P R E C O C I O U S (under co.)

independent, selective, & private MODESTY BAREBONE 

[flyingonaswitch-blog]

um yes hi if any of y’all are still following me and are interested in writing again, i’m MOVING MODESTY TO MY MULTIMUSE !!  

[fantasticindies]

if you are an indie fantastic beasts rp blog, please REBLOG this post to be added to our masterlist !! canons, ocs, and multimuses are welcome !! will be updated daily. 

[gentlyabusedsuggestion-blog]

it’s not fair. you took away my life before i had a chance to live it. 

[flyingonaswitch-blog]

                          “ MY MAMA, YOUR MAMA - - GONNA CATCH A WITCH                            MY MAMA, YOUR MAMA - - FLYIN’ ON A SWITCH “

                             (independent, selective & private MODESTY BAREBONE,  - - -                                                                                                                                   penned by PIPPA)

[hiroshimem]

There was something wrong with her. She did not know what it was but there was something wrong with her. A hunger, a restlessness. An incomplete knowledge of herself. The sense of something farther away, beyond her reach.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Americanah, p. 292  (via a-witches-brew)

[flyingonaswitch-blog]

KIND STRANGER

miss. caelestis isn’t called MISS often. girl, seer, even ‘hey, you!’ are used far more often. perhaps its the way she carries herself ; frame small, the way she huddles herself in a TOO-BIG COAT, scurries across the streets, almost getting hit by cabs this way & that. her dark skin, hair so untamable, are STRANGE here, apparently.

shaking her head, caelestis gives a small smile. children are so precious. she still remembers her sisters, remembers standing JUST THE SAME, looking down at puella & laughing with her, flowers spilling from their hands & dreams of future from their lips.

❛   no, no, it’s quite fine.  ❜  caelestis soothes, expression gentle. her fingers play with the edges of her bright scarves, a little nervous, fidgety.  ❛   i was just wondering, why are you out here all alone? you’re so young, aren’t you worried? it’s getting so cold out, too.  ❜  if she needs to, caelestis will offer to catch the pamphlets with the other, just to HELP her, but something tells the young seer that everything isn’t so simple—— it usually isn’t.

empty fingers, toes in tight-fastened shoes quite still, not chasing down pamphlets blown on wind. KIND strangers are rarity, more often they pass by, modesty quite unseen or else IGNORED, a little scrap of a child on street corners, papers in her hands, braided hair, drawn little face. (and THIS stranger? oh, she’s interesting! coat too big, her scarves so bright! like someone from a dream - - or from the fairy-tales like half-remembered melodies, repeated to her from real-mother’s memory, whispered in her ear to lull to sleep.) 

wide eyes look up, solemn little face held still. “it’s not so cold, miss. and i’m out here ALL the time, so i’m not worried. i have to hand out my pamphlets, you see.” or, well - - she’s SUPPOSED to. a( pause, and then the rest half-rushed, added as in afterthought, just-in-case) “so that the world can know the evil lurking in the shadows - - the evil of witchcraft, which is a sin.” 

[apollinaresart]

Credence and Modesty, because their relationship is underrated. Siblings stick together.

[betarat]

Visit Original Link

[idiona]

[flyingonaswitch-blog]

obscuruus:

          Credence did not understand the state of his own being; fragmented yet still conscious. It was unholy, that much he knew - that he should continue to exist after what certainly should have been his end. 

     While what remained of the obscurus desired to wreak havoc, the pieces of him that were still Credence desired only to shadow his remaining family member, gently nudging the witch’s aura in an attempt to communicate that he was still there. Occasionally, he caught her gazing into space, and he preferred to imagine that she was aware of him…however briefly. 

           Whenever he had tried to piece himself together into a corporeal form, it wracked him with intense pain- the obscurus fighting against him, he had thought. But it would not be the first time he had withstood immense pain for Modesty; he had taken beatings from their mother on her accord, taking blame without a second thought - and never once holding it against his sister. He loved her then, and he still did, even with a broken shell of a heart.

      In the temporary lull of autumn air and peace in the garden, Credence decided to try once more. To simply talk (perhaps apologize for how horrendous he had been) rather than feeling as if he were a ghost and leaving words unspoken.

           “Modesty.” It was spoken in a quiet murmur - nearly monotone and through clenched teeth, not of anger, but repressing the urge to SCREAM due to the pain. Jagged lines marked his skin -reminiscent of the corpses left in the obscurus’ wake- and yet he managed a smile, weak and frail as it may have been.

were it but her name, how easy it would be! call it all a dream, a passing wish, her name upon a mountain breeze! (it happened sometimes, so they said, to the no-maj hikers in particular, how they’d think they heard a voice, a name, find NOTHING there but wind) but this?? eyes wide, herbs drop from soft, pale-fingered hands, fall forgotten. 

        (they told me you were dead!! (she thinks) if i had known!!) 

                         “ - - - credence?” 

a sob held tight within her throat & tears that well up in her eyes - - it’s him, she KNOWS it’s him, it FEELS like him! hesitant her feet move forward, hesitant all hesitance. “they said that you...”

small hand reaches once arms can stretch to touch him, slow - - so slowly, oh so slowly, fingers trembling, not HIM she fears but LOSS of him, fears touch will SHATTER this, will SCATTER this, even if it is some mirage it is a sweet one. 

        “but you came back.”  

she loved him - - oh, she did! she always had, the ONE GOOD THING about that chapel, her GUARDIAN, her brother!! (tears slip now, track down her face, WITCHES NEVER CRY - - yet here she is). “but you’re hurting...aren’t you? i can SEE it on your face - -- how can i help you?” 

[flyingonaswitch-blog]

random headcanons no-one has asked for: 

- - modesty BITES HER NAILS, it’s one of the only outward expressions of anxiety she allows, usually ONLY on her thumbs (they’re easier to tuck away, to hide from mary-lou) and will chew at the cuticles when especially nervous

- - she sings her hopscotch chant more for her benefit than any else, because the rhythm of it calms her (calms the magic bubbling up inside her)

- - she’s rather an odd child, sees too much and seems to know too much, though she’s learned to keep her mouth shut - - not to SAY too much (not ‘til she trusts you) 

- - she doesn’t HATE the no-maj’s but she’s not inclined to LIKE them much, not after everything. around them she is quite WARY and SILENT and more skittish than normal

- - one day just after ilvermorny graduation, an orphaned CRUP pup finds its way to her quite by accident. the runt of a litter, no doubt, thrown out. one severing charm later it looks just like a little terrier, tagging along at a young woman’s heels. (but looks, you know, are quite deceiving)

[technoliqhts]

Visit Original Link

Boats and Birds [ Music Box Version ] - Gregory and the Hawk

Another great music box by joshuasaundersmusic!

This time, one of my favorite songs, Boats and Birds. I play this music while I’m working on little mini stories. It’s very relaxing and definitely one of my favorite music boxes Joshua has made.

[flyingonaswitch-blog]

( @atticflowerr ) 

       “- - really. i didn’t mean to stare. i know it sort of...well - - freaks people out. you look so familiar, though. i just can’t seem to place you.” (it’s not familiarity, just that sad wide eyes see the familiar etched upon her face, see her own past echoing, sees similarity, though she doesn’t know it. mind reads it all as deja-vu, or else as recognition, like some figure seen first inside a dream, then met upon the street.) “have we met before?” 

[flyingonaswitch-blog]

❝ I am always dreaming, even when I am awake. ❞

         “ then they can’t be very good dreams.” 

her nightdress is too long for her, drags upon the ground & dusts floors with its hem, tangles in her feet as skinny little legs clamber up, kneel at foot of bed. eyes wide as two small moons gaze at brother, luminous. (when she speaks she speaks in just a whisper, cannot wake mary-lou, nor chastity, can’t wake anyone at all, she’s begun to think she’ll ALWAYS have to whisper). 

                    - - - not very good dreams at all, if they all look like this, like chapel and new salem pamphlets, like mary lou and kids with soup bowls, like dreary rooms, and she’ll only say things like this with CREDENCE, where she’s SAFE, where the truth doesn’t hit like a belt-snap. 

                         “it’s alright, you didn’t wake me. i couldn’t sleep. i think there’s a BAT in the attic, again. i could hear it flapping.” and so she’d wandered, tiptoed, heard him say something, thought he must be dreaming, came to find him here. “so you didn’t wake anyone else, either.” 

it’s so LONELY here, all day, even with the other children, sometimes there’s only HER and sometimes - - well, sometimes ONLY HER feels much too big, like there are seams in her skin and she’s bursting through them, like there’s something she can’t-quite control, and those days she sings more than ever, witch’s awful fates a chant to chase it all away. 

         “don’t make me go back, yet? please? i’ll be very quiet, and i’ll only whisper. promise.”

[flyingonaswitch-blog]

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[randomroleplaymemes-blog]

Send "🙋" + any headcannons you want to know about my muse.

[thoughts-memories]