@mslangermann continued from [x]

How rough of a crowd? There was a time when he would have defended Priwen's ideals to the death -- one might even be able to argue that's precisely what he did. Loyal and fanatical until the last, except his sense of self-preservation ultimately won out in the end. The years have given him perspective if nothing else, knocked away the rose colored glasses and cast his former circle in a less favorable light. A part of him will always feel indebted to Eldritch for saving his life, but he's come to realize that sense of obligation was a weight no child should have been allowed to carry. "They were no Boy Scouts," he says, but leaves it at that. There's no good way to explain that part of his life without sounding like a career criminal. Which, while it might be true, isn't an easy topic to dig into.

Not that the continuing thread of conversation is simpler to navigate. Geoffrey's never been the best at handling delicate matters. His position and demeanor once gave him a reputation as a merciless fanatic -- while his people never accused him of being cruel, outsiders saw his methodology as cold and callous and presumed he relished in the bloodshed dealt by his hand. Though hunting brought grim satisfaction, there was no real joy in it, in destroying lives even to stop evil. But empathy and sympathy were twin weaknesses in the profession, and he tamped them down in the name of duty.

Now, at least, there's less of a need to build a brick wall around any emotional response. He's heard Lynn's story and has expressed his professional condolences, but hasn't tread any father than that. "Everyone's got baggage. God bless anyone who isn't hauling a few dead loved ones around in theirs." Which is his way of saying he doesn't judge her for the things she carries -- the grief and the love for someone lost. He knows better than most that those things never really go away. "Should I ask about the rest of your family, or will we just get stuck comparing sources of trauma for the rest of the evening?"

continued from x

He admired her aggressiveness, it showed spunk. Looking from @mslangermann to the pan and back he snorted, stepping through into the apartment, hands in pockets, looking around as if any of the accoutrement would catch his eye.

“Ya, but she ain’t there”. He tried for aloof, but there was clear disappointment on his face. “Folks at the bar don’t take too kindly to me, so I figure if anyone else might know, and have a vested interest in gettin’ me on my way”, looking slyly through his bangs he grinned, “why I expect it might be you”. He bent forward to peruse the few objects atop a table, whether he was truly invested was difficult to perceive.

“Until you help me”, he slowly crossed to close her curtains, “maybe I’ll keep you company”. With the gusto of one delighting in being a pest, he hopper over the top of her couch and flopped down onto it; even the furniture giving a groan of complaint at his presence. Severen arranged himself comfortably upon it with the arrogant air of one completely at peace with being a frustrating nuisance. Kicking his boots up onto her table, his wolf emblazoned spurs left a noticeable divot along the edge; like bite marks— a permanent sign of his intrusion.

@mslangermann moved from here to convert to beta

Deep down, her shriek seemed to pierce right through Lance's bones, shook him to his core. On the outside though, there was nothing else but wrath about his body. Hot, white, insane rage. Ozzing right out of him like a spinning invisible typhoon. Making that skull on the pavement crack harder and harder the longer he was forced to look at it, though it was more than obvious that this man was very dead by now. It kept crushing anyway. Thankfully, it was then that Lynn finally chose to listen to Lance's previous plea, slammed her foot on the gas, started driving away. Veering around the other vehicle that was trying its best to keep them boxed in.

But its best was nothing compared to that wrath that was still coursing through Lance's body as they passed that car. Truth be told, the host didn't even quite know just why his hitchhiker had gone so quickly off the rails. From mocking, making fun of the situation to....this. Utter carnage.

Dead body on the ground in the distance. One car....no two cars suddenly a tangled and crunched up mess behind them. The occupied one T-boned by the other driverless vehicle of a dead man. Even as he looked in the rearview mirror, mad eyes glued to that bleeding body in the ground in the distance, Lance could see that it was still at it. Pressing the two men and their vehicle further and further into a building wall with the dead man's car, keeping them pinned, crushing them as Lynn sped away from the scene. Leaving behind nothing but a screeching, howling mess of blood, flesh and metal in the distance.

Metal.

Now he remembered. That short glimpse of a holster. A gun at the guy's hip, glistening in the sun.

This guy could've shot them. Lynn. Him. If this man'd been Murkoff, if he'd been with whatever it was that scared her...he could've...

But what if he hadn't been? What if those had been cops? What if it hadn't been about anything but a busted taillight? Or the fact that he was in fact, an asylum escapee, one the cops were still on the look out after all? One who was wanted for murder? Murder he'd let happen all over again, right back there just now? Letting it crack and crack and crack a skull wide open. Not unlike the sounds he'd forced out of that goddamn kid when he'd wrapped his hands around his throat and...

This...right here. This was enough. Enough to shock Lance. To anger him, not it. And it certainly was enough to snap him right out of it. Because no. It was enough. He started bombarding this thing with his own fury and need to talk to her until he successfully wrestled back control from it, looked right at her with an entirely different expression on his face now. More himself. Worried. Apologetic. Despairing. And oh so fucking...

"...sorry. I'm so sorry you had to see this. 'That' was fucked up and I don't even know where to fucking begin explaining any of it. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Please tell me these guys were Murkoff and that this means the situation was fucked either way, that this didn't just..."

Shit, fuck. Get it together, Preston. All of this just scared the crap out of this woman. An innocent woman who gave you a ride. All of this is new for her, not for you. Don't make it worse for her. You can always freak out later.

"Are you okay?" he asked once more, firmer, checking, voice and look on his face steadying, softening. Breathing getting just a little bit steadier when he noticed that it didn't look like it had touched a hair on her head at least, that she seemed to be just fine.

@mslangermann asked: 🃏 tarot starters || accepting the chariot | strong will, triumph | the chariot is your confidence, your will, and your inner warrior. at points in your life when you felt the bliss of achievement or triumph, you were riding on his back. build a relationship with this part of yourself. try to "see" the chariot inside of you. the more focused your mind, the easier it will be to sense his presence and stay mounted on his back. with a fixed gaze and sure footing, you'll be headed toward all you dream of.

Courtroom proceedings are rarely as fast paced and dramatic as what Hollywood would have you believe. It's a drawn out slog of a process -- bereft of last minute evidence and witnesses that turn the tides in favor of the protagonist. Less drama, more headaches.

Lynn might be the expert on all things Murkoff, but Alice knows of their tricks by extension. They're experts at bending the legal system however they see fit, circumventing consequences at every turn. The trial against them has spanned a grueling number of years that have been more than hard on her friend. For as long as Alice has known her, Lynn has been motivated by her desire to bring justice to unchecked horrors -- but there have been times where she worried this trial was going to take it all out of her. At least the spotlight on the case kept Lynn safe from Murkoff's machinations, but that was a hollow satisfaction.

Which is to say, this victory has been hard fought. They'd spoken over the phone but this is the first Alice has seen her in person since the verdict was announced. She's quick to throw her arms around the journalist, pulling her into a tight hug. "Lynn, oh my god, I don't even know what to say! Congratulations? Is this a congratulatory thing?" It feels too reductive, all things considered, but also manages to feel too celebratory at the same time. A sigh of relief feels more appropriate than anything. She's just so happy to think that Lynn can finally start putting Murkoff behind her.

Alice pulls away but not completely, taking Lynn's hands in her own with a reassuring squeeze. "How about just -- thank fucking god that's over?"

@mslangermann from [x]

He thinks, too, that he might know her from somewhere, or that he'd at least heard her name somewhere on the other side of all this. But it's difficult to think straight in this place, and that can't be entirely attributed to the stress. Not when there's so much else at play. The drugs, the "therapy", the repeated head trauma, the subliminal suggestions needling into his skull at all hours. Combined it has a way of muddying the mind, making it easy to forget some things and falsely remember others. That's the point, he supposes. Scoop everything out, wipe the slate clean, and fill yourself back up with Murkoff's bullshit.

More often than not Miles feels like he's grasping at straws, and for what? The only apparent way out is to lose yourself entirely. Maybe the corpses littering these nightmare dioramas had the right idea. It's not like they can own you in death.

Lynn's presence is a distraction from all that, though. She's given him a new objective, and the departure from routine is exhilarating in a way that will make him question his sanity later. He guides her carefully through the shadows, around broken glass and string-suspended tin cans. Their target is just ahead -- a body Miles doesn't recognize, their eyes milky with the film of death. Stiff where they're slumped against a cabinet, a broken bottle clutched by rigor mortis stricken fingers, but not yet decomposed. He doesn't know how often they actually clean the trials out. They still have their toaster, and that's all that matters.

He's about to say as much to Lynn when he catches the same sound that alerts her -- the lockjawed mumbling of a prowling ex-pop. Doesn't sound like a Night Hunter, though, which means, "They can't see in the dark," he murmurs, squeezing her hand for reassurance. Miles sounds more confident than he feels, creeping forward with renewed urgency until he's within arms' reach of the failed reagent. "Wait until they pass, then we'll get this guy undressed."

@mslangermann || CONT'D

He doesn't remember stumbling into the back of the bar, doesn't even remember how he got there. What he does remember is running with Pratt, and then being pushed off a balcony by him. Remembers frantically grabbing for staci's wrist, his sleeves anything as he fell, a failed attempt of taking the other man with him finally getting him away from jacob. He had been right fucking there literally within arms reach and yet Emmet had come back empty-handed with nothing but the lingering effects of that damned music box to show for it.

He's already thinking about going back, thinking about his next move, how he could finally get Pratt out of that situation, and then they'd all be one more step from leaving. Leaving and never looking back. He's so lost in thought he doesn't notice Lynn walk up, though beer bottle being set down in front of him catches his attention.

Glancing upwards, The deputy watches her shift her weight before slipping into the booth in front of him, and for a split second, he simply stares at her though he does so without fully seeing, his mind far from the bar he sat in. "...If it were your friends. " He finally begins, hand reaching out to wrap around the offered cold beer bottle, though he doesn't drink from it -- not yet.

"What would you do?"

Fear had riddled itself throughout his body; adrenaline pumping harshly within his veins alongside his blood. There was a tightness in chest from panic as bullets were shot in his direction, somehow managing to get out of Hoyt’s compound—even surprising himself.

Hand pressed firmly against the bullet wound near his shoulder—not taken care of, probably close to getting infected. Why would they take care of it? He was nothing but live stock to these people—to be sold for a profit. It was unbelievable; truly a living nightmare. His breath was ragged as he hid amongst the foliage, sitting between the leaves & overgrowth; catching his breath and wincing from the pain of his old wound. Arms were scraped from branches & the like, but it didn’t matter. He got out of there—it was one step closer to getting out of here completely, he hoped.

Momentarily, Riley closed his eyes, bringing a hand up to wipe blood from his face. He couldn’t hear the voices of the Privateers—but he knew there would be pirates around. He wasn’t sure where his friends were—if they were still alive, or sold off already; or if Jason & Grant were looking for him ( god, he hoped so ). He winced as he applied more pressure to his wound; his movements before causing blood to seep from it. Blood loss would screw him over—he had to find someone who wasn’t a threat before it got infected & he died from it.

Slowly, Riley moved from his position & started to move throughout the jungle, trying to avoid wild life & making it to the road. Leaves shifted from his movements when he saw her—She looked…normal. But maybe he was crazy? ‘God, please don’t be one of these fuckers…’

“Hey—“ He called out to her, though his tone was hushed. He was taking a chance here; & he really hoped that luck was on his side today.

// @mslangermann | Lynn.

@mslangermann said: we can’t stick around here ,  let’s go .

well, a few things had happened, just now. the imposter guy had lunged for his teammate, and then he had hurled a brick at the guy — which had made the guy pissed off — which had made the guy shiv him right in the gut. face-to-face with his own heavy-breathing clone, brent freezes up instantly.

fortunately, not-brent's bloodlust seems temporarily sated, as he watches him jerkily withdraw, suddenly more interested in another sound from the other direction. just as quick as it had began, his doppleganger scurries off into the fog again — and he’s left a bit dumbfounded, hands hovering uselessly over the bloody puncture in his shirt.

it's lynn who pulls him into the shadows behind a nearby carnival game, just before someone else — the gas-mask fucker — turns their head from across the way. brent can hear their vague mutterings, and the shuffle of their boots as they pace by the carousel. he’s still holding his breath, until he’s sure the pusher had wandered off.

❝ … thank you kindly, miss lynn. ❞ he says, in more of a stage-whisper than a proper one. he keeps one hand pressed over the new wound as he crouches, a little too broad for the hiding spot beneath the counter. let's go. ❝ right — sorry, ‘course. ❞ he says, suddenly more hushed when he shuffles after her, and tries his best to be mindful of broken glass.

despite their predicament, he perks up quickly, reassured by her presence. lynn seemed like she knew a hell of a lot more than he did about this place — so he was plenty happy to follow her lead. ❝ i know, i know. i should’ve been more careful. ❞ brent gives an uneasy laugh; ❝... just didn’t think i’d be runnin’ into my evil twin, today. ❞

more random dialogue prompts @mslangermann asked ;; "how about we don’t do that.”

"Oh vamos, gorrión."

He wasn't exactly thrilled himself. The hospital was nearing the bottom of the list when it came to parts of the realm Visconti would avoid. It also had the award for the most disorienting. Floor upon floor of rooms that only vary slightly, making it hard to keep a grasp as to where you were, creating a claustrophobic labyrinth of fluorescent light.

Yet, the building had the highest variety of supplies in the medical category making it valuable, and sometimes the most wanted sat discarded down below, in the basement. The Entity had a track record of misplacing items in its worlds, and if you were lucky—which Ace of course was—you could get your hands on some prime loot.

Langermann hangs back while Ace stands at the top of the descending staircase nonchalantly, but he knows who may come looking if they take too long. They aren't currently in a game of cat and mouse, but that doesn't stop the cat from a good hunt if it presented itself.

"We'll be quick, yeah? Unless you want this to last longer. " His smug, lopsided grin can be heard as he takes a few of the steps downward, "I'm quite good at it if that's your thing."

@mslangermann | Cyberpunk Starter

To survive out in the Badlands was a feat all on its own. To survive what Lynn had gone through and then drag herself out of the mountains into the desert was almost impossible. But to then be lucky enough to be found... well, she should have played the lottery and then enjoyed the rest of her life on some private space station being catered to.

She wasn't on any space ship or private remote island now, though. She was in the dirt and covered by sand at the edge of the desert. And her only luck right now was the leather boot of the young nomad nudging her side, before Enok actually crouched down.

Grabbing her by her shoulders, he turned the woman around, fingers feeling for some pulse at her neck.

"Hey? You hear me? The fuck you doing out here?"

There was nothing around here. Not as far as Enok knew. He had almost run over her, but reckognized the half-buried figure as a human shape stopping his truck, that was leading a splinter group of his nomad clan. Looking around, he couldn't make out any vehicle either. Someone must have dropped her here... at least that was his assumption. Probably some human trafficking gone wrong. 'Lost baggage'.

Calling his friend Bo over, they hauled the woman up on the truck. They could have left here out here, but damn that felt like some cold-blooded corpo shit to do. So. She was simply loaded up in her half-conscious state. A blanket draped over here and a water bottle laid out beside her before the motors howled again. They needed to haul ass away from here, a sandstorm was coming. And despite Enok not knowing how much the woman now buckled into the passengers seat of his truck was hearing, he continued his talk to her. Sooner or later she'd wake up.

"Man, I'm already looking forward to the stories you can tell... you owe me that for saving your ass."

@mslangermann​ from [x]

      A snort accompanied a fond roll of his eyes. “Reid’s always been a toff with a bit of an ego -- but he means well even when he’s driving you mental.” An assessment that would have felt blasphemous all those years ago, but he’d come to trust, even like, the doctor over the decades. That didn’t always negate the way he wore on Geoffrey’s patience after a time.

      Regardless, he didn’t think their presence at the table would be missed terribly. The pair they’d left behind seemed capable of talking each other’s ears off without an audience, and the hunter was content to do things his own way with far less frills. Lynn’s suggestion of an alternate venue proved that they were on the same page about that much at least, though it earned a skeptically raised brow in return.

      “Bold suggestion, could leave a lot of room for disappointment on a first date. You’re lucky my pub standards are lower this side of the Atlantic,” he teased. “Lead the way and I’ll try not to complain too much.”

@mslangermann needs a babysitter (27.for one muse to help the other home while they’re drunk.)

"Yer callin' me for what now?" Severen pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at the name on the display. Yup, it says Lynn. Again he is perplexed by why he had bothered to answer, knew it had been time to replace his burner. Regrettably, Severen held it back up to his ear and listens to her request again, though this time she states it much more snidely and with a remark about his parentage that he think is untoward. With Lira out of town it does make him the only available candidate (if this woman seriously had this great a dearth in friends), so he supposes they are both crushed between this rock and hard place. "Just hold on, be there soon" he grumbles before hanging up, finding himself staring at the now blank screen with puzzlement and irritation. It was to her extreme benefit that he had a car available to him. With a recent interest in motorcycles it was rare for him to keep something with more than two wheels procured. Under the circumstances, weaving through city streets clutching a man you hated was probably not the way Lynn wanted the rest of her night to go. Severen pulled up to the front of the bar, and hopped out of the car leaving it running. Fully intending on making this a quick stop. He hadn't bothered to change out of what he had been lounging in, luxuriating in the pleasant, lethargic afterglow of his night's excursions. He was a fair bit more dressed down than she was used to seeing him. An old t-shirt ( Minnesota State Fair! Food! Rides! Fun for the Whole Family! ) he was clearly not the first owner of, and a pair of dark washed jeans over his boots, he could have been mistaken for any of the other patrons in attendance. That is, except for his acute, predatory glare that swept through the masses. Immediately, he picked Lynn out of the crowd, bee-lining to her, not bothering to apologize to any he shoved out of his way. He finds her in a booth by herself. Severen doesn't spare her any niceties. Pressing his palms into the sticky tabletop he leans forward, head inclined toward her, loose strands of hair falling into his face. "You ready'a go?"

@mslangermann sent : ‘ do you ever think we should stop meeting like this?’ ’ RANDOM DIALOGUE meme | Always Open!

"Look, I know that this is fucking ridiculous and just about the stupidest place to go to, but that's exactly why it works so well. So no, I don't think that we should stop meeting like this" Lance replies in a lowered voice as he keeps looking around the place in question and what, well this, is. A public pool. Broad daylight. Surrounded by a whole fuckton of people in swimwear. Having fun in the pools, splashing about, yelling, having fun, being families and couples and whatever else. It's pretty much everything he hates and judging by her question, it's something she probably hates just as much. But the point still stands.

Sighing in frustration all thanks to all that fucking noise and sunlight, Lance reaches for the cheap sunglasses and puts them on, very careful to keep the towel right where it is. Bunched up in his hand and covering his stomach, to hide how skinny and worn down he still looks, because sure enough, given the ridiculous location he's chosen for another meet up with her, he has to wear some fitting attire as well. Could only afford a cheap pair of swimming trunks, though he sure as fuck would love to go for a whole body wetsuit if he could. Fuck it. A fucking diving suit. One of those metal ones. From the 1800s or whatever. Anything better than what he's actually wearing. So sure enough. He gets the point. Meeting like this is the fucking worst. Sitting by a fucking pool in cheap plastic chairs, looking like tourists. But it is what it is. Inconspicuous in here. A lesser evil. A necessity.

"Look at all those people" he mutters, voice softer as his eyes are transfixed on a young couple with their child by the kids pool. "They come here in pairs or groups. To sunbathe, to chat, to go for a swim together. Barely any loners or strangers who sit around and stare all creepily like the ones we're trying to avoid. And if there is one lonely figure, they're not going to be sitting out here in the boiling sun, they're the sporty types. In the pool. Counting their laps. Like this one over there" Lance goes on and points at a particularly busy guy in the swimmer's lane, whose head is stuck more underwater than above it most of the time, making it obvious that he's not spying on them.

"Plus, they're all in swimwear" Lance states the obvious next, but that's not the point. "Pretty fucking hard for some creepy corporation or cults...or any other fucking weirdos to hide what they've got in store for whoever they might be following." This time, Lance gives her a long, pointed look. "Guns...handcuffs...zipties...ropes...you name it. Wherever you'd be keeping that, not going to be easy to access on your half naked body. And all that splashing water and those screaming kids by the slide." He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "That's gotta be tough to weed through on listening devices or whatever the fuck else." He gives her a tiny smile, confident enough for now to start talking a little more truthfully.

"All that said. Yes. I cannot wait to get the fuck outta here and stop meeting like this one day. That's exactly why I want to keep talking to you though. I have news. A guy contacted me the other day. He went through some shit and thinks it might be connected to the shit I...well, some other stuff that happened. And that got me thinking about you and that maybe his stuff and mine and yours might all be connected some way."

@mslangermann​ asked: ' it’s just a house. ’

hill house starters || accepting

      It’s a copy of a copy, the image of the cabin she’d found and scanned from a book years ago. Distorted through so many lenses -- the camera with which the original photo was taken, the page of the book it had been inked onto, the computerized scan Alice had made, then the sheet of paper on which she’d printed it. There are many reasons why she loves photography, chief among them the way it gives her the opportunity to show her vision to others. She trusts her own eye in a way she’ll never trust another.

      This isn’t the cabin she remembers. It’s a printout of a scan of a print of a photo, a dull echo seen through so many other eyes. It is, in this form, just a house. A lonely little island in the middle of Cauldron Lake before it was swallowed up in the volcano-boiled water.

      “Maybe it used to be. It wasn’t when I... when I saw it. When I was in it.” The cabin on the lake has been carefully clipped from the official story, the one that she’s told the press and every therapist after the first few dutifully reminded her that Bird Leg cabin was destroyed in the 70s. “It wasn’t just a house. It was some... some fucking thing making itself look like a house, just like--”

      She catches herself before she casts a pleading look at Lynn, shaky fingers picking at the edge of a face-down photograph. “Don’t tell me I’m crazy. That’s all I’m asking; for you to look at this and look at me and tell me I’m not crazy.”

@mslangermann continued from [x]

He's confused by the onset of her panic -- when she goes for tissues he assumes it's something to do with the baby, and immediately looks to the small bundle with redoubled uncertainty. The expectation is that he's about to get spit up on or baptized with some other unfortunate bodily fluid. This is where the concept of kids becomes notably less appealing. Too much of a mess.

His posture shifts like he's readying to hand the baby back to Lynn, but then she's pressing the tissue up under his nose instead. Instinct pulls him back a small measure, and when he does he sees the bloom of blood left behind. "Oh shit," he echoes. "Yeah, that's probably wise." Already he's trading child for tissue, slotting her back into her mother's arms so he can deal with his own problem.

When he blinks he sees inkblot shapes that linger on the edges of his vision. He has to tip his head forward slightly so he doesn't swallow blood.

"Alright, maybe take me off the babysitting roster for the immediate future." Not that he would have expected to be trusted with an entire tiny human on his own regardless. He hazards a sidelong glance at Jessica -- already her name in his mind. "We'll work on it. You're gonna need a fun, bad influence uncle y'know."

mslangermann: ✿

𝐏𝐑𝐄-𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 || accepting

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  /  [ 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

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 

@mslangermann