El Taco Taco

Taco's Taco Truck! [High Casual-Advanced, Ignore Post Count]

Bump. Still hunting for a Borderlands game.

Something In Between That [El Taco Taco and mmidnight]

The fussing hadn’t lasted long, much to Victoire’s relief. Her mother had swept her into a fierce hug before putting her to work. She’d fielded questions about the hospital as gracefully as she could manage, agreeing with her aunts and cousins that, yes, she did need to get more time off. The lie tasted foul on her tongue, but there was little time to worry. She was set to slicing vegetables. The familiarity of the kitchen was a small comfort; even with magic, there was always work to be done. She could handle work. The others bantered and gossiped as they prepared old favorites

Victoire had never taken to chopping by wand—she preferred the weight of the knife in her hand, the challenge in perfectly even slices. She could find peace in the work, even with the white noise pressing in upon her. She hadn’t cooked in months, had lived on cheap sandwiches and peppers from the teashop and whatever Naoko fancied cooking up. She had missed this, she realized, even if she found the sheer volume of people in the tiny kitchen to be oppressive.

“Courgette, Victoire—“ her mother’s voice cut through the static, and she started, sweeping her pile of zucchini into a large bowl and sending it towards her mother obediently. She made the mistake of scanning the room on returning to her work.

The air slammed out of her lungs, as if she had fallen into ice. Her pulse fluttered in her skin, as volatile as wild Abraxans. She thought her ribs might snap under the strain. The last person in the world she wanted to see was turning on foot, claiming a large tray of treacle tart from her young cousin, and for a moment there was nothing but Teddy. Time was an ocean, its depths crystalizing into ice, stilling everything around her.

Merlin, he was every bit as magnetic as she remembered. It was impossible to focus on anything but the familiar lines of his profile. She was sixteen again and stumbling after him and his easy laugh, lacing their fingers together and drinking him in. There were lines in his face now, and not a blue hair in sight, but there was no mistaking him.

Not for the first time, it occurred to Victoire that hiding for two years had been a thoroughly stupid way of handling things. Her pulse raced, quickened by a dozen different memories she had pushed aside, had never dealt with. She had drowned herself in patients and paperwork to forget him, but now she was here and there was nothing to distract herself with. Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t help the memories slamming into her like a freight train.

Just as suddenly as she had noticed him, he was gone. Victoire felt her cheeks burn, and she automatically dropped her gaze to the peppers she had to slice. In a fog, she began topping the vegetables, coring them with practiced hands. She could sense wary eyes on her, but she was determined not to look. Somehow, despite knowing that being here would be awful, she hadn’t been able to imagine just how painful seeing him again would be. Her fingers tightened on the knife, knuckles whitening about the blade.

The rest of the preparation passed in a blur. Victoire was barely aware of what was going on, following orders mechanically. She wished she could have left, but by the time they were finishing plating food, her father had found her and she couldn’t find the nerve. He led her to the garden, a source of calm among the disarray. He said nothing of her absence and Victoire wasn’t sure if she was grateful or ashamed. Both, more likely.

They ran into Louis along the way, a foot taller than last she had seen him, more man than boy. Sixteen and he’d be the tallest in the family before long, she was certain. They embraced and Victoire was selfishly pleased that at least he wasn’t unhappy to see her.

“You’re so tall!” She blurted, unable to help herself. He arched a brow at her before the expression shifted to a lazy grin. Victoire smiled through her embarrassment, and despite her dread and the nightmare that was facing Teddy, she found herself deliriously happy to see Louis. They had always been exceptionally close; quieter than the others, and the only one of her family to follow her into Ravenclaw, she’d written him far more frequently than the others over the past two years. The guilt crashed into her all over again, a relentless tide. She shouldn’t have left. She should have been family, no matter her fear.

“You look--- tired,” he decided upon after a long moment. Victoire winced. That was being kind, she sensed.

“I’ve been working nights,” she explained, although she wasn’t sure how much she could pin on the hospital, having had the last three days off. “Never mind that. I hear you picked up Prefect…”

They linked arms, the three of them joining the large throng of family and sorting out seats along the enormous oak tables. The logistics of a Weasley-Potter dinner were always a nightmare, but Victoire was pleased to find herself and Louis a good two tables away from Teddy even if she couldn’t help but sneak glances in his general direction.

Unintended

This took waaaay longer than I thought it would!

the skyline is burning red [ closed for SinfulSkills and El Taco Taco ]

Parminder Advani had never seen such opulence. Fairies glittered around candles, drunkenly giggling and tossing dust into the air. An enchanted, unmanned orchestra filled the hall with music. The table was set with gold and luxurious burgundy velvet. A pang of nostalgia for the Gryffindor common room struck her then, lighting her features with a smile.

Eric’s arm looped about her chair comfortably. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, a wicked grin toying about his lips.
“Looks like our favorite socialite hooked up with Hawkes. This’ll be entertaining.”

She followed his gaze to a fabulously beautiful redhead on the arm of heavily bearded man, suppressing a snort with some difficulty. Hawkes was a good Auror, but Merlin he had poor judgment. Dating his coworkers’ daughter? That was going to end in hexes before long.

“Nudd’s going to toss him through a window when he finds out,” she grinned conspiratorially to Eric, almost looking forward to the drama. Undoubtedly, she would have been less eager had she worked closely with Hawkes or Nudd. As it was, she had little to worry about.

A man had joined their table. She withdrew her attention from the ticking time bomb that was Hawkes to study their new dining companion. Silver lights danced in the corners of her vision, swirling about his form. Now that was interesting. Parminder had been seeing glimpses of magic her whole life, but rarely did the flickers of light cling to wizards so brazenly. She straightened in her seat, aware of Eric’s tensing beside her.

He was familiar with Morgania and Bernard, both of whom seemed very pleased to see him. He introduced himself to Eric, who smiled charmingly enough. She felt his thumb tap her shoulder twice. He’d noticed her tensing, and his reassurance was welcome. Whoever this wizard—this Trenton—was, he must have been a remarkable spellcaster. But with Eric at her side, she permitted herself to relax.

He took her hand, and in a perfect display of old world mannerisms, kissed it. Her eyebrows elevated in amusement, her lips quirking into a grin. She didn’t think she’d ever had such a greeting, and it was oddly charming. She couldn’t help but duck her gaze momentarily, trying not to be too embarrassed. She’d never been a particularly flirtatious woman, always too busy to bother with men. Eric insisted she was oblivious to numerous potential suitors, but she found that a bit hard to believe. She was a tracker, well versed in reading people and magic—even if he was right and she was oblivious, it wasn’t like she was a prime catch. An Auror and a muggleborn; how many wizards would bother with that?

“Parminder Advani. It’s a pleasure,” she introduced when she trusted herself to meet his gaze without laughing.

“Eric Pucey,” her partner commented, his smile pleasant but his eyes calculating. “Durmstrang, right? You look a little familiar.”

Parminder quirked a brow. That was interesting. Few Englishmen studied at Durmstrang, and those that did tended to fall into a particular… category, as it was. No wonder Eric was on edge. Still, her friendship with Pucey had proven that she could hardly paint all Durmstrang alumni as blood elitist psychopaths, and she chose to reserve judgment for the time being.

Something In Between That [El Taco Taco and mmidnight]

I love writing Vic because she's really just awful at being an adult and making choices for herself. 9 times out of 10, she manages to fuck it all up. It's loads of fun! :D She's certainly never boring, haha!

Harry Potter is just the fandom that never quits. There's always something new and awesome to explore. I heart it so. <3

Something In Between That [El Taco Taco and mmidnight]

Oh, good! *_* It's been over a year since I've written Vic, so I'm still trying to get back into her headspace, but yay! I'm super stoked for this game! :D

Unintended

No worries! I'm about halfway through another post, then I'll get summat up.

We know for sure that Bulgaria and Egypt qualified, and we have England as well. I'm going to throw Poland, China, Moldova, and Norway in as well. That leaves 9 more slots open. Any preferences?

Unintended

Brilliant! I guess we should get this show on the road. Who to start?

Something In Between That [El Taco Taco and mmidnight]

Sorry my starter was so ridiculously long. I tend to get carried away! My normal posts are much shorter.

Something In Between That [El Taco Taco and mmidnight]

”Healer Weasley to Senior Healer Cycles’ Office. Healer Weasley to Senior Healer Cycles’ Office,” the tinny voice of the Welcome Witch blared through the A&E, disrupting Victoire’s rounds barely an hour in.

Being called to the Senior’s office rarely meant good news. Victoire had spent the past ten minutes trying to figure out what she had done wrong, running over the past few weeks in her head. She had been unable to find an offence worthy of a meeting in the office. By the time she reached the fourth floor, her palms were sweating and stomach churning. It took a surprising force of will not to be sick when her pale hand reached out and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” the familiar bark did nothing to assuage her nerves. Victoire took a steadying breath. Straightening her powder blue robes, she clicked open the door to Senior Healer Deirdre Cycle’s office. It was Victoire Weasley’s least favorite place in the hospital. The yellow walls were barren, and but for the drooping spider plant in the corner, the room was completely devoid of personality. Senior sat at her desk, a small pile of parchment scattered across the oak. Feeble rays of sunlight streamed in through slits in the blinds. A memo looped lazily around Senior’s head, skimming the tight black kinks. The door clicked behind Victoire with an unsettling sort of finality.

“Sit,” Senior’s eyes didn’t move from a document she was reading, her pen tapping on the desk. Victoire obeyed without hesitation. Senior Healer Cycles was not a woman she wanted to cross. Her hands folded in her lap, Victoire tried desperately not to fidget as she awaited judgment. A long moment passed before the dark witch signed and rolled the parchment, finally fixing her gaze upon the slim blonde. Senior tutted as she withdrew a folder from beneath the pile of paperwork, thumbing it open. Victoire recognized her portrait inside the front cover, smiling nervously. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Healer Weasley,” Senior thumbed through evaluations and paperwork, inscrutable as ever. “In nearly three years in my department, it appears you have yet to take a holiday.”

Of all the things Victoire had anticipated, this certainly wasn’t one of them. She realized she was gaping—with a start, she snapped her mouth shut and tried not to look too terrified.

“I… beg your pardon, Senior, but I don’t follow—“

“Weasley,” Senior interrupted smoothly, shutting the folder and steepling her hands. “Earlier this week, I had the pleasure of a young woman barging into my office demanding to speak with me about you.”

The bottom of Victoire’s stomach dropped away as the Senior Healer spoke. It would have been funny, almost, if the thought hadn’t been so horrifying. A young woman barging in screamed Weasley. Weasley’s had a horrible habit of making trouble and wreaking havoc wherever they went. She could scarcely breathe.

“She was rather forceful. Went on and on about how your family has a large reunion planned, how you’ve missed holidays for this, and I quote, ‘Merlin buggered hospital’ for too long, and demanded I get you out into ‘the real world’, as she put it,” the Senior sounded amused at that, but Victoire’s face burned with shame. Victoire sat perfectly still, uncertain if she could trust herself to move.

“Senior, I, I’m so sorry, that never should have happened,” she tried to sound composed, but her voice choked. Senior frowned across the table at her, a brow arched. Victoire felt as though she had been pinned by the full body bind.

“Well, happen it did,” Senior waved her stammering off, looking impatient, “That’s not what’s important. Weasley, I know we’re undermanned as is, but you have to take time off every once in a while. You keep working like this, you’ll burn out, it’s as simple as that.”

Victoire’s mind had gone horribly blank. She felt rather like she was watching a train wreck, unable to look away, unable to stop it. Her nails drove into her palms.

“I’ve managed to squeeze out three weeks of paid leave for you,” Senior’s words made her blood run cold, “That young woman ordered me to deliver this to you,” she reached out, extending an envelope to Victoire. It took her a long moment to accept it. She recognized her grandmère’s handwriting instantly. She swallowed. She’d ignored the previous invite, had planned on claiming that she had missed it while at hospital, but now she had no such excuse. “I suggest you attend whatever engagement this is. This Dominique threatened to hex me when I said you were previously scheduled for work. Dismissed.”

Victoire nodded numbly and rose to her feet.

The next few days dragged longer than Victoire had even thought possible. Without the hospital eating her every waking minute, she found there was simply too much time in a day. She’d never been so idle in years. After cleaning the flat twice over and tending Henry, there was little to do. Naoko was swamped with pre-season practice, and as all her friends were fellow Healers working at the hospital, Victoire had nothing to occupy herself with. Books did little to capture her interest and the near constant rain kept her confined to the flat, too drained to bother with the world at large.

The letter sat on her bedside table. She’d read it a dozen times, had practically memorized her grandmère’s request to visit for her Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny’s anniversary party. She wasn’t sure what to make of Dominique’s delivery of the letter. They had never been particularly close. Her sister had always been so sharp, all fierce confidence and certainty. They’d been in conflict as long as Victoire could remember. But, she supposed it made sense—Dominique certainly had never cared for tact. Victoire could think of no one else who had the nerve to shout down Senior Healer Cycles. Still, she couldn’t fathom why her sister had bothered. She dreaded finding out. Time sensed this and, annoyingly, did not stop its relentless march.



The Saturday of the party, Victoire seriously considered going back to St. Mungo’s and begging Senior to let her work again. The only thing stopping her was the futility of the whole idea. Her frustration was immense. All she wanted was to be at work, doing something useful with herself. The free time was driving her mad. But Senior had put her on leave and there was no arguing with her bosses will. Not for the first time, Victoire cursed her sister’s interference. Everything had been fine. Now she could barely find the energy to get out of bed, let alone enjoy her impromptu holiday. Naoko had suggested she take off to somewhere with beaches and sunshine, but the thought turned her stomach almost as much as the party.

The party. Merlin, she didn’t know why she was going. It was an awful idea. Undoubtedly, the whole family would be there, and though she loved them fiercely she could already feel the headache coming on. It would be like every Weasley-Potter get together—filled with explosions and a dozen people shouting to be heard over each other as Grandmère forced entirely too much food on them. Even in her childhood, Victoire had found the parties to be trying. And that had been before she had dropped off the face of the Earth. She knew it would be a mess, showing up properly for the first time in nearly two years. It couldn’t end well.

“I must be mental,” she informed Henry. The bulldog cocked his head at her, obsessively smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her floral patterned sundress in the mirror. “We should have just gone to Majorca like Naoko suggested.”

Being a dog, Henry said nothing. Victoire breathed in deep, studying her reflection. She’d swept her blonde hair over a shoulder, curling loosely. Her freckles contrasted fantastically against her skin, paler now having practically lived in St. Mungo’s for the past few years. She felt a fraud, put together so neatly when all she wanted was to curl up in bed with a book and a tub of ice cream and avoid the world. She breathed deep. She had to do this sooner or later. Still, she’d always hoped the never face the later. After Teddy, it had been so much easier to simply drift away. She knew she’d never escape him. He was as much as part of the family as she—more so, really. He’d always belonged among the clan, all charm and brilliance. He’d never struggled to breathe at the numerous parties, had never seemed out of place. She’d been a moth to his flame, trailing after him.

And then she had ended everything in an explosion of rage and vicious words, and that had been that. Panicked and trapped and drowning in everyone else’s image of her, she’d lashed out, indulging her temper. She’d severed years in one night and Victoire wasn’t brave enough to decide whether she regretted it or not.

She couldn’t hide any longer. Heart drumming against her ribs, she knelt to wish her little dog a goodbye, before lifting her purse and parcel from the vanity. With a deep breath, she turned on the spot and disappeared in a sharp crack.



The Burrow loomed before her. Judging by the din, most of the family had already arrived. Adjusting the parcel under her arm, she took a moment to compose herself. Everything would be fine. Even if Teddy was here—which he would be—she could handle it. She had to handle it. Victoire tried not to let the creeping sense of panic overwhelm her. She was here and there was no turning back. If Dominique was willing to humiliate her by harassing her boss to get her here, Victoire dreaded to think what would happen if she didn’t make an appearance.

The door was open, and Victoire took the opportunity to slip inside. The parlor table was covered in a mountain of gifts in varying sizes and colourful wrapping paper. She deposited her simple parcel. It looked rather pitiful in its brown paper, and suddenly she wondered if she should have found something cleverer than a crystal decanter.

“You finally decided to grace us with your presence, then.”

Victoire jumped, looking up from the table, blue eyes meeting brown. It was amazing how a girl four years her junior could make her feel so guilty with a single sentence. Victoire straightened, watching as her younger sister leaned against the doorframe.

“Domi,” she greeted diplomatically. When had Dominique grown so tall? Victoire still thought of her as six years old, with a toothy smile and a penchant for playing with the gnomechildren. It was hard to see her sister as eighteen, as having come of age.

Dominique rolled her eyes. Victoire frowned. Since when was she not allowed to call her sister by her nickname? Since you dropped off the face of Earth?

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Dominique spoke, all matter of fact. Victoire fought the urge to purse her lips. More than anyone, her sister knew how to get beneath her skin, how to bait her temper. “Mum’s been going spare. You do remember you’re a qualified witch, right? There’s this fancy thing called apparation, since apparently Floo is too much of a bother for you.”

Dominique was right, of course, but what could Victoire say? ‘Sorry, I needed to escape the craziness that is this family for a while’? Or, ‘Sorry, I ruined everything with the bloke completely enmeshed in our family and I needed space’? Or even, ‘Sorry, I’m human and I make stupid decisions out of fear’? Dominique would poke holes in any defence she offered, and Victoire didn’t have the energy to engage in a ground war.

“I’m here now,” she managed wearily, wishing she could have sounded at least a little more confident there. “What’s done is done.”

Dominique eyed her, something swimming behind her eyes, as if she had a thousand more things she wanted to say. She simply scoffed and turned, abandoning her in the empty parlor. Victoire shut her eyes tight, nails curving into the flesh of her palm. She couldn’t just run away now. Merlin, but she wanted to.

Victoire’s footsteps carried her softly through the house, sidestepping her cousin Roxanne laden with a basket of table settings.

“Vic, hey!” Roxanne at least looked pleased to see her, calling over her shoulder. “Your mum’s in the kitchen, I think she needs help!”

“Ah… thanks,” Victoire wasn’t sure if Roxanne heard her, having started shouting for her brother to stop being a prat. With a soft quirk of the lips, she made her way towards the kitchen. The kitchen was full to bursting, a cacophony of pots and pans and sizzling food. It was madness, and the only relief was that the clamor meant she went rather unnoticed.