#bonesmade

❝ Though my memories are faded they come back to haunt me once again ❞

send 🖼️ and I’ll make a moodboard of our muses’ relationship.

send a 👫 and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship.

mary was one of the first to accept gia's whole """deal""" and she's one of the only ones who never questions the puppet. she's not saying she gets it, but there are worse schticks in gotham

without fail when they see each other she will have some little trinket for lucia. obvs there's a part of her that thinks it's just good business practice, keeping whatever business arrangements they have going running smoothly, but there's another (unacknowledged, NOBODY ask about it) that sees a little blonde proxy daughter w a scary mother and is like 'yes. i see the vision. i don't want to discuss why this makes me feel faintly sick and dizzy sometimes'

I like your little note in your bio re gia wanted to be an actress when she was younger and having this privileged upbringing and I think it would be v cool if they had crossed paths a veryyyyy long time ago. in waiting rooms for auditions, etc, mary and her mother sitting opposite a girl a few years older and sensing some vague kind of kindred spirit there

tokyo godfathers sentence starters | no longer accepting.

Mary shifted, standing on tiptoe to see out the rear window and catch the disappearing marquee. Rainbow lights blinking rapid fire. Neon letters. A sign in the window reading OPENING SOON.

"You don't think it's anybody we know?"

She wrinkled her nose, slumped back down in her seat; for a half beat she glanced around in the dark backseat to try and find the discarded nail file she'd tossed aside in her haste to gawk, but she quickly gave up. The lights were coming in sequence now, not constant as they had been on the main strip, but flashing past in solid squares of colour through the window as the car made its way further away from downtown.

small things like these sentence starters | still accepting.

Slumped on the floor of the front hall, Mary hunches over her bent knee in an effort to unbuckle her shoes; the checkerboard tile seems to tilt and shift under her gaze, its whites gone a pale blue in the pre-dawn glow creeping in from the living room windows.

They aren't making a quiet arrival, all earrings and heels and bags and fabric. Somewhere down the hall, Mary hears the sound of someone — Miriam? or another faceless, nameless hanger-on — running water, opening kitchen cupboards. She reaches up to Gia but from the floor can only brush the soles of Lucia's wooden feet.

cuckoo sentence starters | still accepting.

The air is crisp, a mid-morning chill that stings at the ears and the eyes in fleeting jabs. Mary, swiping loose strands of hair from her face, settles against GIa's shoulder and peers past her, gaze running the long stretch of dockyard.

"You didn't like any of them last night?" she asks idly.

As if the human ocean beneath their feet the night before — the pair of them up on the overhanging balcony, the crowd below, the two boxers in the ring spitting blood and stumbling — had been only a mundane event.

The Americans