𝐑𝐎𝐓 / 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍.

𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕.

[swamprisen]

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𝐃𝐑. 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐒 —

†     independent,   private,   selective,   and  18+  southern  gothic  horror  based  oc. †     protected  by  lou.   she/they,   21+,   cst,   disaster  sapphic and  overly  attached  to  mari.   sporadic activity. †     explores  themes  of  religion  and  religious  trauma,   abandonment  of  god,   resurrection,   sovereign  loneliness,   divine  violence,   bodily  horror,   the  price  of  sin,   and  homophobia.

carrd. references. relationships. pinterest.

[spectrophobias]

oh, what a relief it is not to be left floundering, feeling like a fool. mary-beth never managed to shake off interactions like that as well as she should, she thought about them all night and wondered if there was something she had done wrong, some sort of unspoken cue that she had missed. she felt like it was awfully vain, worrying about all of that when in reality, people probably hardly gave her a second thought. she tried her hardest not to do it, but still, it was better to avoid the situation altogether if she could. even now, her mind was wandering to ridiculous places, when nothing bad or awkward has happened at all.

"thank you." she remembers to say after a beat, snapping herself out of that stupid train of thought. just standing there staring feels like one of the worst ways to make sure things don't get weird, so she takes the seat now that it's been offered, letting out a quiet little laugh as she tries to settle. she feels the silliest sort of shy, that strange, self conscious feeling that she gets with other women, not sure if the way mari surveys her is good or bad. it shouldn't matter if mary-beth impresses her any, but god, does she want to.

"i'm mary-beth." she tacks on after another short pause, inwardly cursing at her timing. did she wait too long to speak? does this woman even actually want to talk to her? she's over thinking again, she knows it, digging her nails into her palm to bring her head back down. "thanks again for not making me interact with. all that." she gestures vaguely to the rest of the room, one side of her mouth quirking up a little more than the other as she smiles.

[swamprisen]

THE ANXIETY COMING OFF THE WOMAN is palpable. mari can practically feel it radiating into the space around her. her eyes look back to her — not quite scrutinizing, but studying. inspecting. the tension she holds in her shoulders, her face. as if by instinct, ingrained into her by years of practice, mari's own body relaxes. it's an invitation, if nothing else. she twists, elbow pressing firmly into the bar top with her hand extending out to mary-beth. and that face, once perceived as so tired, so uninviting, turns to warmth as a smile tugs at her lips. ❛ mari.  ❜ shaking and then dropping mary-beth's hand, mari lifts it again with a flourish and a scoff from her mouth, waving dismissively towards the rest of the crowd. ❛ don't worry about it, baby. even i avoid interacting with the saturday crowd.  ❜ the patrons are rowdy, yelling between games of pool as they bump into one another — each trying to find their own escapes for the night. a beat passes, the noise around them filling the silence. mari's gaze doesn't leave mary-beth. she doesn't mean to stare. she never does. but it's a bad habit — her way of trying to piece together the unspoken. ❛ what are you drinking ?  ❜

[spectrophobias]

Mary-Beth really was the type of person who preferred to spend her weekends inside, especially past 8pm or so. Nothing good happened when it was dark out, so she had always heard, and the types of places that were open that late usually had a certain amount of hustle and bustle to them that was so far over her head anyways. She could hardly keep up with people without the alcohol and excitement, a setting like a bar just complicated all of these social nuances even more.

Still, she wasn't a complete hermit or anything. Mary-Beth didn't have to like to particularly party to be sick of staring at the walls of her apartment, especially when her writing wasn't going as well as she wanted it to. It was much too late to go to a coffeeshop about it, and even if a bar was less suited for actually writing, she was hoping it would help reset her brain and let her start fresh in the morning. It could do a lot of good, just sitting and seeing the types of people who passed you by.

When she first gets there though, she hesitates for a fraction of a second, almost thinking about walking right back out. So many people, it's definitely a little intimidating, and the chatter around her makes her brain feel like it's buzzing. She scans the room, eyes stopping when she sees an empty stool next to a blonde woman, who doesn't exactly look nice, she looks tired more than anything else, but she's very pretty, and Mary-Beth thinks that the two can be conflated sometimes. She wills herself to approach, but doesn't immediately take the seat, instead gesturing lightly at it once she catches Mari's gaze, offering her a little smile.

"Are you waiting for anyone? I mean, is it alright if I sit here?"

[swamprisen]

THAT HAND THAT CATCHES just out of the corner of mari's eye. her head turns, meeting with the other woman. for a moment, mari has to process the woman is asking her. because is she waiting for someone ? she doesn't know anymore. one day BLEEDS into the next and her proverbial loneliness has rotted her down to her soul. but in this moment, she sees this woman and the noise around them fades. maybe a conversation is better than drowning her thoughts out alone. with a shake of her head, mari gestures towards the seat and subconsciously, her body shifts to make a bit more room. ❛ no, go ahead and sit. ❜ the words fall from her lips so effortlessly, surprising even herself with how quickly she's agreed to this. and that stool feels warmth once again — it's not so alone and maybe neither is mari. at first glance, this other woman has that SPARKLE in her eyes. and perhaps mari did too, at some point in her life. but this woman has it and it brings with it a warmth. still, she doesn't seem like she belongs in this shitty dive bar. it's mostly middle aged men in leather jackets and their women of the week. shit, does mari even belong here ? swallowing and shifting in her seat once more, mari looks at her. her lips part to speak, but she stops herself. a hand lifts the second the bartender locks eyes with her, her head nodding towards the other woman. silent instructions, understood by the bartender as he just nods his head.

[swamprisen]

@spectrophobias.

SATURDAY NIGHTS AT THE BLACK GATE — lively and loud. Patrons packed onto stools, shoulders brushing shoulders. A stray shoulder nudges into Mari, a man in his late fifties. He apologizes before returning to his conversation. Conversations. Overlapping && rowdy. They flood Mari's ears, drowning the thoughts that swim around in her mind. Pairing it with the whiskey in her glass, it's silence. It's solace. A welcome reprieve after the fucking week she's had. The stool sits empty next to her. Once upon a time, someone would have occupied that stool. There'd be warmth on the leather, worn && frayed. Now it's just empty. Those deep green eyes stare at the emptiness, the hole left behind. For a moment, her chest tightens. The feeling is shaken off, tucked away in some deep place behind her ribs. Lifting her glass, she takes a long drink as her gaze wanders back to watch the hustle of the bodies in the bar.

[swamprisen]

he crucified me for all that i was and all that i was not. pray not over me, for god did not hear my pleas. the gospel did not save me. mourn. mourn all the moments that were stolen. mourn your god who would not grant me those moments and left me to rot.

[fourtwentybuds]

[disgustinggf]

[greelin]

seeing men on their knees awakens something so primal within me. Like it’s borderline pathological

[imnotcursed]

[lifeinpoetry]

here, your name; ghost and god - / a rosary i recite with teeth.

Scherezade Siobhan, from “come palabra,” Father, Husband (via twoclaws)

[cornbelt]

[milkcarton4ngel]

i’ve fucked guys i should’ve shot in the head

[swamprisen]

rip marielle gravois you would have loved being a 90's mom

[swamprisen]

he crucified me for all that i was and all that i was not. pray not over me, for god did not hear my pleas. the gospel did not save me. mourn. mourn all the moments that were stolen. mourn your god who would not grant me those moments and left me to rot.

[sunnysconfusion]

sunbleached flies sitting in the windowsill

[swamprisen]

been working a bit more on the lore surrounding mari's death. and there's a whole thing about how mari has nightmares. at every crucial point in her life, when some decision has been made that essentially alters the direction her life is going to go. and she sees this woman in them. at first she's scared of her, but then grows to realize this woman is her guardian, essentially. shepherding her into the next phase of her life. that was what i thought was happening on the surface, anyway. but i've been digging ! and boy !! this woman is not the savior she makes herself out to be !! it's not her shepherding mari into act two — it's herding. she's been interfering with mari's life. feeding into her fears, feeding into those insecurities. she's been altering the course of mari's destiny. leading her to her death all while playing the gracious savior. acting as if this was a kindness. as if there's ANYTHING kind about what she does to mari. being able to rest, to sleep eternal, would have been kinder. but she's forcing mari to stay alive — in a loose sense of the word. she's forced mari to be a weapon for her. and i've been building this whole world around her. she's an ancient being, older than anyone could begin to understand. an original god. and she's not alone. i've been referring to her as phonos — which in greek mythology, phonoi are the collective personification of murder. because that's essentially what mari becomes — the personification of murder. anyway. it's all stuff i'm playing with. because i wanted to really dive more into those aspects, despite the fact i'll probably never mention it in the book itself.

[fleshofchrist]

i’m going to regret this forever