Lost Soul

𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚎'𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗 // 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚜𝚒𝚗

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unofficialhistcrian, (est. 2019, revived 2020.) independent / semi-priv. / semi-sel. mary wardwell (of chilling adventures of sabrina). based on the television series and comics of the same name. multi — fandom / verse / muse — friendly! penned by tamsin / 21 / est. ( follows from @constcllations00 ).

carrd (rules, bio, etc.)

other blogs: @constcllations (multimuse)

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Blog archived, I've moved Mary to @unofficialhistcrian now!!

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Last moving day, I promise — I'll be moving soon to a new blog (a main for this) so I have a lot of starters in a separate document right now. Thanks for the patience.

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Hey all -- ! Quick question: How would folks feel about me moving this blog to its own ✨ main ✨ blog, instead of being a sideblog? Would folks be alright with a second migration? 

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Current Queue (pls let me know if I missed you!)

Replies

@auntiezelda

@belladonnicxhaze

@darkerdeariegold

@humilemvatis

@magaprima

Starters

@portraitkept

@spellcasted

@trvehearted

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i owe people things, so i'm going to post my current (to be done) queue in a bit. if I miss you, please let me know!

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humilemvatis​:

Jaskier gave a soft hum at her reply, shaking his head. “You can’t wait for signs. In my experience, and I’ve had a fair few experiences, signs typically don’t come.” There was no higher power he knew of that went around tossing out signs. The universe didn’t send them, either. You had to make your own. “Is that the only thing stopping you? Waiting for a sign?”

          “The only thin--? No. No, not the only thing. Fear. Doubt. Those -- those stop me, too.” She bites her bottom lip. “I always think that ‘ maybe tomorrow things will be different ’ and that I’ll do something spontaneous, or change my life. Go to the city. Finally say yes to a wedding date. But change is frightening. Especiallly for someone like me -- so set in their ways and routine.”

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lumenari​:

   ❛ you can’t go to heaven. no human soul has ever entered heaven. it’s a myth. ❜ mismatched eyes looked mary in the eye, resting her elbows on the table between them and folding her hands together. ❛ one of the popes made that up, I forgot which one, if I’m honest with you. modified the bible and everything. if it weren’t for me, human souls would wither on earth, unseen and unheard by the living, until they’d just disappear when their energy runs low. my system might not be perfect in the eyes of some, but it gives you a chance. which, granted, I can’t disclose to you. humanity isn’t supposed to know the inner workings of these things. I’ve said about what I can say. ❜

   humanity was always obsessed with knowing what was next. and honestly, she didn’t really think she could blame them, either. the concept of death was something that surrounded lucifer  —  but it wasn’t something she was meant to experience. she is immortal. she is, and always will be, a part of this universe.

   ❛ you do get a choice, but the choice is between roaming the earth, as I mentioned before, or you go to Hel, with everyone else. ❜

            “A myth?” The admission rang more harrowing than church bells. So, what she’d been told all her life was, indeed, a lie. Those mismatched eyes were haunting, and Mary found herself both fascinated and unable to look away. “A myth,” she murmurs again, the words numb in disbelief. If it were not for Lucifer, then --... “No, no, I wouldn’t ask you to disclose to me --... no. But I’ll thank you for what you have told me. It’s strange to feel some sort of comfort in your words, I think. That everything I was taught to fear was, in some part, false. But also that those false ideas was where my doubt and fear lived ... ”

             Mary looks a bit shaken, but not as much as earlier. Not as she’d come into this conversation with doubt in her features. She felt at ease with the truths she was given, even if she was not at ease with herself. “Thank you,” she says, carefully. “I suppose I should do as you’ve said. I should live my life. But -- if I might impose again with another question... how are you here? On Earth... It’s likely just another myth we’ve created, but I was taught that the... the devil... was banished from Earth. Where did that myth come from?”

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auntiezelda​:

             Her breath caught at the sound of the voice behind her, and she was surprised to see Mary Wardwell of all people and looking so… inviting and kind. Her lips part and eyes widen slightly at the little revelation and quick recovery of the woman’s supposed adoration. “I.. Yes, thank you,” she replied, taking a piece of the offered chocolate. “And.. and thank you for saying so. That’s very kind of you, even if it likely isn’t true. No, they love her now,” she said, straightening her shoulders back. “And that’s fine. I understand. She’s lovely, and who doesn’t love a blonde, right? Some stunt.”

               Even though Mary is glad that Zelda’s taken the chocolate, it’s a bit sad that she thinks so poorly of herself. Or has let the press bring down her spirits. To Mary, Zelda looked like what a star should look like. With spun copper hair and brushed out curls, with green eyes that film doesn’t even do justice. Mary thought Zelda was beautiful. So the question of who doesn’t love a blonde? Well, Mary had no issue -- specifically -- with Zelda’s stunt replacement, but wasn’t Zelda. “Are you free for the rest of lunch?” Mary asks, suddenly. It’s not quite abrupt, but it’s certainly out of -- impulse. “I don’t know about you, but these stage lights can be a bit hot. We could walk around the lot outside, if you’d like? I could even steal us a golf cart to craft services if you want something a bit more than a tuna sandwich for lunch?”

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@humilemvatis​ || continued from here!

          A nervous laugh. Nervous because he’s asking a fair, good question. And nervous because he’s asking a question that Mary herself doesn’t quite know the answer to. She sips at her tea, waiting for a response to come to her. Which... was the issue, wasn’t it? That she was constantly waiting? “I suppose,” she begins, her gaze cast to the side for a moment, “a sign?”

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not me trying to figure out another michelle character to be her script supervisor fc -- probably miranda croft, ngl;; @auntiezelda

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starter here | for @auntiezelda

“You really shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Miss Spellman,” comes something of a softer voice from behind. It’s those water-blue eyes again, trying to be friendly. And cheerful. And professional, still. Because Mary Wardwell should be both — professional and friendly. Especially when talking to Zelda Spellman. She’s holding out a bowl of chocolates, something she’d kept in her office for moments like this. Encouragement. “Everyone still loves you, I promise. The higher-ups probably just wanted to try some sort of — erm — stunt casting. They do that on long-running shows, you know. I mean — of course, you know. You’re a professional. But all this to say, the people still love you. I mean, I certainly do — professionally! I— ... would you care for a chocolate?”

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Oh, oh no. Wait. I just realized I’m putting all my effort into the wrong AU. Where’s Script Supervisor Mary Wardwell and her half-built house, I — !!

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To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how to work Mary into certain plots/with certain muses, but if you have ideas.. pls let me know. I really want to RP but have no idea what do with this past season... I—

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Okay, this is so much more wholesome than the convoluted rabbit-hole I was about to reinvent. Maybe this is the answer...

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To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how to work Mary into certain plots/with certain muses, but if you have ideas.. pls let me know. I really want to RP but have no idea what do with this past season... I—

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Wasn’t expecting my Mary muse to return out of #spite, but here @spellcasted and I are. Resurrecting her. Out of spite.

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just so we understand each other... p4 mary? i don’t know her.