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 JUNO MOREAU

Juno Moreau


I don't make sense to anyone but my best friends.


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Sep 5 2016, 11:30 PM   LINK Quote
Sorting Profile + Added appearance // revision one

Name: Juno Moreau

Age: Sixteen

Year: Sixth

Bloodline: Pureblood

Appearance:

She isn’t beautiful in a traditional sense, or perhaps even by the most abstract or unconventional definition of the word. Through no fault of her own, she simply comes off as a little plain; petite, brunette and sickly pale, just like her mother and grandmother before her. In theory, it is everything some women aspired be, but in actuality, blending into the crowd is the furthest thing from what Juno desires. For a time she’d tried bleaching her hair an obnoxious shade of amber, just to distance herself from such an image- but her features were too fair, and her ends much to brittle to do it any justice.

As a child her hair fell in ringlets, though with age it had flattened and frizzed. Over time her hair had lost its reddish tinge and faded amber, if not a mousy shade of brown. Honestly, she preferred it this way. There was something to be said about a dark haired woman with dark, sad eyes after all. Many a performer had written songs about girls just like her; mysterious, seductive with big, brown eyes.

Small scars are dotted all over her legs; some from shaving, and others from roughhousing with her cousins as a child. A particularly large gash spans from beneath her knee to mid way down her shin. Though it has paled with time, she can still feel the indent burned into her skin. She can barely remember incident that caused the scar, she was far too young at the time. The way her mother tells it- she fell down a flight of stairs in her father’s office. Oftentimes she wonders why her parents never took her to St Mungo’s to have it attended to. Appearances were everything to them after all.

She carries herself like a proper, pureblood lady; with grace and dignity. Despite her hard-knocks exterior, she seems incapable of shaking years worth of conditioning. She sits with her legs crossed, and head held high- just like her mother taught her all those years ago. In a way, she despises it- but it's difficult to break a lifetime worth of habit. In her eyes, it made her appear vulnerable and feeble- which couldn’t have been further from the truth. She liked to think of herself as strong willed and valiant, far from the picture perfect pureblood woman her parents hoped she'd become.

Teenage rebellion has taken a toll on her body; leaving her fingernails and teeth nicotine stained, and plump, little beer belly forming beneath the cover of her robes. Her hair and breath reek of smoke and booze, mixed in with a healthy dose of self loathing and regret. She seldom leaves her dorm room without a rucksack full to the brim with cheap vodka, her particular brand of tobacco and countless other illicit substances. Even during classes, she is rarely seen without it. Her friends often joke that her backpack has become an extension of herself, an extension of her being. But, the truth is far simpler than that- she simply doesn't like to be caught unprepared.

Despite her bad habits, Juno tries her hardest to keep a clean appearance. Her nails are almost always perfectly manicured- painted to match her outfit, and her clothes freshly pressed. Although she dresses like a muggle, she carries herself like a pureblood- perfectly made up, fresh faced and dewey eyed. She tries, albeit in vein, to cover the stench of tobacco and stale smoke on her clothes with expensive perfumes and soaps- borrowed from the top drawer of her mothers vanity. She likes to give off the impression of cleanliness, even though her party-hard habits mean she often goes days between showering. Dry shampoo and glamour charms are close friends of hers, secrets she holds near and dear to her heart.


Personality:

There was nothing even remotely interesting about Juno Moreau, aside from perhaps her unfortunate namesake. In literature, Dr. Moreau is often considered to be the ultimate antagonist- impure and fractured to his core, the epitome of immorality. As a child she detested the man, though with age she found herself drawn to him in the most macabre of ways. Science and animal behaviour had always been secret passions of hers- in spite of, or perhaps even as a result of her emotional attachment to the novel. She related to the man on a level she doubted most sixteen year olds ever could; she understood what it meant to yearn for progress, and to make sacrifices in pursuit of intellectual development. After all, being born into a pureblooded family came with certain expectations; expectations that rarely exceeded marriage and homemaking. It was a unfortunate reality, one that she often contemplated contesting; but who was she to deny years and years worth of tradition, who was she to question the status quo?

Despite the knowing she’d likely never amount to anything more than a housewife, Juno has always been inquisitive by nature. As a child this inquisitiveness often presented itself in the form reckless and ill-thought through decisions, and she supposed it still drove most of her destructive behaviours. The difference lied in the manifestations of her inquisitiveness, with time she became less interested in jumping creeks and muddying her mothers floors, and more inclined towards experiencing life to its fullest. If her destiny was to settle down, marry and bare children, she wanted to know what it meant to truly live before that time came. As childish and misguided as her ambitions might seem, it was the driving force behind almost everything she did.

With the constant threat of betrothal looming over her head, Juno had little time for the mundane. She cared not for her studies, despite her obvious intelligence and natural affinity for learning- or for the everyday monotony of school in general. Her grades would likely take her nowhere in life, considering her life had all but been planned out for her already, and she had no real interest in appeasing anyone outside of her family unit. So, she got her kicks elsewhere, in the form of forbidden books and spells- things far beyond her age or comprehension. Her interest in the dark arts likely stemmed from her upbringing, although part of her wondered if this fascination was self taught. Teenage rebellion spilled over into almost every aspect of her life, and this obsession with darkness and morbidity certainly went against everything that was expected of her. It was far from the things her parents attempted to instil within her; qualities found in most perfect, pureblooded ladies, such as quaintness, politeness and sensibility. Desirable qualities in a housewife.

Resentment can manifest itself in many forms, and in the case of Juno Moreau it almost always presented itself in the same way; misguidedly. Anger towards her parents and unfortunate situation are more often directed towards others, as opposed to those who feed it. Her short temper has become somewhat of a running joke amongst her friends, although even they are not completely immune to her outbursts. Some days, anger is the only truth in her life- her entire being. It bubbles up inside her and spills out in the form of venomous words and flashes of white, hot rage. At times like these, her fury is so real and all encompassing that she forgets herself. Forgets what, or even who, is truly at the root of her problems. On these days she tests her strength, her self control. When everything in the world seems so hopeless, she finds it difficult to restrain from annihilating everything (and everyone) in her path.

Almost contradictorily, she can also be the ‘life of the party’, a fun loving, carefree shell of herself. Under the influence, it is easy to forget life’s misfortunes- and even easier to live in the moment. She is most comfortable in this state of mind, calmer and more level headed than her sober counterpart. In the beginning, drinking and smoking were nothing more than items on her bucket list- things she wished to experience before signing her life away. But, it was easy to get caught up in the hubbub of it all, intwined in the madness. Soon, it became a way of life- the only time she truly felt free from her parent’s grasps. But, as with anything, it didn’t last forever- and soon, the reality of her situation would dawn on her… and the anger would slowly return.

Character Background:

Black ink stained her fingertips from the time she was five, when her mother first taught her how to read. It was customary in her family to gift books at christmas, as literature was of particular importance to Elizabeth (her mother). She was a self professed author, although despite her many efforts, was never published. It was a way to pass the time between pureblood parties and family gatherings, a way to keep herself occupied whilst her husband was at work. Even as a child, Juno resented the idea of such dependence; the idea that her happiness was reliant on anyone other than herself. But, it was simply the way things were- the way they had always been. In pureblood society, appearances were everything, and in the minds of these people, these families her parents so respected- the perfect household consisted of a working husband, a stay at home wife and a brood of happy children. Sadly, Juno’s parents had already failed in one department, being unable to conceive again after her particularly difficult birth. As a result, all their hopes and dreams fell onto her shoulders - she was their only daughter, their only child… and the only chance they had at continuing the family line.

Names were everything in the pureblood world, and hers seemed to hold particular importance to anyone that ‘mattered’. Juno’s father, Robert Moreau was from a long line of ministry workers… very, very rich ministry workers at that. Money, it seemed, was also of upmost importance to these pureblooded folk. At times, it was even of more importance than their ‘happy brood of children’.

Robert Moreau tried his best to raise a well rounded daughter in the face of all this pureblood propaganda, attempted to give his baby all the love and tenderness he’d been deprived of as a child. But between his job at the ministry, and his duties as breadwinner, there was little time for raising a kid. Most of the child-rearing duties therefore fell to his wife; a woman who, although well meaning, was never cut out to be a mother. Beyond reading bedtime stories and cooing, she had no real interest in raising a baby. She was too young, too naive… and much too self centred.

Growing up, Juno tested her mothers patience almost daily. Elizabeth Moreau was a rather level headed woman by nature, although raising a child like Juno seemed to bring out the worst in her. The two butted heads constantly, and there was seldom a tender moment between them- and as Juno grew older, these (few) tender moments they did share became ever fewer and further between.

The only time the two ever seemed to truly get along was after hours, once the lights went out and Elizabeth would sneak into her child’s room to read her to sleep. Nighttimes in Juno’s household were magical, filled with tall tales of heroes, heroines and great adventures. The family library hosted a large range of books, but she’d always been particularly fond of the toadstool tales. It was much lighter and more whimsical than the others.

As time wore on, and Juno grew out of bedtime stories, the relationship between she and her mother completely fell through. They no longer had common ground to stand on, and their personalities only seemed to deviate further from one another with time. The knowing that she would likely befall the same fate as her mother made Juno red with anger, and she could not help but blame the woman for allowing it to happen. But, admittedly, it was her love for her mother and father that sealed her fate. It was a weird and twisted sort of dynamic that she could never quite explain to others. As much as she despised the idea being married off, and as much as she hated her parents for placing such expectations on her shoulders- such tender memories of her mother reading her to sleep made it impossible for Juno to disappoint them- because deep down she knew, this was their way of showing their love. This was their way of keeping her safe.

--------------------
I Can't Escape
the way that I don't fit in with any of this


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Avatars by the wonderful Evan <3

Juno Moreau


I don't make sense to anyone but my best friends.


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Sep 15 2016, 01:54 PM   LINK Quote
((w.i.p freeform app, will most likely rearrange for some later ranking things))
Trigger Warning. Mild child abuse & some swears


i/ Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump


Memories from her childhood came to her in spurts; like shattered blades of glass she was seldom able to fit back together. Their edges were sharp, and left her fingers bloodied- although still she clung to them with every ounce of strength she had. Her grip never faltered, never loosened; she held them tightly against her chest, with a vice grip and unwavering determination.



“Promise me you’ll remember, you are braver than you believe, stronger than seem and smarter than you think” The paper creased beneath her mother’s fingers, curling and folding as she flipped through the pages. Her voice was rarely as soft and gentle as it was on those nights, curled up beneath the covers- retelling tales of hero’s and heroines- alive only in storybooks and the deepest depths of their imaginations.

Bleary-eyed, Juno snuggled up against her mothers slender, bony frame. There was no warmth or substance to the woman, only jagged edges and hollow words. Words that fell upon deaf ears and weary minds. Words that were lost in manuscripts and novels, never intended to be published. Words that she had so many of as a writer, and as a mother, that nobody ever cared listen to.

Tiny fingers reached out to cup the woman’s face, and she recoiled at the touch. The pair had never shared anything (even remotely) resembling a typical mother/daughter relationship, and as a result, Elizabeth found it near impossible to show any sort of affection towards the girl.

Juno simply withdrew her hand, fully aware that the falsified affections her mother showed her on nights like these would dissipate entirely in the morning light.



ii/ The Tale of the Three Brothers (Death)



Alone. She was forever alone- in a big, daunting manor full to the brim with winding staircases and deeply rooted secrets. It was quiet, always quiet, eerily so. The non-sound of footsteps echoed down empty hallways as shadowy figures made their through the house- neither communicating nor interacting. Her parents were nothing more than empty shells of their former selves, burdened by the presence of one another. They simply existed in the same space, the same house- and shared little more than an adoration for their daughter and a marital vow. Her fathers love came in the form of expensive gifts, and her mothers in the form of distance. It was complicated. But she supposed she loved them too, in her own way.



Death had taken Théo’s first child before he’d ever laid eyes on him, and his second shortly thereafter. Juno was his third, and last, attempt at an heir to his line… and his biggest failure. Holding his daughter in his arms, he shed tears of resentment and grief- but also of joy. His emotions were no longer tangible, and even in his finest moments, he couldn’t quite make sense of them. The family name would die along with him, but his heart and beliefs would live on in her (or so he had hoped). She was the product of years and years worth of planning, and the only thing keeping him rooted to this earth. Though he loved his wife as best he could, provided for her- the love he felt for Juno was something else entirely. It was love in its trues, purest form- love he had reserved for his firstborn son. She was not a man, nor a warrior… but a woman. She was his princess. His blood. And he loved her wholeheartedly and completely. He loved her like a son.

Passing the bundle of cloth and blanket off to the nurse, he turned his eyes to his wife. And for the first time, he looked upon her with a loving gaze. “ma chérie” he mused, cupping her soft features with heavy hands and tired eyes. “She’s beautiful”. 

He received no response, only an empty, hollow silence... but knew in his heart that she felt it too. She was the salvation they had been praying for, the glue that would keep them together.



iii/ Charlotte's Web



Some of her earliest memories were of Ben, of being forced together at pureblood dances, dolled up like perfect, porcelain children. Her mother’s pearls were cold and uncomfortable against her skin, not unlike her touch; and ben’s hand around her waist left her feeling claustrophobic and nervy. “Are they still watching us?” she whispered, burying her head in the boy’s shoulder. She dreaded nothing more than the wrath of her parents; but being paraded around like a show dog came in at a close second.

"I - I think we're safe." the boy replied, dropping his hand and pulling her into a hug. He understood better than most the toll her parent’s took on her. It was not so much that she hated them, or even that she disliked them. At least not yet. She simply felt overwhelmed. Talk of betrothal started young in pureblood households, and Juno had begun to hear her parents whispering among themselves at night. Wedding a daughter was far more involved than marrying off a son. They’d been talking with potential suitors since the day she was born.

It scared her half to death.



Juno stood with her ear to her parents door, her teeth chattering from the cold, and knees clamouring out of nervousness. She knew exactly what they were discussing; she needn’t even overhear the conversation. The names of old, pureblood families were being thrown around like cannon fodder; mere pawns in her parent’s endgame.

They only wanted the best for their daughter, she knew, but they didn’t seem to understand just how outdated and wrong their world views truly were. She was not a object to be traded, or sold off to the highest bidder. She was a human being; made up of flesh, blood and bone. Her body did not belong to anyone. Not to her parents- and certainly not to a man she barely knew.

Biting down on her lip, she forcibly pulled herself away from the door before she drew blood. Choking back a sob, she tip toed back towards her bedroom- her feet heavy and cold against the stone floor. The old house moved beneath her weight, as if attempting to comfort her. She felt more connected to her family home than her parents in that moment.



iv/ The Island of Doctor Moreau




Her dusty, blonde baby hairs darkened over time- framing her face in perfect, bouncy, curls. They spoke of her innocence and desperation- of her youth. She was too young to understand, or even remember, the first time that innocence had been shattered. It was the first and only time her father had raised his hand at her- the only time she had ever truly feared the man. Her hair settled over her face, masking the angry, red marks spreading across her cheek, like tendrils. It hid her family’s shame- her fathers disappointment. Words spilled out as the tears welled up in her eyes, leaving dirty trails on her porcelain skin. ”je ne comprends pas”. I don’t understand.



She knew nothing of love, as she’d been deprived of it since the day she was born. Her parent’s had married out of duty, bore children out of duty, and kept their house as such. It was a sad existence, and she knew it- even as a doe eyed child. Her mother was not made out to be a matriarch, nor a parent- and her father was seldom home long enough to fill the emptiness of her company. She was alone in this mess of a life- with few friends to turn to in her time of need. It was part of being a pureblood they said… being homeschooled came with the territory. But every day, on her way to the ministry with her mother in toe, she couldn’t help but feel jealous of those muggle children- dolled up in preppy uniforms and matching hair bands.

“When will I go to school ma mère? She looked up at the woman with hope filled eyes, and a hole in her chest. “Soon my dear”.

Soon couldn’t come quick enough.

Stamping her foot, she prepared herself for the fight of a lifetime- confined to the waiting room of her fathers office, before the prying eyes of his workers. “When?” she challenged, a little louder- a little stronger. “Quiet Juno.

She’d been quiet for too long now.

“When?!” her fathers footsteps echoed down the hallway, dulled only by his child’s screams. “When mother?” Her eight year old voice cracked as tears begun to well up in her eyes, “I want to be like all the other children!”

Thwack

The room fell quiet as her fathers hand smacked across her face, leaving the hall- and all its occupants- stunned to silence. Voice loud and booming, he grabbed his daughter by her collar and dragged her, kicking and screaming, into his office, “You’re nothing like those muggle scum.”. Seething, he slammed the door behind him, rage bubbling up from the deepest pits of his stomach. “You learn your place, girl”.

Girl. He spoke the word with such venom and anger that it sent shivers radiating up and down her spine. She didn't understand- not yet. ”je ne comprends pas”. She rarely spoke in her fathers native tongue, but at times like these, she couldn't afford to be lost in translation. "I don't understand" She repeated, this time in english. Tears streamed down her round, plump face as her lip quivered and upturned. She didn't understand. "I don't..." stopping herself, she recoiled away from her father- fighting back the urge to run. Instead, she simply stood her ground and cried- hiding beneath the cloth of her mothers petticoat.

--

v/ Where the Wild Things Are

--

There were so few perks that came along with being a pureblood, at least in Juno’s opinion, that she relished the few opportunities it provided her. Among them, were the familiar faces staring up at her from their respective house tables. Most of them sported green and silver ties, and a scowl. Knowing that she had friends here, regardless of where she was sorted; calmed her a little. Although not nearly as much as she might’ve liked. She shot Ben a nervous smile.

The sorting hat fell limply before her face, speaking to her in her father’s native tongue. Had she not been so nervous, she might’ve been impressed. But, she’d never felt so mortified. The next seven years of her life rested in the hands of a talking hat. A talking hat that, apparently, spoke fluent french.

Je ne suis pas ma mère. Je ne suis pas ma mère. Je ne suis pas ma mère.. She repeated the phrase over and over in her head, alternating between french and english; hoping the message would get across. I am not my mother.

Juno’s mother had been a Ravenclaw.

But Juno was not her mother.

--

For the first time in her life, Juno actually missed home. Staring up at the roof of the Gryffindor tower, the unfamiliar pang of homesickness brewing in her stomach kept her from sleeping. It was all just so unfamiliar and new. She longed for the comfort of her own bed, the creak of the wind whistling through the halls.

Here, everything was quiet. She could not hear her father snoring in the distance, or the sound of her mother turning in her sleep. Instead, she sat in complete silence, staring off into the distance. Red tinged hair fell across her face, hiding the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

Her parents were not bad people, they simply disagreed with her on some deep, fundamental issues. And although she doubted she would ever succumb to their way of thinking, she was still connected to them, a part of them. Every time the word mudblood slipped from her mouth, or she looked down on her housemates of lesser blood- she could not help but hate them. But, that was not their fault. That was all her.

And just as her blood didn’t define her. Neither did blood define her parents.

She was confused.

As much as she missed her parents, she couldn’t help but hate them… just a little.

And she was just so fucking confused

--

vi/ Sleeping Beauty

--

Her mothers vanity was her downfall, manifesting itself in the form of hundreds of mirrors and portraits hanging from the manor walls. Everywhere she looked, she was met by her reflection- a pale, sickly girl she barely recognised. The perfect red tinged curls, the heart shaped face and plush, pursed lips- none of it was her… not really. The clothes were hers, dark and grungy, and the sad, empty eyes were certainly hers. But beyond that, she didn’t own her reflection. It was her parents- the pearls, the frills, the bone structure… the girl that stared back at her was their daughter. Nothing more, nothing less.

The yellow stained nails and teeth, and growing pot belly were the only things that registered with her- the only individualities she knew. Even her septum piercing, tucked up inside her nostrils, spoke nothing of the woman she was becoming- of the woman she destined to be.

--

She was the spitting image of her mother; pale, slim and petite. They were cut from the same cloth, alike not only in appearances, but also in temperament. Although Juno would deny it ‘till the day she died, and Elizabeth wished it weren’t so, the similarities were astounding and undeniable.

Staring herself up and down in the mirror, she huffed. Dressed up like a rag doll- frills and bows galore- she winced at her reflection. Most days, she barely recognised the girl staring back at her- although the blackened, sorrowful eyes seemed so painfully familiar. From a distance, she looked almost sickly- frail and breakable, just like the paper doll her mother envisioned her to be, wished she were.

Then, at a whim, she reached for the tub of bleach beneath her mothers vanity, in a misguided attempt to set herself apart- distance herself from the image of the perfect pureblood daughter. The chemicals burnt her hands, and blistered her fingers- but her vision was fogged by tears and hatred, and her body was all but numb to the pain. She barely noticed them at all. Swearing beneath her breath, she lathered her scalp in white, poisonous goo… and cried. Harder than she’d ever cried before. It was all so fucking unfair. Clumps of hair fell to the ground, singed by the bleach and self hared. To hell with it all, she thought. She shed not a single tear for her hair, but a river for her misfortune.

Looking up at her reflection, she smiled and dried her tears. For the first time in her young life, she almost recognised the girl staring back at her- hollow cheeked and happy. Her beautiful, brunette locks lay in clumps at her feet, and what was left of the hair on her head, barely looked familiar to her at all. But, under the bussing florescent light of her parents bathroom, the similarities between her and her mother slowly began to dissipate- and true Juno began to shine through.

--------------------
I Can't Escape
the way that I don't fit in with any of this


user posted imageuser posted image user posted imageuser posted image
Avatars by the wonderful Evan <3

Juno Moreau


I don't make sense to anyone but my best friends.


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Oct 3 2017, 06:56 AM   LINK Quote
//revision 2

Name: Juno Moreau

Age: Sixteen

Year: Sixth

Bloodline: Pureblood

Appearance:


She isn’t beautiful in a traditional sense, or perhaps even by the most abstract or unconventional definition of the word. Through no fault of her own, she simply comes off as a little plain; petite, brunette and sickly pale, just like her mother and grandmother before her. In theory, it is everything some women aspired be, but in actuality, blending into the crowd is the furthest thing from what Juno desires. For a time she’d tried bleaching her hair an obnoxious shade of amber, just to distance herself from such an image- but her features were too fair, and her ends much to brittle to do it any justice.

As a child her hair fell in ringlets, though with age it had flattened and frizzed. Over time her it had lost it;s reddish tinge and faded to a mousy shade of brown. Honestly, she preferred it this way. There was something to be said about a dark haired woman with equally dark, sad eyes. Many a performer had written songs about girls just like her; mysterious and seductive, with big, brown eyes.

Small scars are dotted up and down her legs; some from shaving, and others from roughhousing with her cousins. A particularly large gash spans from beneath her knee to mid way down her shin. Though it has paled with time, she can still feel the indent burned into her skin. She can barely remember incident that caused the scar, she was far too young at the time. The way her mother tells it- she fell down a flight of stairs in her father’s office. Oftentimes she wonders why her parents never took her to St Mungo’s to have it attended to. Appearances were everything to them after all.

She carries herself like a proper, pureblood lady; with grace and dignity. Despite her hard-knocks exterior, she seems incapable of shaking years worth of conditioning. She sits with her legs crossed, and head held high- just like her mother taught her all those years ago. In a way, she despises it- but it's difficult to break a lifetime worth of habit. In her eyes, it made her appear vulnerable and feeble- which couldn’t have been further from the truth. She liked to think of herself as strong willed and valiant, far from the picture perfect pureblood woman her parents hoped she'd become.

Teenage rebellion has taken a toll on her body; leaving her fingernails and teeth nicotine stained, and plump, little beer belly forming beneath the cover of her robes. Her hair and breath reek of smoke and booze, mixed in with a healthy dose of self loathing and regret. She seldom leaves her dorm room without a rucksack full to the brim with cheap vodka, her particular brand of tobacco and countless other illicit substances. Even during classes, she is rarely seen without it. Her friends often joke that her backpack has become an extension of herself, an extension of her being. But, the truth is far simpler than that- she simply doesn't like to be caught unprepared.

Despite her bad habits, Juno tries her hardest to keep a clean appearance. Her nails are almost always perfectly manicured- painted to match her outfit, and her clothes freshly pressed. Although she dresses like a muggle, she carries herself like a pureblood- perfectly made up, fresh faced and dewey eyed. She tries, albeit in vein, to cover the stench of tobacco and stale smoke on her clothes with expensive perfumes and soaps- borrowed from the top drawer of her mothers vanity. She likes to give off the impression of cleanliness, even though her party-hard habits mean she often goes days between showering. Dry shampoo and glamour charms are close friends of hers, secrets she holds near and dear to her heart.

Like the rest of her body, her skin too has felt the effects of her teenage rebellion. Oftentimes, she arrives back to her dorm room far too late to warrant washing the muck and grime from her face- and she simply opts to sleep with a fateful of makeup. Try though she might to fix it each morning, more often than not she attends her morning classes with black eyeliner running down her cheeks, and last night’s lipstick staining her teeth. Over time, her peers have come to expect nothing less of her- and rarely bother to point out her imperfections.

She is more like her mother than she would ever care to admit; alike both in personality and appearances. She has inherited sun spots and pale skin from Elizabeth's side of the family, and little more than angular, sharp features from her father’s. When she looks herself up and down in the mirror each morning, it is her mother’s dark, hazel eyes that stare back at her. Against her porcelain skin, they look almost black- dark, soulless and without emotion. The sadness behind those hazel eyes speaks more to her person than she’d ever divulged to anyone, even her closest of confidants.

Juno fears ageing; for her looks, no matter how plain, have gotten her far in life. With the help of a push up bra and a pair of yoga pants, she is able to bed just about man she desires. She hides behind a thick pair of lashes and a sheepish smile, using her ‘womanly ways’ to coax her suitors into the bedroom. They call her beautiful and sexy, blinded by lust. In reality, she is simply bold; she makes up for in confidence what she lacks traditional beauty.


Personality:

There is nothing even remotely interesting about Juno Moreau, aside from perhaps her unfortunate namesake. In literature, Dr. Moreau is often considered to be the ultimate antagonist- impure and fractured to his core, the epitome of immorality. As a child she detested the man, though with age she found herself drawn to him in the most macabre of ways. Science and animal behaviour have always been secret passions of hers- in spite of, or perhaps even as a result of her emotional attachment to the novel. She relates to the man on a level she doubts most sixteen year olds ever could; she understands what it means to yearn for progress, and to make sacrifices in pursuit of intellectual development. After all, being born into a pureblooded family came with certain expectations; expectations that rarely exceeded marriage and homemaking. It was a unfortunate reality, one that she often contemplated contesting; but who was she to deny years and years worth of tradition, who was she to question the status quo?

Despite the knowing she’d likely never amount to anything more than a housewife, Juno has always been inquisitive by nature. As a child this inquisitiveness often presented itself in the form reckless and ill-thought through decisions, and she supposed it still drove most of her destructive behaviours. The difference lied in the manifestations of her inquisitiveness, with time she became less interested in jumping creeks and muddying her mothers floors, and more inclined towards experiencing life to its fullest. If her destiny was to settle down, marry and bare children, she wanted to know what it meant to truly live before that time came. As childish and misguided as her ambitions might seem, it was the driving force behind almost everything she did.

With the constant threat of betrothal looming over her head, Juno has little time for the mundane. She cars not for her studies, despite her obvious intelligence and natural affinity for learning- or for the everyday monotony of school in general. Her grades would likely take her nowhere in life, considering her life had all but been planned out for her already, and she had no real interest in appeasing anyone outside of her family unit. So, she gets her kicks elsewhere, in the form of forbidden books and spells- things far beyond her age or comprehension. Her interest in the dark arts likely stemmed from her upbringing, although part of her wonders if this fascination was self taught. Teenage rebellion spills over into almost every aspect of her life, and this obsession with darkness and morbidity is certainly no different, it went against everything that was expected of her. It was far from the things her parents attempted to instil within her, qualities found in most perfect, pureblooded ladies, such as quaintness, politeness and sensibility. Desirable qualities in a housewife.

Resentment can manifest itself in many forms, and in the case of Juno Moreau it almost always presents itself in the same way; misguidedly. Anger towards her parents is more often directed towards her peers and professors. Her short temper has become somewhat of a running joke amongst her friends, although even they are not completely immune to her outbursts. Some days, anger is the only truth in her life- her entire being. It bubbles up inside her and spills out in the form of venomous words and flashes of white, hot rage. At times like these, her fury is so real and all encompassing that she forgets herself. Forgets what, or even who, is truly at the root of her problems. On these days she tests her strength, her self control. When everything in the world seems so hopeless, she finds it difficult to restrain from annihilating everything (and everyone) in her path.

Almost contradictorily, she can also be the ‘life of the party’, a fun loving, carefree shell of herself. Under the influence, it is easy to forget life’s misfortunes- and even easier to live in the moment. She is most comfortable in this state of mind, calmer and more level headed than her sober counterpart. In the beginning, drinking and smoking were nothing more than items on her bucket list- things she wished to experience before signing her life away. But, it was easy to get caught up in the hubbub of it all, intwined in the madness. Soon, it became a way of life- the only time she truly felt free from her parent’s grasps. But, as with anything, it didn’t last forever- and soon, the reality of her situation would dawn on her… and the anger would slowly return.

She isn’t entirely sure when this occasional partying and misbehaviour came to define her. But, at some point, it seemed to consume her entirely. Her entire life revolved around her addictions; her next fix. Be it sneaking out between classes for a cigarette, or spending her weekends drowning in booze and casual sex; seldom was there a time that Juno was not feeding her vices. Although she’d never willing fully admit it; her misbehaviour sometimes (oftentimes) bordered on compulsiveness. She is simply unable, or perhaps unwilling, to control her impulses. No amount of pressure from her friends and family seems capable of changing that at this point.

As her relationship with her parents began to fall apart, Juno began putting more and more effort into her friendships. Where before, she had somewhat closed herself off to the world, she soon began throwing herself into relationships outside of her family unit. Be they platonic or otherwise. Her constant need to be loved can, at times, be a bit much. To say that she is not ‘everyone’s cup of tea’ would be the understatement of the century; but, the few that are willing to accept her, have a friend for life. She dives head first into friendships, guns blazing, with little to no respect for the boundaries of others. Yet another example of her impulse control issues.

In addition to friendships, she has also developed quite the nasty habit of sleeping around. Where as a young girl she’d been completely disinterested in the opposite sex, puberty seems to have ramped her hormones into overdrive. At first, she was careful about her sexual encounters, only falling into the bed’s of boys she trusted. But, with time, her standards all but dissipated- and she begun seducing boy’s she would have otherwise never come within ten feet of. Much less flirt with.

She does believe in love at first sight, or anything of the sorts; but, she does believe in love. Beneath her hard knocks exterior, is a girl who wants nothing more than to be looked after, cared for. Deep down, she is a hopeless romantic; although, as stubborn as she is, she would never openly admit to such a thing.

Character Background:

Juno's childhood was far from idyllic.

Black ink stained her fingertips from the time she was five, when her mother first taught her how to read. It was customary in her family to gift books at christmas, as literature was of particular importance to Elizabeth (her mother). She was a self professed author, although despite her many efforts, was never published. It was a way to pass the time between pureblood parties and family gatherings, a way to keep herself occupied whilst her husband was at work. Even as a child, Juno resented the idea of such dependence; the idea that her happiness was reliant on anyone other than herself. But, it was simply the way things were- the way they had always been. In pureblood society, appearances were everything, and in the minds of these people, these families her parents so respected- the perfect household consisted of a working husband, a stay at home wife and a brood of happy children. Sadly, Juno’s parents had already failed in one department, being unable to conceive again after her particularly difficult birth. As a result, all their hopes and dreams fell onto her shoulders - she was their only daughter, their only child… and the only chance they had at continuing the family line.

Names were everything in the pureblood world, and hers seemed to hold particular importance to anyone that ‘mattered’. Juno’s father, Robert Moreau was from a long line of ministry workers… very, very rich ministry workers at that. Money, it seemed, was also of upmost importance to these pureblooded folk. At times, of even more importance than their ‘happy brood of children’.

Her father was born in France during a time of great unrest; a time where wizardkind was at war with itself. The Moreau’s, despite being a very old and proud pureblood line, were hardly above the blood politics and in-fighting of the late 20th century. In fact, even as a young child, Robert had been brainwashed into believing he was above the law. He had been brainwashed into believing he was more than. Better than.

Robert’s relationship with blood politics was complicated from the beginning, just as his daughter’s would later come to be. Long before he ever met Elizabeth or bore children, he had been fighting an internal battle within himself.

You see, Robert was not an inherently bad man. In fact, he tried his best to raise a well rounded daughter in the face of all this pureblood propaganda, attempted to give his baby all the love and tenderness he’d been deprived of as a child. But between his job at the ministry, and his duties as breadwinner, there was little time for raising a daughter. Most of the child-rearing duties therefore fell to his wife; a woman who, although well meaning, was never cut out to be a mother. Beyond reading bedtime stories and cooing, she had no real interest in raising a baby. She was too young, too naive… and much too self centred. In any case, nothing could have really prepared Elizabeth for the nightmare that was Juno Moreau. Obstinate and hot headed, she was perhaps the farthest thing from an easy child. Demanding and stubborn, the little girl was quite literally the devil in disguise. At least, as far as her mother was concerned.

Her parents lived in constant fear of World War Juno; of an outburst of epic proportions. As a baby, she seldom slept through the night, and with age things only seemed to get more difficult. At three, she managed to sneak into her mothers room and spill the contents of her vanity over the couple’s bedspread, staining it beyond repair. At five, she snapped the silver necklace her mother had given her for her birthday, while roughhousing with her cousins; a family heirloom. At eleven, she returned home from school with a potty mouth and a bad attitude, undoing all the hard work her parents had put into raising her right. And at thirteen, she broke into her fathers liquor cupboard for the first time- awaking the next day in a pool of her own vomit, with an empty bottle of expensive wine beside her.

Growing up, Juno tested her mothers patience almost daily. Elizabeth Moreau was a rather level headed woman by nature, although raising a child like Juno seemed to bring out the worst in her. The two butted heads constantly, and there was seldom a tender moment between them- and as Juno grew older, these (few) tender moments they did share became ever fewer and further between.

The only time the two ever seemed to truly get along was after hours, once the lights went out and Elizabeth would sneak into her child’s room to read her to sleep. Nighttimes in Juno’s household were magical, filled with tall tales of heroes, heroines and great adventures. The family library hosted a large range of books, but she’d always been particularly fond of the toadstool tales. It was much lighter and more whimsical than the others.

As time wore on, and Juno grew out of bedtime stories, the relationship between her and her mother began to suffer. They no longer had common ground to stand on, and their personalities only seemed to deviate further from one another with time. The knowing that she would likely befall the same fate as her mother made Juno red with anger, and she could not help but blame the woman for allowing it to happen. But, admittedly, it was her love for her mother and father that sealed her fate. It was a weird and twisted sort of dynamic that she could never quite explain to others. As much as she despised the idea being married off, and as much as she hated her parents for placing such expectations on her shoulders- such tender memories of her mother reading her to sleep made it impossible for Juno to disappoint them- because deep down she knew, this was their way of showing their love. This was their way of keeping her safe.

By the time Juno started Hogwarts, her mother was more than happy to see the back end of her; hoping that some time away from home might straighten her out. Instead however, Juno took of in the opposite direction; running full pelt, guns blazing, into a world she barely knew- and certainly didn't understand. Her being sorted into Gryffindor was the merely a small taste of what was to come. Being a Ravenclaw alumni, her mother was less than thrilled to hear of her daughters sorting. During her time at Hogwarts, she had developed somewhat of an aversion to the brash, outlandish Gryffindors in her year. Though she worried for her daughter, she kept silent; refusing to share her concerns with Robert and his family. After all, it had been a fight to get her there in the first place. Robert had wanted to send his daughter half way across the world, to Beauxbaons, where he had spent the majority of his own childhood. Elizabeth, of course, had objected. As much as she and Juno butted heads, she certainly didn’t want to ship her daughter across the continent. She was, after all, still her mother.

Hogwarts shifted Juno’s centre of gravity; and left her questioning everything she had once come to know. Everything her mother had told her about muggleborns and blood-traitors came crashing down on top of her; making it near impossible for her to breath, to think. For, her Gryffindor housemates were nothing like the monsters her parents had told her they’d be. They were just people; nothing more, nothing less. They did not worship ground she walked on, like some of the purebloods she’d been raised with; but neither did they shudder at the sight of her, as her parents had warned her they might. To them she was just a person, nothing more, nothing less- just like them.

Juno’s prejudices, no matter how suppressed they might’ve been, made forming friendships infinitely more difficult. Although the girls in her dorm room greeted her with warm smiles and open arms, they did not invite her quidditch games, or sit beside her in class. The few friends she did have were from her childhood; the children of her father’s colleagues and other ministry aligned families.

This made things difficult. For, where Juno seemed to be undergoing a change of heart, her friends seemed to be growing into their prejudiced. All, of course, except Ben. They’d known one another since they were children; and time only seemed to bring the two of them closer together. Like her, he’d been sorted into Gryffindor. And, like her, he seemed unfazed by the muggleborns and blood-traitors that shared their house colours. He was a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stale, lonely castle. Juno loved him- more than perhaps she loved her own parents, and certainly more than she loved her other friends. But, that was likely all he’d ever be- a friend. For, as much as Juno loved him… she loved him only as a brother.

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I Can't Escape
the way that I don't fit in with any of this


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