conquer the willow

Peter is looking for a buddy to lead into danger on an escapade to mount a branch of the whomping willow for eight seconds, a like a bull rider. But he need s someone to do it with!

Preferably male, but if you've gota female character that's fine!

Issues finding plots

Okay, Hi, I'm Utopia, back after a long absence. I've been missing this site, and coming back I've rediscovered what turned me off in the first place and made me poof.

It seems that everytime I roleplay I am just replotting the same plot over and over; Peter hits on a pretty girl, pretty girl is closed off to the hittings-on, girl plays hard-to-get, Peter doesn't give up, thread dies. Its the same thing with everyone I've roleplayed with, and I'm trying to vary it up a bit but his ego and flirting is a fundamental part of his personality, and it is pretty hard for him to deviate from that.

Has anyone else felt their character fall into a repeating pattern like this? I don't want to give up on him, but I don't know how to make him grow in an "organic" way; like, make him change in an in-character way. Any suggestions on this?

P.S. what exactly is a plot-arch, and can you give me a guide line on how to make one?

P.S.S. Does anyone have any idea where I should take peter? like, What do people think of him? Is he annoying, stupid? What makes you want to roleplay with me, what makes you not want to? I want to be really involved in Wurr, but I feel like I'm paddling in a circle right now.

Watch it Burn

The tawny-haired Slytherin practically waddled his way down the abandoned hallway, using the stone wall to support himself. He had never stuffed himself so tightly with caudron cakes in his life, and his stomach was giving him no end of complaint over it. Why those desserts seemed so tempting tonight was a mystery, as he was generally the meat-and-potatoes sort.

The corridor he had decided to take after dinner was angled straight toward an ajoining staircase near the Gryffindor tower, and was supposed to lead right into the dungeons. The thirteen year old usually used it as a shortcut to his dorm room from the Great Hall in the evenings, but the wily old castle had apparently decided to shift within the half-hour it had taken Peter to gorge himself; it now detoured into a rarely-traversed branch of hall. From the ceiling to the floor, the stones and bricks were covered in dust and cloaked with tired, ripped cobwebs and lined by low-burning torches. The lighting was so dim in the hall that not even the portraits were illuminated.

Peter kept his hand to the wall, making his way forward and squinting in the darkness. Finally, he couldn't see anything at all and took out his lightly-colored wand. As stubborn as the stick was, he was always weary of actually practicing magic unless it was totally necessary. Bracing himself for the worst, he shook the stick and said muttered the incantation, Lumos. As expected, the wand over-reacted and an explosion from the tip sent him reeling toward the wall, making a sound thud echo. Snarling like an angry dog at himself, he stood and stretched his bruised back, pulling his well-defined muscles forward and backward to lessen the pain. After making sure he was alright, he took a firmer grip on his wand and tried again. "Lumos!" he called, the growl in his voice this time from his frustration, and his wand flickered to life with light, but with a rebellious amount of dimness to it. Peter rolled his eyes at it, but decided to let it slide and turned his attentions to the corridor.

However, on the wall to his right, he realized there was an astounding amount of color on the rough-hewn stone. He shook his wand a little harder, and it got a bit brighter so that he could examine the discovery. What he saw on the wall was a family portrait, featuring a darkly-skinned man with long, straight black hair that reached his shoulders and warm green eyes. Judging from the man's tribal-styled jewelry and high cheekbones, Peter would guess he was a native dweller of the Americas, one those shaman-wizard folk. He held the hand of a woman with curly auburn hair and a round face, and the two adults had their hands resting on the shoulders of their two children, whose faces had been smudged out quite thoroughly by some kind of cloth. Apparently someone had rubbed up against it and smeared the mural beyond repair. He chuckled a bit, as the poor fool who had fallen against it would be forced to throw away the article of clothing. Poor chump.

Peter smirked for a moment, crossing his arms with his wand still in his hand, and that was when he saw a streak of white goop glistening in the glowing light of his hornbeam wand. "Oh, bugger an' blast!" he roared, ripping his suit jacket off to have a look at the damage. "Bloody hell. Virgin wool, ta boot!" His brow furrowed and he scowled at the mural. He pointed his wand at it, and the stick, ever-ready for a destructive spell, sent prepratory sparks out the end, and Peter sent an explosive bout of flame toward the painting, melting and blackening most of the paint, sending flakes of ashes fluttering down to the ground. Smirking at his cleansing work, he removed some paper and a quill from his suit jacket's inner pocket and used the ruined mural for support as he penned his thoughts. He gummed it to the wall with the bubblegum he had been chewing, and continued to his dorms to rest on his job well-done.

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Painter,

<br><br>
The anatomy was utterly beastly anyway. Tara!<br><br>

<div align=right>Attractively,<br>

Cleaning Committee</div></div>
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Peter Stonewall

Original:
Name:Peter Stonewall
Age:12
Bloodline: Pure
Do you have more than one character? If yes, did you get permission to make this one?:1st
Physical Appearance: This light brown-haired, grey-green-eyed kid is a second year with a delicate build and thin, hollow-cheeked face. His skin is tanned. He has small hands. His wardrobe is professional and no-nonsense, with a lot of black and gray.
Personality:He is fickle whin it comes to girls and scatterbrained in everything too and is interested mainly in Quidditch and basically just winning everything. The biggest thing he wants to be when he grows up is the Minister of Magic because he sees that as the biggest "win" he could get in life. He likes to flirt with girls and make them fall in love with him and is really sweet. He sees a girl turning him down as a challenge and will chase after her even harder. He wants to win, but never be controlled. He wants to be the best at everything. He likes sports and is a die-hard Puddlemore fan and gets tickets to every game from his dad, and so he buys friends with the tickets sometimes. He always has at least ten Galleons on his person all of the time because of his rich family's allowance that they give him and so he showers the girls he likes with gifts, especially if they are older than him, because older girls are even more of a challenge to buy the heart of. He likes to be around guys to play games with them so that he can beat them, but most of the time he doesn't have time for that because he's trying to date a girl.
Character Background: He is fickle because his dad is a philandering Quidditch player for Puddlemore United named Stanley Stonewall and Peter wants to be just like his dad. He is scatterbrained mostly because his mom is, too. He is interested in Quidditch because he looks up to his dad so much. He is interested in winning because when he wins something at home, that's when his dad notices him. That carried over into his everyday life--he makes everything into a challenge. His friends-can-be-bought mentality comes from how his dad treats him; in order to patch up where he messes up, Stanley Stonewall simply buys Peter the newest broom on market or gives him money to go buy a ride on a pegasus or some other thing. Peter doesn't know it, but the reason he throws himself at girls is because he didn't get the love and attention from his dad that he needed as a child and so is growing up crooked.
Special Request I want him to be a werewolf someday
Desired House: Slytherin
Roleplay Sample: When Peter was walking by the lake, the Squid, who was Godric Gryffindor really only shape-shifted into a squid, squirted him with water and he wiped his face, his face scruched angry. That squid hated him, and he knew that. Ever since the first year, after Peter had set the whole lake on fire on accident by throwing a fire-potion in there on accident. Ever since the Squid always got him wet all over and Peter always got angry about it.
"Hey, stop that Mr Gryffindor." Peter yelled, his green-greey eyes wiping off and stinging from the mud."I don't like that, stupid squid."

When he said that the tenticles went under water again, then a big red-head guy with a long bushy beard came up, splashing Peter with the wave. It turned out that Godric Gryffinor was Peter's really far back grandpa and had splashed Peter because he loved him. After that he helped Peter with his homework all of the time and showed him how to do cool spells that no one else knew and told him secrets.

After that Peter went to class and fell in love with lots of girls but didn't kissany at all.
OOC Name: Utopia

It’s MY mirror, and I need it NOW.

In the early morning, with the sun barely coming up, a half naked boy was peering into fogged up mirror that was in a silvery snake frame. The boy’s name was Peter, and he had just finished a quick and intense sprint along the Lakeshore, and was using a strawberry-flavored scrubbing charm on his teeth to clean them, but his wand was being a real stick, putting out an inconsistent amount of power, sometimes tickling his mouth like a feather, then the next minute letting out an explosion of power that made his teeth ache. He really hated it when the stupid thing was wigging out, feeling like it was pretty much just doing it to get on his nerves. He sometimes wondered if purchasing a woodchipper would help him out, smiling despite the pain. His was a good wand, of course, as all of Samuel’s wands were, but it tended to only obey its master when it was the center of attention. Any other time, it was a real stick to Peter.

The steam from Peter’s shower was still floating around, and on it hung the alluring scent of his lavender soaps. However, over the top of that pleasant smell, was a spicy, fizzy smell, similar to cinnamon blended with plutonium, bubbled through the air from the greenish-yellow substance the Slytherin had moments ago massaged into his hair from a little tube with MagiGel printed across it in bubbly letters that were enchanted to flash zany colors and patterns that drew the eye. It was a new product he was trying that was supposed to change hues depending on the light so that the most eye-catching color would be adapted in the right moment for bright contrast, like in a green room it would turn ginger, and in a blue room blonde, etcetera. Up from his hair kit smiled his tin of Dapper Dan, and he almost felt guilty for adopting a different hair treatment that day, then shrugged off the strangely Hufflepuff-y notion with a chuckle, not wanting to think about it.

Putting his wand down from using the charm that had made his mouth sore and taste fruity, deciding he had had enough of his silly finicky wand for one morning, Peter stood a little straighter and ran his fingertips over his upper lip, chin, down to his chest, and finally checked under his arms. His skin was smoother than a baby’s bottom, and this fact made him scowls a little, because he wanted to shave already. His eyes surveyed his appearance, and caught on his biceps, and he flexed them, watching the muscles grow rounder as he tensed up and hinged his elbows and feeling proud of himself for keeping them so strong. Yeah. He was pretty much ripped, for sure. The bathroom was a cool grey with coal grey square tiles under his feet and silver frames for the mirrors, snakes carved into the silver, strange runes all over the scales of them. The mirror is foggy from the baths, bits of rust in the corners. There is a large window that gazes out into the Black Lake, wherein a few tentacles can be seen far off, and seaweed is flapping in the currents. The large bath is draining the last dregs of water, there is a water trail coming from it, to the lavatory, and then to the mirror, where the boy still drips, forming a small pool around his feet. He could feel the grain of the roughly-cut stone under his toes, and he felt water droplets running from his sopping curls to his chin, dripping onto his chest, and running down from there to either get absorbed in his towel around his hips, or dribble to the grout between the tiles at his feet. His scalp felt tingly from the MagiGel, and the energy burst from his morning run was still coursing through his body, making his heart pump, his mind alert, and his confidence swell. Barely anyone was awake; everything’s quiet except the dripping from various faucets, yawning portraits, and the distant flush of a toilet, so he was pretty sure he was alone so no one could see him checking himself out.

He reminded himself, half way through a flex in the mirror, that he couldn’t take too long getting ready today, even though he woke up earlier than usual, because he had somewhere to be that morning before breakfast at seven; he had to get to the gardens just as the sun was coming up so that he could catch a Rosemallow flower at its prettiest and set a preservation charm, that he had gotten the idea of from Emric Bolstridge, on it and give it to Ariel Silvermoor via owl for the morning Post. What was that stupid owl’s name again? Was it Duck or something? He shrugged. He would burn that bridge when he came to it, he guessed.