don't run away

"Come on, the weather is beautiful today, it might be the last chance we get to go swimming in the lake this year. We can’t miss that chance!"

2.) What are your characters most prominent physical features?

3.) Name one scar your character has, and tell us where it came from. If they don’t have any, is there a reason?

4.) How vain is your character? Do they find themselves attractive? 

5.) What’s your character’s ranking on the KINSEY SCALE? 

6.) Describe your character’s happiest memory.

7.) Is there one event or happening your character would like to erase from their past? Why? 

8.) Day of Favorites! What’s your character’s favorite ice cream flavor? Color? Song? Flower?

9.) Who does your character trust?

10.) Can you define a turning point in your character’s life? Multiples are acceptable.

11.) Is there an animal you equate with your character? 

12.) How is your character with technology? Super savvy, or way behind the times? Letters or email? 

13.) What does your character’s bed look like when he/she wakes up? Are the covers off on one side of the bed, are they all curled around a pillow, sprawled everywhere? In what position might they sleep?

14.) How does your character react to temperature changes such as extreme heat and cold?

15.) Is your character an early morning bird or a night owl?

16.) Are there any blood relatives that your character is particularly close with, besides the immediate ones? Cousins, Uncles, Grandfathers, Aunts, et cetera. Are there any others that your character practically considers a blood relative? 

17.) What’s your character’s desk/workspace look like? Are they neat or messy?

18.) Is your character a good cook? What’s their favorite recipe, whether they’re good or not? (Microwave mac-and-cheese applies.)

19.) What’s your character’s preferred means of travel? 

20.) Does your character have any irrational fears? 

21.) What would your character’s CUTIE MARK be?

22.) If your character could time travel, where would they go?

23.) Is your character superstitious? 

24.) What might your character’s ideal romantic partner be?

25.) Describe your character’s hands. Are they small, long, calloused, smooth, stubby?

26.) Second day of favorites! Favorite comfort food, favorite vice, favorite outfit, favorite hot drink, favorite time of year, and favorite holiday. 

27.) Pick two songs that describe your character at two different points of their life, and explain why you chose them. 

28.) If your character’s life was a genre, what would it be? 

29.) How does your character smell? Do they wear perfume or cologne? 

The thought of OWLs prompted him to scowl and lean his head back against the wall. He wasn’t angry, not in any sense of the word, and this was evidenced by traces of a smile. On the contrary, it felt good to speak to someone; to let out his worry through human interaction instead of letting it eat away at his insides. The chocolate, of course, didn’t hurt.

"Ugh. Don’t even get me started. It’s like, suddenly they expect us to both learn a whole year’s worth of new stuff and remember every little thing we’ve learned since we got here, and if we don’t do super well on the test it’ll basically change what we’re allowed to do for the rest of our lives. Whoever decided that that was a good idea needs to be Crucio'd or something.”

He felt a rush of excitement sparking inside him, akin to his nights of gossiping with the other Slytherin boys.

"I’ve got a full load, too. I think Transfiguration is gonna be the death of me."

The complaints were Peter's very own about classwork and he found himself nodding in sympathy. There were so many impractical applications in school that Peter found it difficult to pay attention. His friends would inform everyone that he was not dim-witted, not particularly, but he found no use in charms that changed the color of furniture. The majority of his classes, at least for NEWT level, had some use in the real world. His mother had asked him for assistance in some spellwork before, for clarification on some theory she'd forgotten long ago, so Peter felt he was a bit better off taking those classes. Granted, history was one subject he took for his own personal enjoyment but he was sure he was going to drop something soon. 

Come to think of it, how was Peter supposed to give Regulus advice on classes that he himself was thinking of dropping a class or two.

"Crucio'd?" Peter pondered it for a moment, remembering the spell in the newspapers. The offensive hex seemed to be so far out of their realm of school though but really, Peter was a Knockturn kid so he was sure there were such spell users in his neighborhood. "You're right. We would probably do lots better later on but they don' even care about that. S'probably just for numbers, ya know? This professor got this many O's this year, they get tenure. Shite like that," He added, figuring he could always ask McGonagall. She'd be honest with him if he kept asking about it.

Everything was fucking politics at the end of it.

☠Send me one at your leisure and I will write a drabble based on what you send— Other prompts are always welcomed and encouraged if it’s not stated on this list.

MARAUDERS FANMIX SERIES

Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, and James Potter, camping in the Winter, like totally sane people

Regulus could feel his body relaxing, physically. He was leaning back against the outer wall of the castle, his stance opening up, his stomach slowly unclenching. He realized how tense he had been just moments earlier and made a mental note to add that to the list of things he was Working On. He took the bar of chocolate and started absently thumbing the wrapper, although he did not unwrap it yet.

The “twat” comment, to his surprise, actually made him laugh. If one of the Slytherin boys had said that, he probably would have thrown an Incendio charm at them without even thinking, but it was different coming from a friend, someone who knew his brother’s positive side as well as his shortcomings. And he had to nod a little, in agreement. Sirius was a twat sometimes.

Regulus' laugh kept the grin on Peter's face but he couldn't help but wonder when the last time Sirius saw his brother laugh was. It was quick and shy but earnest and reminded Peter of those awful mornings when Remus had to push through post-moon and they ended up doing some stupid shite that made him laugh. It hurt and it was a bit adorable but, as Sirius has said before, Blacks do not do adorable ever. Even if he's there wagging his tail and playing fetch with James, nope never adorable. The best part though, was having Regulus speak back. The quiet little brother, the one very opposite to loud obnoxious Sirius, was speaking. To Peter. And asking about his class. Peter mumbled something about Regulus being fucking adorable before reaching into his bag again and pulling out a small bag of cookies, munching before he really knew what he was doing.

"Fine. I-it was fine. I guess."

The conversation lulled for what was probably only a few seconds but seemed, to Regulus, painfully long. Peter didn’t seem to be as outrageously bold as the rest of his friends, and it was clear that this was going to be a problem, since he himself was not particularly skilled at starting conversation. In a daring attempt to end the silence, Regulus offered something else:

"I like it better here."

A small smile nudged at the corner of his lips.

'I like it better here.'

"Do you?" He asked almost immediately, almost stupidly, but then a rush a memories flooded his mind. Running past Borgins and Burkes on his way home, escaping from the bigger boys that try to take his last sickle when he wants to get something sweet for mum. Mum exhausted from working two jobs in filthy places that he can't ever visit or know about. The boys and men who make those horrible comments about mum that hurt because yes, he knows she's pretty because she's the prettiest woman he knows. But that first train ride with Remus, James, and Sirius. Being afraid of the Black heir at first before realizing, no, he is just the puppy that he manages to become later on in life. Christmases with friends. Parties after Quidditch matches. Late nights studying, Sirius snoring away despite the others working hard. Times spent as Wormtail running around with Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs and even the mornings after. Peter nodded, not giving Regulus a chance to say anything before he responded in kind.

"Yeah, I like it here better too, Regulus," Peter said, his tone a bit heavy. With little fanfare, he offered the bar in his hand with a grin, much brighter now as he compartmentalized his thoughts.

"Peter…?"

Great. This is gonna go well. He had spoken, maybe, twenty words to this boy in his entire life, and none since school started; none since Sirius left. He shut the magazine and quickly stuffed it behind his back before Peter could realize it was transparent. No use being labeled a creep.

"Oh. Um. Hi."

The mention of his brother twisted his stomach into one large, uncomfortable knot. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head a little — “No, I-I haven’t” — and immediately started chewing on his thumbnail. His fingertips, usually well manicured while at home with his parents, had been reduced to stubs, the skin cracked and dry from too much nervous biting.

He started cycling through his mental store of Things To Talk About. School? No, that’s boring. Umm… Oh, I know!

'Oh my gosh, he IS baby Padfoot,' Peter thought absently until Regulus began to bite his nail. It was a bad habit that Peter also had and he knew he had to stop it. At the least, he should stop the other before his hands ended up like the Gryffindor's. "O-Oh. I thought he would..." He trailed off, mentally tacking on 'get Sirius to talk to his brother' on his to-do list. It was like he had to fix everything around here. He put down his bookbag and sat down cross-legged with a grunt beside the Slytherin. "M-my summer? Oh. S'alright. C-can't really complain. Saw mum, saw the lads once in a while, slept. How 'bout yours?" 

It was a crisp morning. The sun’s rays were seeping through the vines outlining the courtyard as it crept towards noon. Regulus sat scrunched up on the ground, his knees pulled up to his chest, his back against the wall of the castle, nose-deep in the latest issue of Which Broomstick?.

The article comparing the Cleansweep Five to the Comet 2000 was not as compelling as he had hoped. It failed to hold his attention against the clenching anxiety that grew in his stomach. He tapped his wand against the pages of the magazine and it turned transparent.

Through it, he watched the groups of friends milling about in the courtyard, gossiping and practicing their transfiguration (which sometimes didn’t end up in a ball of flames). His jaw clenched, his lips sealed into a small frown. How long had it been since he had spoken to another human? Seven, eight hours? This solitude was starting to get embarrassing.