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catherynne m. valente, from deathless ╱ anne carson, excerpt of to compostela ╱ titian, diana and actaeon ╱ anne carson, plainwater: essays and poetry ╱ ada limón, bright dead things; “home fires” ╱ henry fuseli, the nightmare ╱ louise glück, from vita nova; “aubade” ╱ lucille clifton, from the book of light; “climbing” ╱ luke fildes, the doctor
In Remus’ humble opinion, this was the best place they could have chosen for a party. Whoever chose it, that is. Sure, it was a bit stupid from the point of view that it was an obvious place for the teachers to check and there was only one exit so nowhere to run, but it was high up, which he liked, and it was open, which was nice for smoking, and even if he had no intention of socialising the buzz of people around him felt almost comforting after the stretch of silence that was a summer in the Lupin household. Home was boring, and there was always something interesting going on at Hogwarts.
A shadow fell over him, where he sat at the edge of the observatory. “Nope,” Remus said, taking a drag from his third cigarette of the evening. “Not here to talk. I was actually thinking about heading off.”
there are two kinds of people in this world﹕ people who enjoy parties – the ones that thrive in crowds and get lost in the energy, people who walk through the door with arms raised in a celebratory cheer. then, there are people like her – who shrink in a crowd, who plaster their palms against the walls and can’t find their breath ( or their thoughts ) in the music. hestia jones does not succeed in parties the way she succeeds in everything else. it’s the most frustrating thing about her, she decides.
her breath finally slows when she thinks she’s alone, just to find somebody else here. hestia can’t hide the grimace even if she wanted to. “ who said i was here to talk? ” she almost snaps, hands moving to her temples. “ enjoy your silence, i’ll enjoy mine. ”
Where: Great Hall
When: Breakfast, second day of classes
Who: Marisol && open
Marisol groaned to herself as she walked into the Great Hall and headed immediately towards the first pot of coffee she saw, with no concerns as to whether it was at the Hufflepuff table or not. Her head was pounding and her next stop would have to be whoever might be able to provide her with a headache cure but caffeine was a higher priority in the moment. “Excuse me,” she said, planning to lean over the person in the way of her and her coffee but instead she found herself rolling her eyes at judgement radiating off some of the students sat there. “Yes, yes, all the professors have said it. This is the most important year yet, but haven’t all the years so far been the most important year yet? This is also my last year and that means I want to enjoy it and if that means I’m hungover on a school day then so be it! Are you going to pass me the coffee or not?”
nobody wears judgement quite like she does, as scarlet red as the sunrise and as blatant as a white flag ( but, hestia would never surrender – ever ). with her books weighing down her forearm and a certified glance pasted onto her face, she’s quick to judge her senior – someone who definitely deserves her respect more than most of these students do. “ every year is important – the most important yet, ” she almost sputters sarcastically. “ shouldn’t you care about a well rounded education? ” hestia remarks, but she still picks up the pot nimbly, offering to pour it for her. “ i don’t care if you’re hungover, just don’t disrupt my education with your habits. ”
one could make the statement, spit out with vitriol & proclaimed with fervent disgust, that bellatrix black was never happy. not for an innocent reason, anyway. & they’d be right. in fact, bella herself would encourage this sentiment with glee; if she could, she’d whisper it into the ears of each unfortunate soul within the hogwarts student body so that it could echo in their nightmares & clear a fear - paved path to classes in the morning. however, there was a notable exception, & that came from the relative sanctity of the owlery. this close to the start of term, both company & bird shit was minimal, though today salazar himself seemed to performing an unfunny bit for her from beyond the grave [ … ] just as she finished giving lady her feathers stroke of the day, a pair of footsteps announced themselves as a thundering, intrusive annoyance. like fate neatly ticking a checkbox, there’s a falter in the movement as one foot steps - & slips - in mockingly white goo. without looking away from lady’s red eyes, smirk obvious in her voice, “watch your step.”
her annoyance is common, written on features that fail to disguise any emotion that happens to cross. much to her dismay, hestia jones is written as an open book that desperately wishes her covers were closed; yet, her pages are always on display – heart on her sleeve no matter how she tries to hide it. clutched between her fingers is a letter scribbled so haphazardly she almost hopes that her mother fails to decipher her messages. ‘it’s not like she’ll be reading them anyway,’ she mutters to herself – words dipped and soaked with the kind of poison that often drips from her lips. hestia stomps like the world has wronged her, she walks as if the stone beneath her weathered soles are her enemy – when it is quite the opposite. the owlery is her one place of solace, where the smell of shit was her biggest worry instead of – anything and everything that could ( potentially and possibly ) be a problem for her. speaking of shit– watch your step. hestia jones raises her eyes at the other being in the owlery, tempted to turn on her heel and exit, save her trip for later or to chuck the letter at the slytherin ( truly, it’s nothing personal, hestia would do it to anyone else who were here at the same time as her, too ). she settles for a sniff, for wiping the sole of her right foot against the ground crassly. “ ‘d you already shit here, bella? ” her accent is stronger than usual, crowded words blending together. “ there are more efficient ways of marking your territory. ”
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“who needs four and a half cups of olives?” benjy yelled at a retreating figure before throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. where was he even going to get four and a half cups of olives? he turns around looking for a familiar face in the crowd and letting out a relieved sigh when he sees one but he keeps an ear out for an explanation as he approaches — unsure if he’d even hear one over the thumping music.
“please tell me that you just happen to have almost five cups of olives on you, right now.” he started with an attempt at a pleading look on his face. he still didn’t understand why the other even needed that many olives and was praying for an explanation.
a blink. hestia blinks blankly once. then, twice. with a twist in her features, she looks around them at the surrounding crowd; bodies that move in tandem with the music, hands finding their resting on hips, lips pressing chaste kisses onto the soft skin of necks – everyone but her might’ve had five cups of olives on their person. hestia is just about to duck out, a foot away from stepping away to go scream at a portrait that she knows will talk back to her.
“ do i look like i have five cups of olives on me? ” she asks. she doesn’t mean it to be malicious, and yet, it comes out that way anyway. her bark is much worse than her bite. “ no, seriously – do i look like that kind of girl? is having olives a good thing or a bad thing? ”
asleep – rodolphus is a better version of himself.
perhaps it’s because his mouth is shut (he often talks too much, and with too little substance). or perhaps with his face relaxed and the usual tightness in his jaw loosened, the fan of his lashes dark and his mouth slightly curled at the corners – rodolphus lestrange looks peaceful. as if he wasn’t capable at all of relentlessly teasing you or releasing subtly barbed comments with a flick of his tongue.
it’s better to leave him be. awake – rod is at least three times unlikable company.
it’s unfortunate that he’s sleeping on your books.
as if sensing the weight of someone else’s attention he rouses, gaze unfocused as it wavers on your neck before flicking up to the general vicinity of your right cheekbone. “are these yours?“ he lifts his head to pat the leather-bound cover of the top book. “let me borrow them. they’re comfortable.”
in another world, hestia is a better version of herself; like the multi - verse theory that runs rampant in every piece muggle science fiction media she can find, there’s a universe in which hesita is kind. hogwarts isn’t brutal, nor is it the most difficult thing she will face in her lifetime, but she is sure that by the end of this year, she will be either dead or missing from the stress. it looms over her, the upcoming exams that can determine the rest of her life – every career she wants, every choice she can make. if she were kinder, she might recognize the exhaustion that writes itself into others –– she’d even let rodolphus sleep on her books.
but, this isn’t that world. it’s this world and hestia does not let people ( especially rodolphus lestrange ) rest on her books.
with her arms crossed, hestia gives him an unimpressed glare before reaching over and swiping her books out from underneath him after he lifts his head. “ don’t you have a bed? ” she snaps. “ perhaps a pillow? other friends? a scarf? i need those books, you know. ”
“it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me, ‘n i’m feeling … like this energy is not being reciprocated.” she pouts, lips pushing out dramatically to seal the ‘puss in boots’ act. “should i go from the top or am i just wasting my voice and my time?” she pauses, waits a second, then fingers, of their own accord, go to knock against their skull, gently. “hellooooo, anyone home?” she smiles, like you would at a growling bear, with a hint of concern and caution.
“did professor binns suck your life force already?” that’s how you know she’s trying to throw them a bone ⏤ if anyone has a kind word to say about the worst teacher in hogwarts history, it’s lily, even if it’s out of her ass most times.
her mind is elsewhere; a mile a minute as it usually does, brain cells withering with every moment that she spends listening to lily instead of paying attention to the pages before her. if hestia were a color, it’d be the most average shade of grey, compared to the courageous swipe of maroon and yellow that lily is. her fingers trail down the page of the book before her, the page of hand taken notes tucked into the page underneath as she raises her head to look at lily – a look of shock has molded itself onto her features over her standard – plainness. “ what? ”
finally . . . lily’s words catch up to her and hestia shakes her head. a firm hand goes to her flushed cheeks, the back of her hand pressing against the soft heat as her brows draw together tightly. “ why? oh my god, i look horrible, don’t i? is it my hair? you know, actually, i’m trying out this new makeup look, ” she lies – about the makeup. “ i don’t look TIRED, do i? you have to lie if i do. ”
◜ choi yerim , ciswoman , twenty . ◞ ┈ through her all - seeing crystal ball, [ 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳 ] has her winking eye trained on hestia jones. the ever - enigmatic fifth year is infamous for her righteous ways, but something new seems to be weighing our resident au courant down. a rumor is spreading through these ancient halls like fiendfyre, & even their erudite face can't save them from the flames. she can try to drown out their sorrows to the tune of goddess, but xana can't fix everything ⏤ much less something as grim as [ 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳 ]. but ten points to ravenclaw for trying.
hey besties <3 i’m cc & i’m super excited 2 be here! i’m writing your local hater, hestia jones, who i’ve actually never written before but i’m really excited for her. anywhomstdve, i’d love to plot w all of you & i’m ecstatic for this!
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬.⠀ ⠀
an accidental crack of a book spine that echoes throughout an otherwise silent library, never letting anything pass you by – never letting yourself be unaware, unwelcome surprises that you greet with flushed cheeks and clenched fists, a collection of skirts stolen from a mother that has seemed to have forgotten you, bruises forming next to the scrapes on almost - broken knees, passing tears off as just ‘my eyes are sweating’ & heavy, heavy, bags underneath eyes that just never seem to sleep.
⠀ ﹟𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲
birth name. jeong hyun - ae
nickname(s) / alias(es). hestia jones.
preferred name. hestia jones, only hyun - ae to family + very close friends
age + dob. twenty + dec. 23
hometown. belfast, ireland
blood status. half - blood
house. ravenclaw
activities. fifth year prefect, ravenclaw chaser, chess + duelling
label. au courant – aware of what is going on; well informed
ethnicity. korean
nationality. irish
gender. cis woman
pronouns. she + her
face claim. choi yerim
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝.⠀ ⠀
height. five feet, seven inches / 170cm
tattoos. none
piercings. earlobes only
scars. a two cm line that lays horizontally above her left eyebrow from falling off her broomstick during her third year at hogwarts
hair. never dyed, meticulously taken care of but rarely styled. naturally falls straight and is often left down
eyes. round and dark, accompanied often by dark bags underneath and an absence of makeup
usual expression. stressed. just like, if you look at her you can tell she’s going through it ( and has been for like the past three years ),,, she needs a break but she will not be getting one <3
distinguishing features. cheeks that always seem to be flushed a rosy hue of pink, bags underneath her eyes that are haphazardly covered with fake glasses or makeup, brown - hued hair that just always falls correctly
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀
( + ) positive. erudite, bluestocking, intuitive, heedful
( - ) negative. righteous, hubristic, zealous, moralistic
natal chart. triple capricorn, pour one out
mbti. istj - a, investigator
moral alignment. neutral good
godly parent. athena
languages spoken. korean + english
likes. quiet - the kind of quiet that comes only in the early hours of the morning + in restricted access zones where it’s close to silence ( but not quite ), victory in all forms, feeling appreciated tbh, sleeping but genuinely hasn’t gotten a good night of sleep in years, the color yellow, scarves that are long enough to wrap her entire head <3, being a hater
dislikes. attention ( though she is overjoyed / obsessed with winning ), losing - a notoriously sore loser, being out of control in any situation - even if she can have no humanly control over it, nail polish ( because she bites her nails :/ ), actually reading i’ll be honest, staircases
quirks. as mentioned above, bites her nails often, doodles when stressed ( which is all the time ) - is halfway decent at it too thanks to all of the practice, can fall asleep in two seconds if given the opportunity, taps her foot a lot
hobbies. being a hater, being obnoxious enough to have attention ( aka dramatic ) n then having the audacity to complain about the stress
⠀ ﹟𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫
when he meets your mother, he tells you it’s like the world stopped turning. she was enchanting, he says, like a rose blooming in the dead of winter, a blossom of red among a blanket of white - and he swears that he has never loved anyone more. their romance is swift, a bouquet of flowers traded for an engagement ring and a passionate kiss exchanged for the start of a family. your father never says anything bad about your mother, raising you on his own with a faint line on his ring finger. she will be back soon, he says with glazed eyes and love-flushed cheeks that you seem to inherit. she will come back soon, he tucks you in with a faraway look on his features and you realize with a ceiling full of glow-in-the-dark stars that he isn’t okay. but, you hold his hand when crossing the streets with you leading and you let him dawdle about your mother and you pat the top of his head when he falls asleep waiting for your mother. she’ll be back, he says, unaware that she only visits when he’s not around. she will come back soon, he waits for her, a stranger in his own body.
you yearn for control the way your peers yearn for freedom. freedom, you have enough of, but everything in your life is just out of reach. for your entire childhood, you grasp at everything and nothing, your fingers brushing past the things you desire most. you are a young girl with magic in your blood, but you watch from the end of your driveway as life seems to spin so wildly out of control. your father isn’t okay, but you don’t understand why. your mother comes around wearing guilt like one wears a birthmark and you can’t fathom why. you are left alone on playgrounds and with scrapes on your knees and people whisper about you but you don’t understand why. life goes on with or without you, and you think it unacceptable. it’s infuriating being in the backseat, unable to control, unable to know. when a letter falls into your hands, you swear to use it to your advantage. you refuse to ever be in the dark again.
you arrive on your own, a year older than your peers, a sheltered girl from a muggle world and you look around, determined to change your life. it’s obvious to anyone early on that you’re a bright girl, ambition tied into your intelligence, potential pouring over every single one of your edges. for a while, it comes easily. you know things, you understand things; most of all, you learn how terribly things can go wrong. you swear to never let that happen to you, but of course, life has bigger plans for you. the first few years fly by quick and your hands build up a reputation that you’re eager to upkeep. you wipe the sweat off of your palms onto your skirts, you might use magic to make sure your hair always looks good, you always know the latest news, you always pass your classes. then, you go home during your third year to an empty house and your father is gone.
when you return after the winter holidays, it’s obvious that something is - wrong, but you do your thing and you pretend everything is okay. your mother in all of her magic and love writes you a letter, telling you that you’ll be in her care and that only stresses you out more, giving you gray hair and bags underneath your eyes that never seem to away from that point on. every blink is heavier now, every sliver of information repeated as least three more times, everything you learn adds a little more weight to your shoulders. but you soldier on. you become more and more high strung, more sharp, more wretched with stress that shouldn’t be yours to shoulder. you are still an intelligent girl, still a bright witch, still gleaming with potential; but you almost permanently look like you’ve been handled an impossible task and worse, you wear your flushed cheeks almost as your father did, a fact that you dislike whenever you see yourself in the mirror.
⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ has a relatively tough exterior, but wow, words hurt and hestia is a lot more sensitive than she cares to admit. say one off thing about her and she’ll be all “i can’t stand it here!” and storm off angrily, but she’s really just gonna go cry in the owlery and talk to the owls as if they can understand her through her snot bubbles.
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ is this genius of a witch, right, but is the messiest person ever. her area in her dorm is just . . . yeah, it’s messy. she comes to the library, throws seven books down, loses ten pages of notes; is disorganized and completely messy, but at least she always looks put together.
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ coming right off of the last one, because she cares most about her image + her reputation than she does anything else, mostly because it’s all that she thinks she has. so, yeah, she may be consistently stressed out and on the brink of a breakdown, but at least she looks GOOD.
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ her style is a little . . . amateur, if i’m being honest. very season one rachel berry. always looks in uniform even if she’s out of uniform and it’s because she has no personality than being a ravenclaw prefect idk what you want me to tell you. she has never been normal once.
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ i laugh and kid, but she’s genuinely a genius. might have a bit of dyslexia, but is just,,, a smart kid. also makes it her entire personality though, so i’m not sure what to do about that.
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ also, not to be That Girl that’s so quirk n clumsy, but hestia is always injured. not gravely, but a scrape on her knee, a cut on her cheek, tape around her fingers, etc. etc. she’s a problem, to say the least, and always hastily takes care of herself ( aka, cleans it, leaves it ).
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ in general, is a hater, but is so STRESSED from having a #missing father that she’s just like :| in every situation. i wouldn’t call her awkward per se, but she definitely just says what she wants when she wants cause there’s “no point in quieting myself for someone’s comfort” idk?
⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ in MY canon, hestia actually conjures up a fox patronus, but it’s non corporeal for now simply because she literally cannot focus long enough to cast the charm correctly – in fact, a lot of her magic has been suffering for the past few years due to her stress, something that really only stresses her out more rip in pieces.
⠀ ﹟𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬
academic rival: personally, i’d love for someone who’s just naturally good at academia to be her rival, like the person who doesn’t study and “doesn’t care” but always just manages to beat her in scores; yeah, i think that’d be fun to watch her spontaneously combust.
significant annoyance: someone who really just is the person to tell hestia she’s wound up too tight all the time and tries to get her to live her life, but she just sees them as someone who’s ANNOYING HER because maybe her entire life is being uptight, ever think of that? rabastan
quidditch rival: because quidditch is really the only time she lets her hair down per se, this rivalry is more friendly than it is serious like the academic rival, but there’s still a lot of trash talk involved and meet ups in the corridors to talk shit <3
best friend: the one person who she’s like . . . super grateful for because they’re always there, no matter what she goes through or does to them through her stress induced breakdowns. you know. they’re bffs and always eat together and spend time together n gossip together. eloise
tutee: someone that either hestia’s offered to help or has been forced to help, either way, she’s as strict as any professor and takes her job completely seriously. as in, will approach them in the great hall and ask if they’ve done the work they’re supposed to do.
stress reliever: imagine this - hestia comes up to your muse and is like we need to talk, but they just find a nice seat underneath one of the archways and talk into the night, they make hestia laugh, hestia makes them laugh, they have flushed cheeks by the end of it and she doesn’t speak to them otherwise. xenophilius
their biggest anti: ur muse’s #1 hater??? hestia jones <3 why? probably because they’re better than she is and she’s a nightmare of a person so it’s just her being their biggest anti, probably runs a hate account dedicated toward them tbh <3 rodolphus
The Ex: you know. the ex. didn’t end the way they wanted it to so there’s A Lot There. longing glances, awkward bumps, lots of what-ifs . . . a lot of sad headcanons, a lot of wholesome headcanons. yeah
like family: just someone who hestia is so comfortable with that it feels like they’re family. and by family, i mean like the kind to tackle her on sight just for fun, the sort to tease her and make everyone believe it’s her birthday. you know?
also a barely filled tag here n anything u can possibly brainstorm i’d love <3 thank u love u
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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