#c: mabel mott

[mathilda-lando]

[vexuviae]

I THOUGHT FOR SO LONG THAT TIME WAS LIKE A LINE, THAT THAT OUR MOMENTS WERE LAID OUT LIKE DOMINOES, AND THAT THEY FELL, ONE INTO ANOTHER AND ON IT WENT, JUST DAYS TIPPING, ONE INTO THE NEXT, INTO THE NEXT, IN A LONG LINE BETWEEN THE BEGINNING AND THE END. BUT I WAS WRONG. IT’S NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL. OUR MOMENTS FALL AROUND US LIKE RAIN. OR SNOW. OR CONFETTI.

[mabel-mott-blog]

High in the halls of the kings who are gone she would dance with her ghosts. The ones she had lost and the ones she had found and the ones who had loved her the most. The ones who'd been gone for so very long she couldn't remember their names. They spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain and she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave. They danced through the day and into the night through the snow that swept through the hall; from winter to summer then winter again 'til the walls did crumble and fall, and she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave and she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave. High in the halls of the kings who are gone she would dance with her ghosts. The ones she had lost and the ones she had found and the ones who had loved her the most.

[macaulay-mott-blog]

MABEL MOTT AESTHETIC:

“We’re always contradicting ourselves. We want people to tell us apart, yet we don’t want them to be able to. We want people to get to know us but we also want them to keep their distance. We’ve always longed for someone to accept us but we never believed there’d be anyone who would accept our twisted ways. That’s why we’ll stay locked up tight...in our own little private world and throw away the key, so no one can ever hurt us.” 

[bram-tolliver-blog]

* ╱ 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑

●︎ when: may 22nd, 2019 ●︎ where: mott manor ●︎ with: @mabel-mott

idle fingers traced against the grain of the infant tree that he just planted in the backyard of the mott manor. those same fingers were stained from the dirt in which he’d been digging in for the past hour. all week the housekeepers moaned about their mott’s need for fresh shrubbery in the east corner of the manor and he was forced to comply with their wishes. abraham spent his time telling them that such events were futile this time of year - but his words fell upon deaf ears. once he was satisfied with his outcome, bram pushed himself up from the ground and gathered his supplies into his arms. in a lazy manner, the demon walked over to the greenhouse and secured his supplies in their proper space. humming under his breath, he never once noticed that the space was occupied by another human being. it wasn’t until he turned and casted his focus towards the front of the greenhouse that he noticed a woman standing there in the corner.

“oh sorry, didn’t know there was anyone else in here…” he spoke in a careful dialect, confused at how he failed to sense her presence upon entry. normally, senses were more adept to pick up on such wavelengths. brown hues studied the woman’s features, curious to understand why she looked so familiar to him. “i’m afraid that i don’t recognize you? are you a relative of the mott’s?”

[byebyeval1]

where: the black manor at lotus night. when: april 22nd, 11:39 PM. status: closed / @mabel-mott​ !!

events surrounding the church have always been a jumbled mess for him to keep an eye on, never truly an entertainment. this year, however, the man was giddy with anticipation. his defenses should’ve been put up in hindsight, considering all the recent murders, but it turned out that dating macaulay was as distracting as it gets because all he could think about was him. how out of a romantic gesture valentino should’ve asked him to be his date, how he should’ve proudly enjoyed their relationship in public and not cared for what the leverages dating vivienne entailed. how he should’ve listened to macaulay months prior, without fretting on what could go wrong. but most of all, he was thinking where the mischievous little bastard was because valentino was already on the understandable level of drunk. it’s been a while since he’d let himself relax like this, since enrolling in saint leviathan, he believes; drinking, relieving himself of stress and tension in various of ways - it wasn’t something he dared to wallow in after how badly it ended for his father.

it’s due to valentino’s whole life story revolved around being stuck between the two realities. with his father, he’s always been on the unrighteous path of night. all that he did pushed his youngest to rise into the person he was now, but his father had long decayed from the inside out from alcohol abuse. now, another reality touches his soul with immense tenderness, crafting valentino into who he strove to become. for no soul should be sentenced to the death that is stagnation in south dakota. to laud and cherish the new connection, he had to strengthen the bonds connecting from macaulay to all those of importance in the lover’s immediate life. one person, who shared the fortunate uncanny resemblance to his lover, has been at the first top of this minimal list: mabel mott.

he done a good amount of mingling with the guests. plump lips now looked dry and pale from so much interactions and drinking. he decides to stray away from the collection of guests, if only for a minute to regroup and part from the winthrop twin. his hues catch the other equally blonde head of mabel and his feet move before he could think. she was wearing white, a stark comparison to the family surname she inherited. “hey, hey, hey,” he stalks over and in his state, a dazed grin crosses his features. "tell me,” he settles a hand on her shoulder without warning, his expression unapologetic about the sudden intrusion. a drunk man attempting to appear intriguing and inviting; and failing. “tell me — ” he repeats as he racks his mind for what he planned to say. "i need you to tell me you’re enjoying yourself. 'cause if not, uh, ” he stammers for a second, laughing a bit nervously, eyes glancing around as he thought of the right things to say; and again, failing. “you’ll just have to drink some more, i suppose.”

[mathilda-lando]

“a striking similitude between the brother and sister now first arrested my attention; divining, perhaps, my thoughts, murmured out some few words from which i learned that they are twins, and that sympathies of a scarcely intelligible nature had always existed between them.”

[vexuviae]

“We’re always contradicting ourselves. We want people to tell us apart, yet we don’t want them to be able to. We want people to get to know us but we also want them to keep their distance. We’ve always longed for someone to accept us but we never believed there’d be anyone who would accept our twisted ways. That’s why we’ll stay locked up tight…in our own little private world and throw away the key, so no one can ever hurt us.”

[vexuviae]

mott manor. its walls provide a sanctuary for the perverse, and by simply walking by one can feel the change of the atmosphere. centuries of envy, greed, pride and rot all accumulating on the grounds, within the rooms and the vast outcroppings of the plantation. recalling sleepless nights and restless days. each one winding down where anger, sadness, grief, and mourning get bottled up and painted upon the walls, tucked within armoires, and slowly but surely the house absorbs every emotion. they become the house; the house becomes them. it is a haven for nastiness and grit. lingering. watching. waiting. decaying.

[mabel-mott-blog]

when: lotus night; april 22nd, 2019 where: black manor with: @macaulay-mott

from a position in the corner of the crowded foyer, emerald eyes survey various faces and their attached bodies massing in a pool of black and white. alone the uniformity looks strange, but together the attire creates a rather interesting hypnosis effect, like a living optical illusion. in her own stark white dress she adds to the ensemble, but one glance to her eldest sister donned in black on the other side of the room tells her she likely made the wrong choice in color. then again, meredith has always had a way with fashion and making any piece of clothing, no matter how old or out of style, look as fresh and new as it did the moment it was walked down a runway in some city much bigger than deadwood.

there has always been a part of her, no matter how small it has become with age, that envies her sisters and their unique and mature appearances. despite only a couple of years separating the three of them, she has always felt one step behind them in growing into her looks. when she was younger she would sit next to meredith at her vanity and learn how to apply mascara, in what order to apply concealer and foundation, and which shade of blush pink fit perfectly with her lip complexion. briefly she regrets the nude color she chose for this evening.

as a tray of champagne passes by she’s forced to pry her eyes from the beauty of her sister and return to scouring the room for any sight of her twin brother. she’s about to give up and spend the evening with meredith when she catches sight of macaulay’s blonde head weaving through the crowd of black and white. in moments she catches up to him with a tug on the sleeve of his white shirt. again she regrets not choosing to wear black. “where have you been hiding all night?” the inquiry falls from her lips like an accusation and she immediately regrets her tone. before he has a chance to answer she takes a different approach. “last time i lost you at a party you were in the bathroom throwing up and this isn���t a good shirt for stains.” she rubs the fabric of his sleeve between thumb and forefinger and offers him a smile.

[mabel-mott-blog]

mrs. speeder

mott manor. its walls provide a sanctuary for the perverse, and by simply walking by one can feel the change of the atmosphere. centuries of envy, greed, pride and rot all accumulating on the grounds, within the rooms and the vast outcroppings of the plantation. recalling sleepless nights and restless days. each one winding down where anger, sadness, grief, and mourning get bottled up and painted upon the walls, tucked within armoires, and slowly but surely the house absorbs every emotion. they become the house; the house becomes them. it is a haven for nastiness and grit. lingering. watching. waiting. decaying.

[mabel-mott-blog]

* ╱ 𝓂𝒶𝒷𝑒𝓁 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝓉

when: may 12, 2019 where: astoria university with: @noospherica​

as a child she sought knowledge in every crevice of mott manor she could find. she begged to be able to attend public schools with her friends when every mott had been homeschooled thus far. her parents conceded after much begging, and mabel found herself in love with academia. she was a curious child; wide-eyed and bright, willing to grasp at any concept placed before her. she wanted nothing more than to learn words, numbers, science, wytchcraft. but that would come later. she had an affinity for words, and found solace in writing and reading long into the night. in any other life, she told her sister once, she would have been an author. she’d pen one of the most notable novels ever written and be seen among the likes of jane austen and mary shelley. she’d set the tone for future generations of readers. but that all changed once her studies of magyck began. she tumbled into learning her craft, and suddenly books were pushed aside on her shelf for vases of flowers and herbs with names no normal individual could pronounce. she still reads, but the dreams of writing went out the window long ago.

the pen hasn’t moved for nearly two hours and she continues to glance at the clock every three minutes in the hopes that time slows down. her mind has not been focused lately and with finals among the students of astoria it is proving more and more difficult to concentrate on anything. once an excellent student with vast dreams for her future, the college-aged mabel now feels lost and unsure of herself. “you’re beyond this,” she hears the voice in her head and attempts to dislodge it with a shake. the dim lighting of the library casts shadows around her, causing her to glance around in for fear of the figure lingering there. “come home, mabel,” it purrs once again and the girl quickly stands, slamming her books shut and gathering her things. it’s getting worse, she tells herself as she sashays down the halls of the university in search of her professor’s office. it’s later in the evening, but surely the woman stays on campus longer to help students with their final essays this time of year? 

mabel comes to a halt in front of the door marked with professor danielewski’s name and knocks once, twice, three times in quick succession, a quiet wish for her professor’s presence dancing on her tongue.

[mabel-mott-blog]

belong in a churchyard

a mabel mott playlist

[mabel-mott-blog]

"Have you ever seen a picture of yourself, taken when you didn’t know you were being photographed, from an angle that you don’t usually see when you look in a mirror, and you think, ‘That’s me… that’s also me.’ Do you know what I’m talking about?"

[mabel-mott-blog]

LOTUS NIGHT ATTIRE

“clad all in white, upon a violet bank i saw thee half reclining; while the moon fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses and on thine own, upturn'd-alas, in sorrow.”

[mabel-mott-blog]

“i actually haven’t seen her since, well, since bram and i met. i started seeing her when i was a kid and then as an adult i saw her some more, but then he came into my life and she went away.”