anne huffs out a laugh at the response she gets; whatever she was expecting to hear, it wasn’t a joke about microplastics and oil spills. Her hand slips down the bottle a little as she does, exposing the line of liquor for a moment. If it’s gone down at all since Mary found her seat, it’s not been by much.
Anne knows she needs to press on in the conversation. She’s only got tonight to prove herself, and she’ll never hear the end of how disappointing and incompetent she is if she spends the whole evening talking and gets nowhere. But there’s something in way the other feck shites fucked off that’s got Anne almost too on-edge to keep going.
So she clicks her tongue and recovers her grip on the bottle before rolling her head Mary’s way. “Bollocks. Mean fuckers tend t’look like mean fuckers. I mean…..” Anne gestures around the room, the cacophony of villainy surrounding them without her actually knowing it, then looks back to Mary. “Who outta these gobshites had done more’n just bully a cop? They don’t got it in them!”
Tonight’s a fucking carnival blur and the laughing doesn’t help matters. The room feels like it’s staggering under the weight of its own manic tension, like a pair of clowns doing a high wire routine. It’s lurid, dangerous, vulgar. Anne shivers and pretends she isn’t on display here, even though she is. Everyone is. (That was the whole fucking point of coming here to find a local friend!)
Anne leans forward as the others flee leave, choosing to take it as a gesture of good will, or least interest, rather than an omen of death. She offers Mary a salute with the bottle as she fakes another shot, weighing her options.
“Fucking stranger,” Anne admits with a shrug. To be friend or foe, she’d have to know him, right? And if it’s the wrong answer…well. She’ll figure it out. “I bribed a doorman at the back t’let me in.” Sort of. She’d sort of just stabbed him and taken her bribe back when he’d tried to press his luck on their deal.
“Ne’er been t’Gotham afore,” she continues, slurring her words a little even as she slides closer in the booth towards Mary’s table. “Thought the thugs here would be scarier-lookin, reputation like they’ve got. My two-bit biker boyfriend knows a two-bit bike gang leader who’s scarier’n anyone in this room, and he’s supposedly a fucking purring kitten compared to some of what I hear this lot’s done! What in the hell’s in the water here, hey?”
i’m sorry about what’s gonna happen to you.
abigail sentence starters
“Yeah,” Anne mumbles back, fighting to keeping her swollen eye open, “ye look real fuckin’ torn up about it.”
Blood has dried to crust under her nose, between her fingers, on her knuckles. She didn’t go down without a fight—without one hell of a fight, in fact, and that’s a thing she can at least die proud of when she inevitably dies for it. She went down swinging and kicking and fighting and scratching and screaming bloody murder. She outnumbered and overwhelmed and even then she sidelined two of the worst of the brutes on her lonesome.
Now caged up in a cell who the fuck even knows where—there are more cells in Gotham than there are apartments—Anne knows what’s gonna happen. What’s gonna happen is someone is gonna take one of those famous Gotham guns of theirs and stick it right between her eyes and send her off to Hell. The writing’s on the wall, and in blood no less. (Quite literally. The wall opposite her cell proclaims that ur gunna die here :), bad spelling and all.)
What should the final words of Anne Bonny be? Something appropriately defiant and stinging. Something angry. If it weren’t for the throb in her head moving in time with her pulse, maybe she’d be able to think of some haunting last sentiment. For now, she gives the best she’s got:
“Fuck you.”
At least they’re still fitting final words, even without the chance to amend them.
There’s something hard and mean and flinty about Mary’s baby blues now. It immediately sets Anne further on edge. There’s a sharpness about Mary not unlike a knife, her point and her business end being one and the same and very much focused on Anne right now. That can’t be good.
“Anne.” It’s candid as well as truthful; not like she’s got a fucking alias, anyway. Even if she did, she’s confident in that moment she wouldn’t have given it regardless. Something about this sudden sharpness in Mary stabs at Anne in a way that makes her want to look danger in the eye and dare it to flinch first.
She won’t have to wait long—another fact of the night Anne doesn’t know (yet).
“None taken. Though I’d appreciate a more naked threat goin’ forward. The veiled ones’re often too easy t’miss,” Anne says with a shrug, suddenly dropping the act of drunkenness. That’s not what emboldened Mary, so it’s not serving her any longer. “What’re you called?”
Anne huffs out a laugh at the response she gets; whatever she was expecting to hear, it wasn’t a joke about microplastics and oil spills. Her hand slips down the bottle a little as she does, exposing the line of liquor for a moment. If it’s gone down at all since Mary found her seat, it’s not been by much.
Anne knows she needs to press on in the conversation. She’s only got tonight to prove herself, and she’ll never hear the end of how disappointing and incompetent she is if she spends the whole evening talking and gets nowhere. But there’s something in way the other feck shites fucked off that’s got Anne almost too on-edge to keep going.
So she clicks her tongue and recovers her grip on the bottle before rolling her head Mary’s way. “Bollocks. Mean fuckers tend t’look like mean fuckers. I mean…..” Anne gestures around the room, the cacophony of villainy surrounding them without her actually knowing it, then looks back to Mary. “Who outta these gobshites had done more’n just bully a cop? They don’t got it in them!”
« how many lives you plannin’ on ruinin’? »
Don’t Starve starters - part 2
Funny question. Anne lowers her gaze to the table to consider it, but lets herself think aloud. It doesn’t matter what Mary does or doesn’t hear from her anymore; that ship has long since sailed.
“Huh. I don’t plan on ruinin’ any lives other than my own—maybe an ex or two’s—but that don’t mean I won’t ruin others, I s’pose. I imagine ye’ve ruined a fair few more.”
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send me 🕯️to hear my character's inner thoughts about your character.
She’s shrewd. Honestly too smart to be doing this poorly in this city. Why doesn’t she just leave, go somewhere he smarts would serve her better? She could rule a gang scene with an iron fist anywhere that wasn’t already quite so lousy with bloodthirsty gangs.
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Send 🌺 to hear what my muse likes about yours.
If anybody in this shitty world understood him, Mary was that person. They’d shared a similar childhood after all, introduced to one another by rich parents who were far more interested in showing off in front of their fellow socialites than they ever cared about their kids. Other children might have envied the glamour and privilege they held, of living it up in fancy penthouses and visiting the most expensive establishments but they would never understand what it was like, knowing the ugly truth about the masks their parents wore and how they behaved behind closed doors, away from the public spotlight they adored so much. How many years had it been? Too long and yet not long enough at the same time, back when they’d been the very picture of innocence. Mary still was, her appearance as bright and youthful as the day they’d first met back when he hadn’t been much taller than her but looking upon the woman now... it was a stark reminder as to how so very much had changed between them, even if she still looked like she hadn’t aged a day since their loathsome parents forced them to play together and become friends. For a time, he and Mary had been one and the same, dolls to be seen and not heard. That didn’t stop them from talking, whispering together in hushed, conspiring tones as they played nicely with their toys. Out of sight and out of mind like good little girls, their mothers had said, but they’d known better, even way back then. Sadly it couldn’t last. Over time they’d drifted apart as they faded into obscurity in their own ways, one family no longer in the spotlight while the other took to her career, rising and falling spectacularly. In spite of it all, Mary Dahl was still the same canny person he remembered from back then, so expressive, so understanding that with a mere glance, she could perceive others and rightfully show her disdain, yet remained talented enough to conceal both her thoughts and true self behind her deceptive features. That was just the thing though, wasn’t it? Appearances were only skin deep and what really mattered lay far beneath that.
"Despite how we look, we’re not so different if we’re being honest here. Mary might look like a cute little kid to you but to me, she was the first person who understood what it was really like. Stopped me thinking I was the problem, that there was something wrong with me and not our fucked up parents who made us like this...” Not once had Mr. and Mrs. Sionis understood him, had only ever judged him and saw him as a possession, something shameful and displayed only when guests came to visit like a particularly ugly ornament. Roman supposed it wasn’t too surprising it took somebody else who went through a similar upbringing to know what that was like.
✏️
Eᴠᴇɴ Mᴏʀᴇ Iɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ Qᴜᴏᴛᴇs Gᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ!
Mary: When I met you I thought you were a real bitch. Roman: What changed your mind? Mary: Oh, I still think you’re a bitch, I’ve just grown to like that about you.
Mary: What? I'm not aggressive! Roman: Last Tuesday, you wacked me with a pair of crocs and stole my chocolate chips? Mary: Survival of the fittest, bitch.
Roman: Mary just said "I have an appetite for destruction" and then they reached down and untied my shoe.
Mary: Relationships should be 50/50. Roman cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.
Roman: You're violent. Mary: Yeah but I'm also short and that's adorable.
Mary: Hey, wanna help me commit arson? Roman: What the hell!? Mary: Oh, sorry, my bad. Mary, whispering: Wanna help me commit arson? Roman, whispering: Of course. What do you need?
🧸 Roman is always down for guns.
send 🧸 for your toy-gun hybrid from mary.
I'm at work so thinking of this on the fly and will inevitably word vomit more things later BUT I think mary and roman have picked up each other's little tells just from having known each other so long despire them both being skilled manipulators and LiarsTM to their core. like watching the other give some speech or spiel and just hiding their smirk from the sidelines bc 'i KNOW you only [insert little motion] like that when you are LYING YOUR ASS OFF'
Send a headcanon you have about our muses’ relationship and I’ll tell you if I approve of it or not.
*smacks down stamp of approval*
Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! This is such a perfect headcanon and makes so much sense, especially for the reasons you mention in them having known each other for a long ass time and both being skilled liars and manipulators? It’s probably always been a thing right from the start (mostly because of their parents being such horrible people) and persisted long after Mary became an actress while Roman became a criminal drug lord so yeah, it’s hella entertaining to think that even they’ve both grown up, they’re still able to pick up on these tiny tells and just KNOW when the other’s full of shit. Probably something really obscure that even Batman struggles picking up on. Bruce wasn’t allowed to join the club. While we’re on this topic, I’d like to go back to something you mentioned earlier, specifically about the sibling-like hadcanon I sent to you with them having this really quick back-and-forth with no bullshit about each other? They can’t get anything past each other for the reasons you mentioned as they both know when the other’s lying their ass off so are brutally honest with one another, because you know, friends!
ALSO for the hc meme, mary only calls him Roman, no other nickname or moniker. and he calls her 'marion' when he's being annoying, she's being annoying, or both of them are being all round belligerently annoying
Send a headcanon you have about our muses’ relationship and I’ll tell you if I approve of it or not.
This is another headcanon I love and accept. Roman in his (or their) most dickish moments absolutely would call her Marion, likening it to an old woman’s name as opposed to Mary which she’s normally called by. They may be adults but they 100% can be childish af and bicker like the little shits they used to be.
roman would rather fight his own parents, mary's parents, a stranger's parents than like. go to therapy
Based off this reblogged post, I assume.
You see this ask right here? It’s the absolute goddamn truth. Giving somebody a good ass beating is way better therapy than anything Arkham can dish out, Roman firmly believes. Fuck getting strapped down into a hospital chair while some stuffy crank preaches at him. His own parents, Mary’s parents, a stranger’s parents - frankly all of Gotham can and should expect to catch these fists.
@babydxhl
it's rotten work. especially to me especially if it's you. I'll fucking do it but christ alive.
★ 🙏
Send me a ★ and I’ll bold what applies to your muse.
“What happened? You look like the Bat chased you halfway across the city.”
I like you / I hate you / I dislike you / I love you / You are family / I would take a bullet for you / I would shoot you / I would lie to your face / I would say something cruel to you on purpose / I would say something cruel to you accidentally / I would cheat on you / I would physically hurt you / You annoy me / You amuse me / I’d laugh at you / I’d laugh with you / I’d manipulate you / You scare me / You confuse me / I wish I knew you better / I trust you / I don’t trust you / You inspire me / I consider you an equal / You are beneath me / You’re better than me / I would trust you with my life / I think you’re mean / I think you’re petty / I think you’re childish you only act childish / I think you’re smart / I think you’re stupid / I think you’re a bad person / I think you’re a good person / I’m not sure what kind of person you are / I wish you would listen to me / I want to make you proud / I wish you would notice me / I want to impress you / I would hurt other people for you / I’m not sure how to make you happy / I’m a bad influence on you / You deserve better than me / We make a great team / I’d have a one night stand with you / I’d have a relationship with you / I would marry you / I fantasize about our life together / I would trust you with my most treasured belonging / I would tell you know my darkest secrets / You disgust me / You intimidate me / I hope I intimidate you / I’d hug you / I’d let you hug me / I’m scared of losing you / I don’t think you like me / I want to be better for you / I respect you / I don’t respect you / You’re my mentor / You’re my friend / You’re my best friend / I have a crush on you / I could easily watch you die / I’d get drunk with you / I’d party with you / I’d comfort you / I’d prank you / I’d spike your drink / I’d act behind your back / I’d abandon you / I’d hurt you to get what I want / I would choose my happiness over yours / I would choose your happiness over mine / I despise how much I care for you / I need you / I’m dependent on you / I don’t know what I’d do without you / I’m scared of you leaving me / I’d give my life for you / You frustrate me / I’d call for you in a time of need / I would protect you / I’d visit you in hospital / I’d carry you if you were hurt / I’d feel guilty if I hurt you / I’d let you be near me when I am vulnerable / I’d ignore a phone call from you / I’d call you at 3am / I’d break you out of jail / I’d get angry at you / I would shout at you / You’re too loud / You’re too quiet / You’re too sensitive / You can’t take a joke / You embarrass me / I feel nothing for you / You’re reckless / You’re bossy / You bore me / I would ask your advice / I would blame you for something I did / I would cry in your arms / You have the power to hurt me more than anyone else /
✿
PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME 0.2
“Damn, I haven’t heard that bitch’s name since we were both kids. How the mighty have fallen...”
FRIENDSHIP. childhood friends / work buddies or coworkers / family friends / friends with benefits / smoking buddies / adventure buddies / fake friends / recently friends / party buddies / friendship of need / dying friendship / circumstantial friendship / partners in crime / old friendship / [ your muse ] is the good influence / [ your muse ] is the bad influence / [ my muse ] is the good influence / [ my muse ] is the bad influence / opposites attract / ride or die / frenemies / roommates or flatmates / penpals / exes to friends / enemies to friends / other
ROMANCE. childhood sweethearts / [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush / [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush / exes / exes to lovers / forbidden lovers / highschool sweethearts / secret relationship / opposites attract / long distance / unrequited [ from your muses side ] / unrequited [ from my muses side ] / unrequited [ from both sides ] / skinny love / friends to lovers / enemies to lovers / spurious relationship / power couple / newly entered / soulmates [ metaphorical ] / soulmates [ literal ] / awkward / turning toxic / toxic love / cheating [ on your muse ] / cheating [ with your muse ] / other
FAMILIAL. siblings [ half ] / siblings [ step ] / [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure / [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse / [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours (only to deceive others) / [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse / guardian figure / legal guardian / adoptive child / foster child / [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing / [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing / other (not by blood or marriage but they’ve known each other so long they’re basically siblings at this point)
ANTAGONISTIC. dangerous to each other / dangerous to others / unpredictable / rivals / petty / developing into sexual or romantic tension / based off family matters / based of off circumstance / based of professional matters / based off misunderstanding or lies / conflict of ideology / betrayal / hero - villain dynamic / enemies / fight club / friends turned enemies / lovers turned enemies / exes turned enemies / other
no but it being a running joke that even if roman directly catches her cheating she. will not. break. staring him down like 🥺🥺🥺 'i would never do that. not ever' 🥺🥺🥺 'how could you accuse me so'
In response to this;
AGREED. Roman gets so fucking steamed about it too, Mary can look as innocent as she wants but it’s a fucking lie and he knows it. Girl, you’ve done nothing wrong in your life ever but this is not one of them.