"But it's not really real, is it?"
independent mary dahl / baby doll from btas. penned by bri (they/them). est. 2013.
@babydxhl / babydxhl.tumblr.com
"But it's not really real, is it?"
independent mary dahl / baby doll from btas. penned by bri (they/them). est. 2013.
dialogue prompts from my murder: a novel by katie williams.
ohisms:
𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 & 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 (a series of nonverbal prompts . mature themes present , ‘ my ’ muse belongs to the one who posted the meme - send “ + REVERSE ” to reverse the prompts .)
→ 𝐈 . GENERAL
❛ hush . raise a finger in a gesture to silence my muse . ❛ sit . gesture for my muse to sit down . ❛ door . hold a door open for my muse . ❛ tap . tap my muse on the shoulder to garner their attention . ❛ hunger . give my muse something to eat / drink . ❛ cook . present my muse with home - cooked food . ❛ brush . work a brush / comb through my muse’s hair . ❛ read . silently read a book alongside my muse . ❛ hand . hold out a hand for my muse to take . ❛ dressed . help my muse put on an article of clothing . ❛ note . give my muse a note saying : [ content ] . ❛ amplify . turn up the music in the car .
→ 𝐈𝐈 . ANGST
❛ patch . help my muse patch up a wound . ❛ night terrors . hold my muse after they wake up from a nightmare . ❛ company . silently sit with my muse to comfort them. ❛ hospital . my muse is told that yours is in the hospital . ❛ revelation . show my muse evidence of a lie they told . ❛ indulge . find my muse drinking to cope . ❛ downfall . find my muse collapsed on the ground . ❛ console . comfort my muse as they cry . ❛ nurse . give my muse company in the hospital .
→ 𝐈𝐈 . AFFECTIONATE
❛ wink . wink at my muse . ❛ wrap . wrap an arm around my muse’s [ shoulders / waist ] . ❛ caress . gently caress my muse’s face . ❛ tousle . mess playfully with my muse’s hair . ❛ chest . place your head on my muse’s chest . ❛ comb . comb fingers through my muse’s hair . ❛ grasp . run to my muse & jump into their arms . ❛ lean . lean on my muse’s shoulder . ❛ tender . kiss my muse on the [ forehead / cheek / nose ] . ❛ abrupt . kiss my muse out of the blue . ❛ chaste . chastely kiss my muse . ❛ good morning . kiss my muse the morning after . ❛ volumes . gaze at my muse in a way that silently says ‘i love you’ .
→ 𝐈𝐈𝐈 . VIOLENT
❛ strike . [ slap / punch ] my muse in the face . ❛ gun . wield a gun at my muse . ❛ twist . twist my muse’s arm behind their back . ❛ throttle . aggressively wrap your hands around my muse’s throat . ❛ parch . burn my muse with a hot object . ❛ take down . forcefully bring my muse to the ground . ❛ gouge . wield a sharp object at my muse . ❛ shunt . shove my muse backwards . ❛ stickup . yell at my muse to put their hands in the air. ❛ shoot . [ fatally / non-fatally ] shoot my muse . ❛ stab . stab my muse with a [ knife / other object ].
good a place as any to dump a body
the west wing sentence starters | still accepting.
The crunch of footfalls on snow and gravel. The creaking of the car as weight lifted up and out of the trunk. The muffled sound of human exertion.
Mary fixed her gaze forward through the gap between front passenger seats and out into the night, along the twin beams of the car headlights, to the almost indeterminable point where they converged to nothingness in the dark. Her expression was stoic, spine straight — a little porcelain doll in the back seat. The cold pressed in on the windows even as the heater thrummed.
"The mob uses this spot too," she said, voice quiet, carefully neutral. It had been a long and tense night. She didn't have the energy to spark the conversation up into a full blown fight. Not yet. The two men who had been hunched over the trunk made their way around the side of the car, labouring into the headlight beam towards the treeline. The light turned them, briefly, white as ghosts; a watery stain had seeped through the fabric of the bundle piled between their arms.
"People watch it. We should have gone somewhere else."
you owe me half-a-million dollars and a drink
the west wing sentence starters | still accepting.
"For a friend like you?" Mary wrinkled her nose, shoved her sunglasses up onto her forehead — a casual but rough gesture, lazing one foot up and one foot down on the long precinct steps, squinting past Oswald at the downtown traffic. "I got a twenty and some leftover Xanax in my purse."
She had been hauled in at just after 1am; the mid-morning sun, weak and smog-filtered though it was, made a too familiar ache start up between her eyes. An overzealous cop, a snide comment (on her part) and a "parole violation" that wouldn't have been enough to hold against a mouthful of spit, let alone in court. But she was tired, and annoyed, and buzzing with frustration that the exact person she hadn't wanted to call had ended up being the one to post bail.
A pause. Another pause. A car horn sounded. "God, you're smug, anybody ever tell you that?"
anyway. thoughts and thinking
KIERNAN SHIPKA and JANUARY JONES in MAD MEN (2007-2015)
been caught up w work, but hit the ❤️ for me to go through your meme tag and spam a lil bit
"It usually takes people the better part of an hour to hate me and everything I stand for." @twcfaces :)
west wing sentence starters | still accepting.
"Depends which part of the hour you think is better." Mary's reply came a little distracted, a little dismissive, but she grinned in spite of it, swiping her hair out of her eyes with the tips of her fingers. A rough, messy gesture.
The door to the kitchen cast a solid square of white light across the hall floor and encroached just that slightest fraction onto the living room floorboards. The sound of dishes clinking, running water, cupboards opening and closing trailed through as if it was riding the electromagnetic.
"If it helps you sleep at night, I don't pay them to like anybody but me." She was sitting on one of the couches, looking up at Harvey with an amused but shrewd expression; after a beat she gestured at the empty seat on the other side of the coffee table. "He's mad I said he couldn't put a bullet through the nicer half of your face."
As if only to be contrarian — she tapped her own cheek, the same side that, on Harvey, was gnarled scar tissue.
"But I figure, you come all the way uptown to talk to me, it must be important enough to hear you out." A little grin. "You've got the worse half of the hour left."
SHIRLEY TEMPLE, ADOLPHE MENJOU and DOROTHY DELL in LITTLE MISS MARKER (1934) dir. alexander hall
give me mary lowkey a bit obsessed learning what other people DID all day when they were kids bc like. she was booked and BUSY even she doesn't know how old she was when she did her first photo shoot for like cereal or oven mitts or children's shampoo
The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson
we don't talk enough about how much I love mary dahl and that's a fact
my, but we’re grouchy, aren’t we?
the whole animal sentence starters | still accepting.
Mary smiles — a tense and political thing, the sense of someone stepping around broken glass, all raised eyebrows and bared teeth. She runs a hand through her hair and pulls one-two-three times at a little silver chain around her neck, yanking the clasp back to the nape.
"Is grouchy the right word?" Her voice has the same airy, near-laughing affectations her mother's had once had. The type of breathy cheer that says: Do your worst, fuck you. "Is that what you call it when someone fucks you over?"
The call had come in late the night before — a last-minute tip off and a federal raid down by the docks. Two of her boys shot. Three others in a cell downtown being offered plea deals, Miriam and the lawyer reminding them of their loyalties down the phone lines.
Mary settles the corner of her thumbnail into the centre of her bottom lip. Thinking of all those guns gone now. All that money. All the simpering and grovelling needed to stop scared men from taking the deal and sending her up river.
"Ain't I got a right to be grouchy, anyway?"