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mothersmalice-a · 8 months

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ARCHIVED. MOVED TO @mothersmalice.

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mothersmalice-a · 8 months

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ARCHIVED. MOVED TO @mothersmalice.

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mothersmalice-a · 8 months

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ARCHIVED. MOVED TO @mothersmalice.

#› rubi . ‹ ooc .

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mothersmalice-a · 9 months

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debating on archiving here and starting fresh so i don't have to worry about the inconsistent layout of this blog / how much my hcs / portrayal for her has changed mentally / etc. ive been so spotty / inconsistent abt things because of a lot of things in my personal life have burned through the past few months. focusing some of my time into other muses helped because of burnout, but marisa is still one of my biggest comfort muses and not being able to focus on portraying her here v much sucks, so i think getting a consistent theme going and draft detox while carrying over a few asks / starters might help rebuild that.

#› rubi . ‹ ooc .#i want to be here so badly but honestly since the s.uspension it killed being on here in particular

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mothersmalice-a · 9 months

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logging back in here ... ( the oppenheimer soundtrack has its teeth in my throat )

#› rubi . ‹ ooc .#yes i did just see oppenheimer. yes i enjoyed it a lot.#apart from being appropriately horrified at everything ofc.#please give me a nolan-esque hdm adaptation but it focuses on the first book could you imagine bolvangar ...#biopic - style film abt marisa coulter ... do u guys see the vision

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mothersmalice-a · 9 months

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HIS DARK MATERIALS — 1.08 "Betrayal"

#› visuals . ‹ self .#› relationships . ‹ asriel belacqua .#› rubi . ‹ queue .

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mothersmalice-a · 9 months

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promise i haven't forgotten about here! i'll be queueing some things over on @afuckinglion today, then hopefully working on properly being here over the weekend.

#› rubi . ‹ out of character .#marisa and rebecca constantly fight for top spot in my brain until i give up and go to bed its a curse #i think focusing on becca for a while has been good though #helps get rid of burnout on drafts

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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Lord Asriel and Marisa Coulter fell in love in the 80′s || [ listen here ]

Based off of this post I made a while back:

The Amber Spyglass was published in 2000. Now, if we’re to assume that Will’s Oxford is current day Oxford, aka 2000, then Lyra’s world would be the same. Marisa Coulter is 35 in the Amber Spyglass. Which means she was born 1965. Which means she grew up in the 70′s. And fell in love with Lord Asriel roughly in the 80′s

And we all slept on this fact for how long???

#personal jesus being on here before eurythmics ... your mind is absolutely huge abt them i love it #into the masriel folder it goes 🫶#› marisa . ‹ playlists .

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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how long before you tell the truth ?

#newhey everyone say ty dani for indirectly reminding me to post this #› marisa . ‹ playlists .

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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what would asriel belacqua's favourite band be and why is it muse.

#i think abt this more than i should but there are too many jokes to make abt it not to #› rubi . ‹ out of character .

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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it'd been unfortunate, that lyra held inheritance toward the curse of her father’s stubborn brow, and that the gentle structure of her face— even as an infant, hadn’t fallen into edward coulter’s court. instead, she held a beautiful sort of stalemate between her mother’s gentle beauty and her father’s temperamental passion. so away she’d been taken into the hands of sisters and maids, fed the story from her now — claimed uncle that her father had perished under tragic circumstances, her mother soon after.

and they had been kind to lyra, loved her with open arms and nurtured her as best they could. until mrs. coulter had come along in a better state, with the promise of grandeur and excitement, and lyra found that a newfound hand of grace made itself known in her life, offering hope and an opportunity to nurture her potential.

“ i could only aspire to be so fortunate, though i’m afraid she isn’t mine, ” there was no care for a bastard child in her heart, or so the sentiment she has forged in prior years would claim. she would commend the poison behind an otherwise sweetened tongue, a better battle than the promise of certain company. still her eyes remain kind, vibrant to conceal whatever rhetorical, destructive hindrance lyra holds in their discussion. “ lord asriel feared for her education through his absence, i’ve agreed to house her under my care. she’s been a marvel. ”

@mothersmalice

Something peculiar about this pair, isn’t there? A funny standoffishness between the two, even as their faces look at her in parallel, like two blossoms from the same flower. Margarethe had had no idea whatsoever that Mrs. Coulter had a child, but it’s all quite undeniable; she waits until the impish little creature has gone skipping off to wherever children go before she says, voice silky, “You did not say your daughter was so beautiful.”

#shes lying through her teeth but ykw shes having fun #mxdam #› verse . ‹ serenity and serpent tongues .

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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“ one sugar is plenty, thank you. ” a polite exchange, amused by the nature of the gesture though she isn’t entirely inclined to reveal her sweet tooth. the monkey scales the safety of the basket into her arms, peering curiously over the sea of sky when she joins him.

their silence is comfortable, contemplative via the gentle crease in her brow when she asks ; “ how did you come to fly ? ”

" HOW D'YA TAKE YOUR COFFEE? " he asks as if he has options, " i got sugar and...well, jus' sugar. "

@mothersmalice

#aercnaut

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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i dont know whether i want to live in her flat or just study the ins and outs of it like a display kitchen

#top ten houses id be too scared to get dirt on anything in number one:#› rubi . ‹ out of character .

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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“We unlearn. I am a shore rocking you off. You break from me. I choose your only way, my small inheritor and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose.”

— from “Unknown Girl in the Maternity Ward” by Anne Sexton, out of her first book of poems, To Bedlam and Part Way Back (1960)

#nobody touch me the entirety of the poem just ruined me #› relationships . ‹ lyra silvertongue .#› isms . ‹ prose .

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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all grown up now, are you ?

“ of course i invited you, darling. you're family. ” there was a warning in that. in the insinuation that family meant keeping up appearances, and that their father hadn't been invited because, frankly, if marisa saw him they didn't know what she would do. there was the insinuation that it was an obligation, and that had she her way marisol wouldn't be there at all. but insinuations were only exactly that, and marisa had other reasons to see she was invited.

she was curious── for if she'd recovered from her little outburst, and for if her time away had taught her to steel herself in future. she wanted to see where she'd gotten so far, what new denmark had done for her, if she'd grown up as much as her letters would suggest. and she assumes that she has, in one way or another. the air of newfound pride she carried in herself practically lifted from the page. a different voice, one she concluded to be the same used in her studies, beautifully rehearsed if so. maman would almost be impressed.

“ you'll have to tell me all about it. eddie's been terribly curious about if new denmark would be worth a trip over to. i suspect he might be in your ear for a recommendation. ” her hand passes to gently squeeze marisol's forearm, and it was one of those funny little things; the smile of a well kept secret only ever shared between two, or an inside joke the likes of schoolgirls might share in hallways.

the golden monkey remains, astute despite the obscurity of his placid demeanour. whatever might occur, she would give marisol her dues── at least she wasn't bored.

mothersmalice:

the morning had been dreadfully slow, despite the numerous pressures exchanged between house staff and guests alike. formalities wove themselves through the hours, between the makeup, and the hair, and the insistence of this and that. and of course he had his say here and there, but Edward Coulter was a man with an admiration for matrimony as a concept and none towards the practice. the planning had consumed the entirety of Marisa’s attention in the up and coming weeks, meticulous planning towards the flowers that would be on display, to what the expected dress code would be, to the rings, and the dress, and- oh, yes. the guestlist.

she revels in the control of it all. the initial hearsay of their up and coming espousal, the justification toward the need for everything to be perfect, and the war it causes in more brittle moments throughout their engagement. it doesn’t present itself very often, the opportunity to test him, but there had been such a joy for her in it when it had. she exercises the boundaries of the ideas involved in marriage, provokes this way and that for a response, studies him. some nights, the golden monkey sifts through his papers, on the evenings they spend together on the patio. on others he is found curled up, a suppressed tension he and Marisa both understand is a consequence of matrimony.

but how she shines today, the crowning jewel among their crowd of guests, shown off and adored by her husband, half-ignorant to her intent. Mrs. Marisa Coulter. a newly wed young woman of remarkable beauty and intelligence, donned in the finest dress accented in gold, the golden monkey’s fur practically radiant in tow near her shoulder. she emits a gentle, pure grace, and they exchange a unity throughout the morning you could claim to be the most outstanding fabrications of closeness they have ever given.

“Marisol,” she appears as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, a softness in how her lips upturn in a sweetened gesture, her arms out-turned. there’s an art to the insincerity she conveys, question after question lined upon her tongue to be put forward, her gaze wandering in time to spot the finer details. her hand lifts to Marisol’s shoulder once she has excused herself from past company, a greeting kiss exchanged past each cheek in falsehood as she trades her glass to a caterer. “oh, darling we were afraid you weren’t going to make it.”

it’s a half truth. there had been conversation over exchanged glasses throughout the beginning of the reception, the odd loosened tongue half-enquiring about Marisol’s whereabouts during the ceremony, pondering among themselves in idle chatter over the quickly filled space near the front of the church.

her daemon peers from behind her once she has embraced her sister, his tail swaying in a slow rhythm as he clambers forth, a brief murmur before his counterpart continues. “you look marvellous.”

Marisol knew that her sister was never overly physically affectionate. The hug was nice, although she couldn’t help but wonder how genuine it was. Part of her hoped it was genuine, despite everything. Still, it only lasted a moment before they began speaking again.

“Thank you, so do you!” she beamed in response. “I’m very sorry I’m late, my zeppelin arrived late and it just threw everything off.”

Her daemon looked at the other monkey, and then back up at Marisol, as asking for permission. They both missed the other pair, but that didn’t mean things were easy between she and Marisa. So it was permission she didn’t give.

“It’s so good to see you again. You know, I’ve grown up a lot since we were last together.” It was probably reflected in letters, but nothing like in-person. After all, one of Marisol’s last conversations with Marisa when she was fifteen consisted of a heated argument that ended with her throwing water in Marisa’s face and blaming her for having to go to New Denmark in the first place. A reasoning Marisol never explained, because she knew her older sister probably wouldn’t understand. At least their very last conversation at the train station was more amicable. “I’m grateful you invited me, truly. It means a lot.”

#› verse . ‹ folie á deux .#formatting took a dip because of the beta editor but we'll roll w it #viciousgold

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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the biggest defamation to marisa's character wasn't season 3 changes or the change in some of her biggest plot points it was the idea she scolds lyra on how she presents and carries herself only to sit like this

babygirl get your leg down i know you n marcel drove your mother insane with that shit as a teenager

#this is a joke i promise i love that she sits like the monkey when shes comfortable in the morning #i just also think her mother would have collapsed on the spot if she caught her or marcel doing it #i will also write Soon i promise im slowly clawing my way back in there #› rubi . ‹ out of character .

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mothersmalice-a · 10 months

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# MOTHERSMALICE ──── an independent, private and selective single muse roleplaying blog featuring mrs. marisa coulter from philip pullman's his dark materials. written with love by rubivana. twenty, she/her, gmt. est 2022. also found on @afuckinglion ﹠ @drstcrture.

19. 08. 23 ─ BLOG CURRENTLY BEING MOVED.

#› rubi . ‹ pinned .

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