peakes, john o.

[johnny]

john orson peakes

THE SCARS OF YOUR LOVE

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full name:

"You what? It's up there, ain't it? You blind, mate? Mum's a fan of the old man names, apparently. I reckon this is the bit where you want me to harp on for a month of bloody Sundays about bloody Jesus knows what, but you know what, you can take your flippin' meanings and what have you and stick 'em up your arse, to be honest. I ain't named after anybody, either, so you can get that out of your thick skull. It's jest a name, ain't it? Sorted. Can we move on now? Jesus, you don't half go on about nothing."

nicknames:

"Christ, it don't take a rocket scientist to work out how many nicknames you can get out my surname. I'll leave that lot to your imagination, yeah, and say we'll just go with 'Johnny', unless you want me to deck your lights out. Yeah, thought not. Granddad calls me Jack, sometimes, but you know what, I never had a sodding clue how you'd ever get that out of flippin' John. I reckon he's going off his rocker in old age, so if you don't want to be lumped with him, then just stick with Johnny, yeah, and it'll be peachy. Cheers."

birthday:

"Why, you wanna buy me summat? I don't want no party or owt, if that's what you're asking for. I ain't a pansy, am I. Remember, remember, the fifth of November, yeah? Otherwise known as the day some bunch of nutters thought it would be a brill idea to blow up the King and a bunch of toffs in Parliament. Wicked, eh? You ain't got much time to save for my pressie, though. I want the new Firebolt, yeah? Wicked."

age:

Sixteen.

house:

"Well, guess I'm your bog-standard Gryffindor, ain't I? Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise, mate, cuz they're all jealous gits, innit. I've got my boatload of courage and chivalry, like one of them Knights of the Round Table or summat. Just like good old Dad as well, ain't I? Definitely ain't one of them Ravenclaws like my brother. He's a right clever little git, he is. Imagine having to answer a bleedin' riddle every night to get to bed! I reckon I'd be sleeping out in the pissin' corridor, me."

blood status:

"Are you having a laugh? As if I'd be one of them hoity-toity purebloods! You're off your rocker, mate. I reckon I'd top myself off the bloody Astronomy tower if I had to live like one of them. Plus, I'd be stuck with one of them weird names, like Scorpius or bleedin' Moonshine or summat. Tell you what, I want some of whatever their Mam and Dad's smoking, though. I'm a half-blood, ain't i. Mum and Dad are both Muggleborns. Why, gonna lynch me now, eh?"

face claim:

Rory Torrens.

WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL

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likes:

• quidditch.
  
• summer hols.
  
• bananas.
  
• motley crue.
  
• footie.
  
• skinny dipping.
  
• skiving classes.
  
• dogs.
  
• bare feet.
  
• sneaking firewhiskey into the dorms.
  
• parties.
  
• being a smart-arse.
  

dislikes:

• homework.
  
• responsibility.
  
• being cooped up indoors.
  
• authority figures.
  
• snow.
  
• not getting his own way.
  
• libraries.
  
• hair cuts.
  
• rules.
  
• being tied down.
  
• birds.
  
• neat freaks.

strengths:

• Brave - Not exactly in your typical "I'd go to the end of the earth to save you" way. Johnny doesn't give a toss what people thing of him, quite frankly, and he'd literally spit in their face if he thought it were necessary--and even if it weren't. It takes a hell of a lot to daunt this kid and he's rarely intimidated by anybody.
  
• Charming - He's not exactly the sharpest tool in the box, that's for sure, but what he lacks in intelligence, Johnny more than makes up for in street smarts and straight up charm. He knows what to say and when to say it; the only thing he hasn't quite mastered his when to keep his gob shut. But then again, it's hardly needed; this guy could charm his way out of hell.
  
• Natural athlete - He might suck—for lack of a better word—in the classroom, but Johnny has inherited his talent for sports from his father. Although a keen Quidditch player, he avidly follows Muggle football back home. Nottingham Forest, in case you were wondering. He isn't a bloody glory hound.

weaknesses:

• Dense - There's no nice way to put it, to be honest. Johnny means well, really he does, but there's no denying that it takes a hell of a lot to get through that thick old skull of his. The few classes that he is able to pass without tutoring are those that are more practically based—Care of Magical Creatues and Herbology, though he'd rather not be farting about with bloody plants—and you're fighting a losing battle if you expect him to get something first time around.
  
• Opinionated - I'm right, you're wrong and there's nothing you can do about it springs to mind with regards to Johnny Peakes. Stubborn as a mule, one he (finally) gets something to his head, you'll have as tough a time getting rid of it as you would shoving it in there.
  
• Arrogant - Comes with opinionated, in a way. He places himself on a podium in comparison to pretty much everyone else. While he doesn't exactly look down his nose at people, he's bull-headed in his opinion that the Peakes way is the best way to the extent that he refuses to take any help, nor will he willingly take orders. Johnny is a leader and nothing less.

veritaserum:

• He'll fight tooth and nail to deny it, but Johnny is incredibly jealous of his brother's intelligence. He is always the one treated like the adult, rather than the little brat that he is viewed as - even if he probably is. He admires his brother no end, perhaps even more than his Dad.
  
• Johnny is petrified of leaving the safety net of Hogwarts. He’s always wanted to be a Quidditch player and the Gryffindor has pretty much based his entire plans on entering the professional league once he leaves school. Deep down, however, he’s terrified that everything will fall through and he’ll disappoint his family.

dementor:

”You know what, I haven’t had any bleedin’ traumatising drama happen like everyone and their bloody mothers. My Mam and Dad are still together and I aint been attacked by bloody evil gits, either. Bet you reckon I’m dead boring, eh? Truth be told, most of my bad memories revolve around the spawn of the Devil. Or birds, as most people like to call them. Every time I hear that horrid sound they make with their wings, I about go into cardiac bloody arrest.”

patronus:

”I only learnt how to do a Patronus not two months ago. It’s a wild dog or summat, from Africa I reckon. My best memory by far is when I made it onto the Quidditch team. Tell you what, that were the best moment of my life. Dad even said he were proud of me when I told him. Ain’t I a sappy little git?”

sexuality & relationship status:

Straight. Reluctant to commit - single. Ish.

I HEARD ONE ON YOU

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father:

Charlie Peakes - forty-seven - Senior Quidditch correspondent for the Daily Prophet.

mother:

Elladora Togley - forty-five - Welcome Witch at St Muno’s.

siblings:

_____ _____ Peakes - seventeen - Ravenclaw.

others: --
overall history:

”I’ll save you poor little sods from any half-arsed stories about how me Mam and Dad met. No one in their right mind wants to have to listen to them harping on about that and bloody Jesus knows that I’ve had to listen to that poppy-cock enough over dinner to last a lifetime. Complete with photos and re-enactments. Joking? Am I bloody hell as like. I wish. I’ll spare you and start with the most important bit: me. It was absolutely lobbing it down when I was born. I know cuz Mum’s got this picture of her in the ward with me, and you can see it in the background. Bloody charming, ain’t it?Dad’s there, too, with my brother. He was only a year old then, but he was a brainy little git even then. Had Einstein on his t-shirt, didn’t he. I reckon Mum put him in that, though, she always did want him to be a Healer and stuff... Hang on, what am I on about? This is about me, ain’t it?

Anyway, yeah. Dunno how you expect me to remember my childhood, though I was probably covered in mood for most of it. Mum had her brainy, bookworm of a kid and Dad had his sportsman. We always had a kick about in the back garden, took me to a bunch of footie games, too. We live in Nottingham, see—that’s in the Midlands if you’re too much of a daft git to know—so we support Forest, obviously. I ain’t no bloody glory hound. My life at home was pretty Muggle-ish, to be honest, ‘specially as both my parents came from Muggle families anyway. It weren’t until I got my Hogwarts letter that I really had anything to do with the wizarding world. Even my brother going a year before didn’t make much difference. Guess you could say I’m a bit of a selfish git. Whatever floats your boat, mate.

So, yeah, this Hogwarts lark. My brother was a Ravenclaw already, but I never reckoned I’d go there. Even I know I’m a bit daft. To be honest, I thought they’d kick me right out, but that old Hat, bless it, reckoned I was brave and whatever enough for Gryffindor like Dad. That or he thought red and gold went well with my eyes or summat, though that’s unlikely. I ain’t the spawn of Satan. My first few years was easy enough, to be honest. Classes weren’t that bad, to be honest, and then in second year, I actually made the Quidditch team. I know, right? Pretty good, ain’t I. I’m a Chaser, me. Dad reckoned I ought to have been Beater like him, but I reckon he were taking the piss. I like scoring, means you’re centre of attention. What? I ain’t beating about the bush. Can’t stand it when people do that. Anyway, it all started to go tits up in fourth year, when they started bloody harping on about OWLs. They didn’t half love going on about that lot, I can tell you. It were pretty useless, like. I mean, I didn’t get much higher than Acceptable on anything, apart from COMC. Exceeded bloody expectations, my arse. Were they expecting me to fail, or summat? Thank God I don’t have to do any of that other boring tripe anymore, though. It’s all up hill from here, I’m telling you. NEWTs are rubbish, anyway.

YOUR GOING TO WISH

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name/alias:

Millie

gender:

Female

age:

Seventeen

contact:

Just PM please!

how you found us:

An advertisement

other characters:

None at the minute!

experience:

role play sample:

It wasn’t the most pleasant of days outside, Darren mused with a distinct expression of distaste written onto his features. It had been over breakfast when his initial plans for the weekend had been slashed to pieces quite spectacularly, when he had, over the small mountain of scrambled eggs that rose proudly from his plate, observed the sky give an almighty shake and split open. Apparently bypassing the typical pathetic drizzle that usually foreshadowed such an onslaught, the rain had poured through the gaping hole in the clouds, that hurled their crystalline waters onto the grounds of Hogwarts with such venom that not even Darren was stupid enough to attempt a flight in such conditions.

And so here he was, sitting in the Hufflepuff common room with his house-mates all crammed in like sardines. The rain continued to pound with gusto against every available surface, prompting any who wanted to have a half-decent conversation to actually shout above the racket. The Hufflepuff common room most certainly wasn’t renowned for being the most calm of the bunch, but bellowing over the others was beginning to take the biscuit. Between the thundering rain that bounced off the window panes and the cacophony of chatter that rose right to the high heavens, even hearing oneself think was proving to be quite the debacle. God knew that concentration was not particularly something that came easy to Darren, even at the best of times.

The quill in his hand put up a bold protest at being squeezed by his relentless fingers, but it proved no match for his fury, the nib snapping for what must have seemed like the umpteenth time that term. How could one seriously hope to concentrate on a two foot essay on the Fidelius Charm with the racket that currently consisted of giggling females and the shrieking of ecstatic first years as they played Exploding Snap? Darren bit his lip, staring at the piece of parchment that remained blank save for an untidy title, despite the fact he had been working on it for what must have been at least an hour now. His patience was beginning to wear noticeably thin.

The terrific slam that succeeded his exasperated sigh caused a pregnant pause in the chatter came as the Hufflepuff shoved his chair back with a scrape, scrunching up the parchment in spite of its current blankness. Darren narrowed his eyes in preparation to shoot them a glare, but clearly his temper was not so much of a surprise any longer and the common room returned to its previous state of rowdiness promptly. Rolling his eyes anyway, he tossed the tight ball of parchment in the vague direction of the fireplace. Of course, Sod’s law said he’d misjudge it, judging by the corker of a day he’d been having. It bounced off the back of a girl’s head and landed a pathetic distance away from the hearth. Wincing, Darren made to pick it up, at which point he recognised the unfortunate victim of his projectile.

“Ella! Sorry ‘bout that...” He said, sheepishly scratching at the back of his head. The offending parchment was stuffed hastily into his trouser pocket. His ears still burned with irritation, though it was hampered somewhat by the mild embarrassment that inevitably crept in as he realised there had been plenty on hand to bear witness to his rather spectacular failure.

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[TILLY BANG!]

accepted
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