Dec 3, 2024 22:32:19 GMT
…Hm.
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Dec 3, 2024 14:43:30 GMT
[googlefont=Quicksand|Montserrat]
Juno let out a heavy sigh, her exasperation almost tangible as she caught the smug expression plastered across Lindsey’s face. If she’d been the type to resort to violence, she might’ve wiped that look off him without hesitation. But she wasn’t—well, not with so many witnesses around, anyway. Rising to her not-so-intimidating full height of five-foot-three, her dark eyes sharpened into a glare.
"Junie." The nickname slid off his tongue with the kind of arrogance that begged for a reaction. It earned him a scoff, bone-dry and dripping with disdain.
"And yer' still the same smug arseh-le," she snapped, her tone as sharp as the edge of a freshly-honed blade. She could’ve said worse—oh, there was much worse she could’ve said—but for now, she held her tongue. Barely.
Her posture shifted, an old instinct kicking in. Defensive, ready. Years of dodging his bludgers and his barbs on the pitch rushed back in an unwelcome flood of memory. Juno might’ve retired from the game, but her competitive streak hadn’t gone anywhere. The last thing she’d ever let him see was her struggling—no, that would be handing him ammunition. And Lindsey Kingsley armed with ammo? Absolutely not.
Her gaze flickered to the reassembled snow globe in his hand, and a short, mirthless laugh escaped her. It was as dry as her earlier scoff, tinged with the barest hint of incredulity.
"Aw, yer' dead thoughtful," she drawled, snatching the snow globe away with a quick swipe. Her lips curled into a sly smirk, the faint lilt of her Scottish brogue underscoring every word. "Shame it’s no’ enough tae get ye' aff' Santa’s coal list, though."
BRILLIANT. JUST BRILLIANT.
“
"Junie." The nickname slid off his tongue with the kind of arrogance that begged for a reaction. It earned him a scoff, bone-dry and dripping with disdain.
"And yer' still the same smug arseh-le," she snapped, her tone as sharp as the edge of a freshly-honed blade. She could’ve said worse—oh, there was much worse she could’ve said—but for now, she held her tongue. Barely.
Her posture shifted, an old instinct kicking in. Defensive, ready. Years of dodging his bludgers and his barbs on the pitch rushed back in an unwelcome flood of memory. Juno might’ve retired from the game, but her competitive streak hadn’t gone anywhere. The last thing she’d ever let him see was her struggling—no, that would be handing him ammunition. And Lindsey Kingsley armed with ammo? Absolutely not.
Her gaze flickered to the reassembled snow globe in his hand, and a short, mirthless laugh escaped her. It was as dry as her earlier scoff, tinged with the barest hint of incredulity.
"Aw, yer' dead thoughtful," she drawled, snatching the snow globe away with a quick swipe. Her lips curled into a sly smirk, the faint lilt of her Scottish brogue underscoring every word. "Shame it’s no’ enough tae get ye' aff' Santa’s coal list, though."
TAGGED: Lindsey Kingsley | WORD COUNT: 272
LAST EDIT: Dec 3, 2024 14:44:27 GMT by Juno Ruiz-Macleod
Dec 1, 2024 14:51:55 GMT
[googlefont=Quicksand|Montserrat]Juno was broke—stone-cold broke. Why she even wandered into the Christmas markets was anyone’s guess. Maybe it was the lights, or the faint hum of carolers in the distance, or maybe she just needed a distraction from the relentless countdown to her next paycheck. Window shopping was her only option, though; she picked up trinkets, set them back down, and feigned the casual confidence of someone who wasn’t surviving on five galleons. Her job was decent—well, decent enough for someone still rebuilding their life—but between her knack for frivolous spending and a mountain of bills, "comfortable" was a far-off dream.
She found herself lingering at a stall glittering with snow globes. They were enchanting little things, each a portal to a magical world. One showed Hogwarts, majestic under a dusting of snow. Another captured the Ministry of Magic, its tiny lights twinkling in the globe's watery depths. And then there were the Quidditch ones—those, she avoided like the plague until her curiosity betrayed her. She reached for one, a glossy little piece depicting a fierce mid-match dive.
Juno shook it, maybe a bit too vigorously. The snow globe slipped from her hands like an oily snitch, arced through the air, and smashed against the cobblestones. Glass shards, fake snow, and water burst poured out like a tiny, tragic tidal wave. “Aw, a didnae mean tha'! Am so sorry,” she muttered, crouching hastily to gather the mess. The stallkeeper glared at her, a mix of dismay and disdain written all over her face.
She worked quickly, the glass biting into her fingers—not enough to bleed, but sharp enough to sting. As she fumbled, her stomach twisted in knots. And then it got worse. Of course, it could get worse. Because when she looked up, there he was. Lindsey Kingsley. Her old Quidditch rival. The same Lindsey Kingsley whose smirk had haunted her for years. She froze, dread coursing through her. Had he seen? Oh, he’d definitely seen. She closed her eyes with a resigned sigh. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
BRILLIANT. JUST BRILLIANT.
“
She found herself lingering at a stall glittering with snow globes. They were enchanting little things, each a portal to a magical world. One showed Hogwarts, majestic under a dusting of snow. Another captured the Ministry of Magic, its tiny lights twinkling in the globe's watery depths. And then there were the Quidditch ones—those, she avoided like the plague until her curiosity betrayed her. She reached for one, a glossy little piece depicting a fierce mid-match dive.
Juno shook it, maybe a bit too vigorously. The snow globe slipped from her hands like an oily snitch, arced through the air, and smashed against the cobblestones. Glass shards, fake snow, and water burst poured out like a tiny, tragic tidal wave. “Aw, a didnae mean tha'! Am so sorry,” she muttered, crouching hastily to gather the mess. The stallkeeper glared at her, a mix of dismay and disdain written all over her face.
She worked quickly, the glass biting into her fingers—not enough to bleed, but sharp enough to sting. As she fumbled, her stomach twisted in knots. And then it got worse. Of course, it could get worse. Because when she looked up, there he was. Lindsey Kingsley. Her old Quidditch rival. The same Lindsey Kingsley whose smirk had haunted her for years. She froze, dread coursing through her. Had he seen? Oh, he’d definitely seen. She closed her eyes with a resigned sigh. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
TAGGED: Lindsey Kingsley | WORD COUNT: 337
Dec 1, 2024 10:07:34 GMT
Hogwarts, Hufflepuff graduate! Dean Stewart
Dec 1, 2024 9:47:17 GMT
THE HUSBAND
Juno is estranged from her husband, a pureblood wizard with a dark past. They married when Juno was just eighteen—fresh out of Hogwarts and chasing her dream as a Quidditch player for a minor league team. Unbeknownst to her, he was responsible for the injury that prematurely ended her career. Adding to his tarnished reputation, he served time in Azkaban for minor offences related to trafficking magical creatures.
Recently released, he has reappeared in Juno's life, trying to manipulate her into leveraging her Ministry of Magic position for his corrupt schemes. His focus lies on promoting anti-Being policies and blood purity agendas—a sharp irony given Juno's own half-blood status.
His post-Azkaban career, name, face, and precise age remain open to development. His pureblood heritage and penchant for darker, manipulative tendencies are set in stone.
I'm open to discussing their progression in detail. While they are not intended to be endgame (unless something changes organically), he will serve as a shadowy figure influencing Juno's career in the Ministry’s upper echelons, pushing her toward questionable decisions in her climb to power.THE ROOMIEtaken by fi / Erisa Shimada !
Since her husband’s sentencing, Juno has been crashing in a cramped two-bedroom flat in London with a less-than-ideal roommate. In my mind, this individual is a high-ranking official at the Ministry of Magic, and is the complete opposite of Juno in every way. Where Juno is a carefree slob, this person is the epitome of Type A: organized, detail-oriented, and perpetually exasperated by her chaotic tendencies.
Their living situation is the result of peculiar circumstances—perhaps the roommate is dealing with their own personal fallout or, perhaps they're an undercover Auror that has been assigned to "watch over" Juno, considering her husband is back in the picture.
This is just an idea to go off of, nothing is set in stone. Age, gender, career, face, personality, it's all open if anyone has any other ideas that they'd like to play around with.
LAST EDIT: Dec 1, 2024 11:57:44 GMT by Juno Ruiz-Macleod
Dec 1, 2024 9:24:25 GMT
Alias: Abi
Username: Juno Ruiz-Macleod
Department: Level I - Junior Assistance to the Minister
Face Claim: Lizeth Selene
