#i just vastly prefer gender neutral so that everyone can feel like they can insert into a promptci guess

[ashendalia]

Hypmic selfshippers stop being afraid of non-fem characters being with these dumb rappers challenge 2k22

[wcrmtale-blog]

001. BASICS.

FULL NAME. Peter Douglas Pettigrew

NICKNAME. Pete, Wormtail, Wormy, Dougie (but very specifically only by certain aunts)

BIRTHDAY.  May 21st, 1960

GENDER. Cisgender male

SEXUALITY. Questioning (bisexual)

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English, some poor Latin retention from Hogwarts

ACCENT. All Sheffield, dropping his h’s, making his u’s into uh’s, contorting vowels and dropping plurals, turning behind into be-yind. Pete himself tends to insert plenty of speech breaks, liberally peppered with filler words (all those good ums and ahs), though his sentences tend to blur together rather than having an audible period/pause after every idea. Peter’s a notorious mumbler, always checking himself to try and chin up and speak a little more defined so he and his conversational partner don’t have to play the painful ‘can you repeat that?’ game.

BIRTHPLACE. Sheffield, South Yorkshire, England

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN. Taurus/Gemini cusp. One of the Earth signs, Taurus has a reputation for being a grounded sign, less hotheaded and more reliable and practical than others. A Taurus can be committed to the point of stubbornness and often finds fulfillment in utility. However, Taurus is very susceptible to possessiveness and insecurity and is very resistant to sudden change; criticism hits hard and when a Taurus is in an unhealthy mental state, a great majority of their emotions can be reliant on the people they are surrounded by. What a Taurus wants more than anything is stability and purpose; without these things, the ground feels shaky underneath their feet and can send them spiraling to find a way to fulfill those needs.

EX-HOGWARTS HOUSE. Gryffindor

PATRONUS. Brown rat

BOGGART. An ever changing beast that’s seen many variations. The current most popular switches between two variations of failure -- one in failing in his duty to the Order and Albus Dumbledore himself dishonorably discharging him, the other in facing the rest of the Marauders and finding that none of them remember him. Had Pete been exposed circa his second year at Hogwarts, it would have likely been Minerva Mcgonagall (brilliant, impatient, terrifying). 

BLOOD STATUS. Pureblood

ALLIED WITH. Order of the Phoenix

FACECLAIM. Charlie Heaton

002. PHYSICAL TRAITS.

HAIR COLOUR & STYLE. Ashy brown, it’s thin but there’s a lot of it, which makes tangling a nightmare if he doesn’t stay on top of it. The current style is grown out of a childhood bowl cut and the now-longer layers tend to piece together around his face and over his eyes. Peter hates how it looks tucked behind his ears too much to keep it out of the way like that, leading to frequent little jerky movements of his head intended to force his hair back into place for a few minutes at a time. The gesture is hardly a graceful one and sometimes he doesn’t bother; all the easier to hide behind.

EYE COLOUR. Dark brown

COMPLEXION. Pale, sunburns at the drop of a hat

ETHNICITY. Caucasian

HEIGHT. 1.71 m (5′6 ft)

PHYSIQUE. Skinny in the way any post-adolescent boy retaining his metabolism is, a little soft in the stomach where late night stress snacking is just beginning to catch up with him. Narrow shoulders, lines more round than sharp, a body used to having to look up to people.

TATTOOS. N/A

PIERCINGS. N/A

CLOTHING & STYLE. Lots of denim, plenty of layers (jackets, jumpers, undershirts, even when it’s warmer out), single-minded dedication to old white trainers that are worn until the bottoms run through. An especially well loved Gryffindor jumper that gets the most use out of all of them. Brown beanies tugged down over red-tipped ears, thick woolen socks with warming threads sewn into the toes. Henley shirts, red or navy and usually with a flannel thrown over the top. A preference for long sleeves and full length pants that suggests a lack of desire to shown off one’s body – in fact, quite the opposite.

MANNERISMS. Darting eyes hopping between every member of a conversation and a few on the outside, not missing anything. Shoulders hunched up around the ears, a laugh that hesitates, always looking for someone else’s laughter to confirm that it’s warranted. Rubbing hands together in the cold, shifting from foot foot when idle, tucking chin close to chest and curling in on himself. Thumbing repetitively at the filter of a cigarette, always blowing smoke down instead of out. Grabbing at items in his pocket and squeezing them tight. Flinching instinctively when someone approaches too fast, even if that someone is a friend.

HABITS. A nervous fidgeter, all leg bouncing and picking at nails until his cuticles are raw, barely conscious he’s doing it. A semi-conscious chewer too; plastic spoons and straws tend to get caught up in his mouth for an hour after he’s done with them, same with the ends of zippers or the tops of pens. Classic stress eater, often climbing out of bed late at night to dig a snack out of the fridge or from under his bed. Peter drinks milk from of the carton and eats ice cream out of the tub; spoons macaroni into his mouth from the pot rather than into a bowl first and snatches bacon right from the pan, absentmindedly sucking his fingers clean after. His friends are more than used to that specific longing look that means he wants something from your plate but is too polite to ask for it. Pete hums constantly when he’s alone (or thinks he is), especially in the shower. Kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet up to his chest on big enough chairs and couches, never unties the laces on his trainers. Tends to make faces when he makes eye contact with himself a mirror. Prefers to sleep in his Animagus form if it’s safe enough that no one isn’t in the know will burst into his bedroom. After he’s been standing for more than ten minutes at a time, he starts leaning into things: doorframes, walls, tables, Remus...

003. PERSONALITY TRAITS & TYPES.

POSITIVE. PERCEPTIVE, ADAPTABLE, UNOBTRUSIVE, CONSIDERATE, EMPATHETIC, LOGICAL, PATIENT

NEGATIVE. AWKWARD, ANXIOUS, WITHDRAWN, WILLFULLY GULLIBLE, INDECISIVE, SELF-CRITICAL, DEPENDENT

HOBBIES & INTERESTS. Novels, particularly sci-fi. Any kind of new music, muggle and wizard bands alike. Some light art, he doesn’t credit himself with being anything but a doodler but he’s actually got an eye for landscapes and buildings. There’s a newly acquired interest in gardening that’s just recently begun to creep in there as well. 

INSECURITIES. Hoo boy.. his physicality: what he looks like, what his strengths are (or more specifically, aren’t. He’s well aware he isn’t exactly toned). His learning ability: everything he struggled to retain in school, how much longer it takes him to pick up most new magic compared to his peers. His personality: how awkward he is at conversation or cracking jokes, how boring he can physically hear himself being every time he talks to another person, how little he has to say about himself that’s interesting or engaging. His roots: entirely unremarkable, the kind of generic that no one remembers. His friends: how easy it would be for them to drop him, how many other vastly more interesting, funny, charming people there are that could take his place, how much more dedicated he fears they are to each other compared to him. Himself in comparison to everyone around him: encompassing all of these previous fears.

MBTI TYPE. ISFP; introverted, sensing, feeling, percieving.  

ENNEAGRAM TYPE. Type Two - The Helper

MORAL ALIGNMENT. True Neutral

TEMPERAMENT. Melancholic

DEADLY SIN. Sloth

004. THIS OR THAT.

INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT?

OPTIMIST OR PESSIMIST?

LEADER OR FOLLOWER?

CONFIDENT OR SELF-CONSCIOUS?

CAUTIOUS OR CARELESS?

PASSIONATE OR APATHETIC?

BOOK SMARTS OR STREET SMARTS?

COMPLIMENTS OR INSULTS?

COLD HANDS OR WARM HEART?

005. ASSOCIATIONS.

COLOURS. Washed out colors; pale reds and oranges and piney greens like a chilly landscape under late autumn rain. Dusty brown, like cooking chocolate or dead leaves. The dingey off-white of something well-worn. Once blazing scarlet and gold, sported long after the brilliance of the color has faded. The translucent blue of shallow veins.

WORDS. Hesitant, shuffling, sniffle, blink, curl, small, nibble, snort, resigned, surprised – ‘woah!’, ‘sure’, ‘i s’pose…’

SCENT. Wet wool, dusty books, lived in skin and no cologne, tobacco lingering in hair from his and Sirius’ cigarettes, ash in a fireplace the morning after. Rich earth, a smell like the word ‘verdant’, like Hestia in the greenhouse.

TASTE. A Pepper-Up potion on a cold day, a rolled up slice of plain wheat bread for a meal while on watch, leftovers just a little off from one too many reheating charms, the burn of alcohol forced down, a meaningless kiss from years ago, joining the rest he can count on one hand.

SOUND. Chaotic conversation while playing observer in the Common Room, all laughter and chatter and friendly lobbed insults. His mother’s favorite songs from the 50′s playing every Sunday morning, the church bells on the walk through town. The confident lilt of James’ voice, the steady cadence of Remus’. Click, pressing play on his Walkman, different from the click-sht of a lighter. A hard sniff, the choked noise of holding back louder tears. The shuffling of sheets and the squeak of mattress coils in a quiet room late at night, turning over and over trying to find a comfortable spot.

MAGIC. Convenience, practicality, repetition. Sneaking off to drill himself again and again until it finally sticks. The giddy rush of that first Patronus, the sheer triumph of that first transformation. Three unregistered Animagi, a law worth breaking, the boy worth breaking it for.

WEATHER. Autumn, cool and overcast. Curling up on the couch in sun beams sneaking through the window, the most satisfying naps he can remember. Dead leaves crunching underfoot walking through the courtyard, going out of his way to step on them. Summer, always a little damp under long sleeves, dizzy and overheated. The heaviness in spring air when rain is on the horizon.

FEELING. Anticipation, queasy anxiety, wanting to reach out and holding back instead. The dread of approaching a classroom without assigned work ready, the exhilaration of cheering on the winning team, the sensation of always having to walk a little faster to keep up. The darker pleasure of seeing someone else be the butt of the joke. The guilty undercurrent of worry watching a close friend laughing with someone else. The guiltier undercurrent of resentment. Wanting. Doubting. Reminiscing. A distant crush from childhood that never quite goes away. The comfort of being touched by someone you care about, an arm around the shoulders, a hand ruffling your hair. The old fears that only get bigger – of not being enough, of never having been enough.

MEMORY. Learning to ride a bike and a broom the same summer, coughing a fit at his first cigarette. Nervously wiping hands on his trousers before shaking Remus’ hand, their first time on the Hogwarts Express. Watching James on the Quidditch Pitch, like trying to stare head-on at the sun. One period of grace when even Sirius felt like a close friend, when everything was right, when school never needed to end. 

TOUCH. Damp earth clinging to the soles of bare feet, goosebumps on bare skin. Sliding on a jumper with nothing underneath.  Pale grey and soft to the touch, a tiny heart trembling under thin skin. Chocolate Frogs melting onto finger tips. Sirius giving him a joking pinch to the cheek, a hard clap on the back, the pain sore and sweet all at once.