El Taco Taco

there's no sea left for me [[ El Taco Taco && Anima ]]

That's what I love to hear. Looking forward to your post! >:3

there's no sea left for me [[ El Taco Taco && Anima ]]

She's a halfblood; muggle mother, pureblood father.

Star Wars Comedy Adventure Pairing [high casual]

Haha, yessss. A piece of shit that can barely make the jump to Hyperspace, but goddammit she's theirs and only they can talk shit about her. I love it.

I'm thinking my twins grew up following their pops, a general for the Empire, from planet to plane. Since life expectancy isn't exactly great for Imperial officers, he eventually gets the axe and they're sent off to Zeltros to stay with family. Their transport never makes it, and their long chain of misadventures lead them to Tatooine.
They managed to get the local Hutt to buy them from their last employers/owners, and they're trying to raise the credits to buy their freedom... or someone willing to buy them out, since they're pretty useless at saving money.

Dude, you're fucking up. I know the hypes been crazy, but Guardians is legit amazing. Go watch it. It's glorious

there's no sea left for me [[ El Taco Taco && Anima ]]

No that's totally perfect. I love the drama >:D

Something In Between That [El Taco Taco and mmidnight]

Victoire desperately wanted to run. Teddy had a way of drawing her in, drowning out the world around him in white noise, and she couldn’t have looked away if she tried. The world melted away into a blur of lights. A curious numbness and hypersensitivity flooded her body, pulling her every which way. There were no words for the heat in her skin. No poet could have adequately detailed the way the Earth felt ready to give way beneath her feet.

His hand was agonizingly familiar. How many times had she laced her fingers through his? She’d always needed to be close to him, had used him as an anchor for years. She’d been so terrified that he was a chain, couldn’t handle how desperately she loved him. Victoire could not have imagined anything more frightening than losing herself in him. She knew more of fear now. Nothing could be worse than watching a necrotizing parasite consume a patient. Nothing could be worse than letting a young family know their child hadn’t made it. She’d never sleep right again, not with the burns they couldn’t heal seared into the corners of her brain.

She followed him to the flooring, distantly aware of the wary eyes of her family. Was it always going to be like this? Was she ever going to be able to forget the taste of him, or the way her body fit against his? She had thought herself over him, as much as any girl could be over her first love when she had abruptly ended things for reasons even she wasn’t sure she understood. Facing him now brought back the memories with the force of a stunning curse.

Victoire dropped her gaze, determined not to let herself falter. She had done this. She had to live with the consequences. His hand spanned her waist. The callouses of his fingers felt like a brand. Victoire hated that she craved the heat in her skin, hated that two years later her pulse still quickened at his touch. It was strange to touch him so familiarly. Her free hand rested hesitantly on his shoulder. The act of dancing with him came naturally, even with the turmoil waging in her head. Turning her attention on the music, Victoire nearly missed his question. She flicked her eyes to meet his.

St. Mungo’s. Just the thought made her feel ill. She should be at work. The guilt was horrible. No matter how much she hated the hospital, she couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. Some days it was almost impossible to force herself to go home at the end of shift. It was as if the antiseptic walls had gotten inside of her. Victoire wasn’t certain where she ended and St. Mungo’s began, these days.

“I qualified last summer,” she murmured, forcing herself to look away. She debated on how to answer his question. “St. Mungos is…rewarding.”

It was the kindest thing she could think to say of the hospital, but it felt foul. She pursed her lips, swallowed her distaste for offwhite walls. She steeled herself, willed a polite smile to her face, tried to slip into a mask of poise.

“What have you been up to?” She queried. Victoire was privately amazed that her voice sounded so steady, serene even, when it was an active effort to keep herself together.

Star Wars Comedy Adventure Pairing [high casual]

Oh god, I'm dying. I love the idea of starry-eyed recruits learning about the absolute stupidity of their heroes. It's beautiful.

And of course the only surviving Jedi would be a dumbass. That's magical. *_*

I'm thinking, more than anything, our morons need a pilot and a ship to round them out.

I'll scribble up some ideas tomorrow after getting some sleep. I'm on PST, just a heads up.

there's no sea left for me [[ El Taco Taco && Anima ]]

The rain drummed an endless rhythm on the windows, shifting blue grey shadows that coated every surface in the flat like oil. A radio hummed weakly through bouts of static, as if it were frightened of disrupting the stillness of the room. The flat had little in the way of décor; a simple rug in the sitting room and a clock that appeared to have been made from spare bicycle parts were the only hint of personality in the confines of the bland off-white walls. It was a habitable, if soulless, place. It would have been a completely unremarkable place, but for the woman who made the payments each month.

A pair of legs dangled off the edge of the couch, connected to the torso of a slim woman staring at the lazy turning of a ceiling fan. Her eyes traced the curves of the spinning blades, round and round and round. A dust-bunny teetered on the edge of the leading fin. It was a stubborn thing, clinging to old wood in desperate need of fresh paint. A pale hand reached out blindly to a side table. It grasped once, twice, thrice before finally finding a long wand of Hawthorn. It wobbled as she directed it skyward. A pale silver light burned at the tip as the fan began to spin ever faster. Tortured screams of metal filled the air. The dust-bunny remained firmly in place. The light glowed again, stronger this time, and the fan ripped through the air like a bullet.

She barely huffed as the motor burst into flames. With a languid swish of her wand, the flames suffocated, the fan grinding to a halt. The dust bunny remained in place. Phoebe Lockwood pursed her lips. Squinting, she tried to sight the damnable thing, but the room spun lazily on its own axis.

“Anemousss,” her tongue felt as if it had been wrapped in cotton. A sharp gust of wind spiraled out of her wand, and, finally, the dust-bunny fell.

It was then that Phoebe realized someone was knocking on her door. She craned her neck, peering around her wall to sight the door. As if across a great distance, she could hear a familiar voice, a lilting Welsh soprano she hadn’t heard in months. The knocking came again, more insistently. Kicking her legs out, she rolled to one side, found her face in the sofa, and then rolled the opposite way. Phoebe ran a hand through her dark brown waves, feet padding towards the door, cringing against the bite of the cold tile.

Fumbling with the lock, she pulled the door inwards, peeking through. A buxom, impatient looking redhead stood in the doorway. Her hands planted on her hips as she gave Phoebe a thorough once-over.

“You aren’t even dressed you silly girl,” she pushed her way into the flat, hitting the lights. Phoebe rolled her eyes, shutting the door behind her and following the woman and her clicking heels into the kitchen.

“Rhiannon, I already told Aeron that I’m not going tonight,” she drawled, leaning against her fridge as the other woman eyed the barren room. Rhiannon turned to face her, full lips twisted into a pout.

“Well, that’s stupid and I want you there. It’s Ashlyn’s birthday, you have to come. Everyone’s going to be there, Pheebs.”

Phoebe breathed in deep, tipping her head back against the stainless steel and closing her eyes. It was too bright, the fluorescent light buzzing in her ears. Rhiannon tutted again, reached out and shut off the radio on the table.

“Rhian, I really don’t feel up to it,” she protested slowly, but the redhead was already steamrolling over her.

“Well, we’ll warm you up and you’ll be fine,” she waved a hand dismissively, before her expression went serious. “Pheebs. You haven’t come out in months. We miss you. I miss you. Look, it’s going to be brilliant. It’s the Avalon! Come on. For me?”

Phoebe sighed. There was no winning with Rhiannon. She should have known better than to argue. In nearly thirteen years of friendship, she’d never been able to say no to the flame haired witch. Especially with the offer of Heat to clear her swimming head. She pushed off from the fridge lazily, spreading her hands in surrender.

“Alright. You win. Come on, let’s see if I have anything remotely cute in my closet.”

Rhiannon lit up like fireworks, squealing and grabbing her arm, dragging her through her own flat to her equally drab little bedroom.

---

The rain had worsened over the past hour. Nearly apparating straight into a puddle, Phoebe gasped with laughter, dragging Rhiannon out of the way, stumbling into the redhead. They huddled beneath their umbrella, nearly losing it in the violent wind. They rushed along the sidewalk, and Phoebe was breathless by the time they reached a familiar set of double doors. Collapsing her umbrella, Rhiannon linked arms with the brunette, pulling her into the bar.

The bass echoed in her chest, matching time with the coursing of her blood. Her skin hummed as they made their way through the crowd, green and gold light glittering all around her. Cinnamon smoke filled her lungs and she couldn’t deny that she had missed this.

“Ashlyn!” Rhiannon shouted as they happened upon a large group, and Phoebe was caught off guard how different her friends looked out of uniform. It had been well over two years since she had joined them outside the hospital, a fact which did not go unnoticed.

“Rhian!! Pheebs! Merlin’s tits, I haven’t seen you in forever!” A dark haired witch with a garish tiara laughed, throwing her arms around them. Phoebe grinned wildly, squeezing the taller witch in a tight hug.

“Happy birthday,” she greeted brightly, pushing her loose waves out of her face. “What are you, fifteen now?”

“Harr harr,” Ashlyn batted her bare shoulder playfully, “Twenty three, thank you very much.”

“Practically ancient,” Rhiannon intoned with a smirk, “Our little girl’s all grown up now. Kaiden, I think you’re officially no longer a cradle robber. Congratulations.”

“I’m so glad,” a curly haired wizard hovering at Ashlyn’s shoulder drawled, shooting Phoebe a tight smile. “Good to see you. Been a while.”

“You know how it is,” Phoebe said breezily, shrugging her shoulders. Rhiannon had flounced off to pick on her brother, Aeron, who looked amused at the sight of Phoebe.

“Knew you’d show up,” he shouted across their small crowd, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Phoebe rolled her eyes, choosing instead to lean across the bar. Rhiannon had repurposed one of her old shirts, sending it plunging down her chest and back in a way that Phoebe thought looked a little young. Rhiannon assured her that it made her tits look fantastic. Judging by the bartender’s grin, it did the trick. Her lips curved into a wicked grin. She’d forgotten how good that felt.

“Can I have a Pygmy Puff?” She purred, nails drumming on the oak of the bar, wild energy coiling in her stomach. The bartender nodded, and Merlin, she could barely keep still long enough to wait. Her patience was rewarded by a ridiculously pink martini, and the words ‘no charge’. Phoebe’s eyes danced as she pulled away. She’d remember that, she mused, once she tired of dancing and the company of her colleagues. She slipped towards a woman with a head of kinky black curls and a smirk on her face, exchanging insults with Aeron and a bald man. Phoebe grinned around her drink as she recognized him.

“Abel, you look like an idiot,” she informed him ever so kindly. The curly hair woman laughed there, her grin vicious.

“Thank you! Abel, I’m telling you, you should just grow it back out.”

“I like it, Deirdre,” he complained, shooting the group a dark look. “It’s so much easier like this.”

“Your head looks weird, kind of like a misshapen potato,” Aeron informed him helpfully. Rhiannon giggled into her drink, reaching out and rubbing his head. He batted her hand away.

“You look a bit like you’re dying, mate,” she remarked brightly. Abel glowered, but Phoebe didn’t think she had ever seen him make any other facial expression in well over six years of working with him in the A&E.

“Can’t believe you aren’t at work, Senior,” Phoebe directed to Deirdre, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, I figured Warren could handle the floor for at least one night. I wouldn’t miss overpriced cocktails with you idiots for the world.”

Phoebe grinned into her drink, taking a long sip of sickly sweet fire, humming. Fuck that was good. She cast her gaze about the club, hooking a thumb through the belt loop of her leather leggings, grateful for the extra three inches her heels afforded her. At least she was no longer dwarfed by her companions.

“Pheebs! Come oooon, let’s dance!” Ashlyn had grabbed her arm out of nowhere, nearly spilling her drink. Phoebe stumbled, bracing herself against a grumpy looking Abel. She drained her cocktail, pressing the empty glass into his hand, and followed the birthday girl onto the floor.

Everything was more—louder, faster, brighter, a thousand different colours she didn’t even have names for, fire coursing through her veins. Everything was more potent, spiraling into the pulse of bodies and music. Phoebe let it wash over her, would happily drown in the madness forever.

there's no sea left for me [[ El Taco Taco && Anima ]]

Phoebe Lockwood || Healer || 26 || Slytherin Alumni

Star Wars Comedy Adventure Pairing [high casual]

Oh god, this shit is getting ridiculously awesome already. This is amazeballs. Totally love the idea of our poor bastards getting lead on by a shitty little droid or whatever and stumbling across the galaxy, barely surviving their own incompetence.

Either finding the holocron or using the holocron to find treasure are both fabulous options in my book, although I suppose hunting for the holocron itself might lend itself more towards a slightly more serious plot, maybe using it to resist the Empire and rebuild rebel scum goodness... although I'm pretty sure the idiots will manage to fuck it all up, no matter which route we go.

Hey, Young Blood [[ El Taco Taco && Silent Resonance ]]

There was a strange sort of peace in filing paperwork. The back and forth of alphabetization and arranging files was soothing, in its own little way. Perhaps it was the simplicity of the task, the joy of correctly anticipating where Q began in the massive filing cabinet, or maybe she was simply mad. Kalyani Narang supposed the latter of the options was the true culprit. In her nearly thirty years on Earth, she didn’t think she had yet met another soul who enjoyed filing quite like she did.

“Miss Rahar,” she looked up, meeting the gaze of her employer, a stout man with a heavy beard. His sweater was rolled at the elbows, a large, battered briefcase in hand. He raised a thick brow at her. “It’s five-o-clock. Would you lock up for me when you leave?”

“Of course, Dr. Mercier,” she remarked pleasantly, brushing her dark hair out of her face. “Have a good night.”

“You as well. See you in the morning.”

Kalyani eyed her watch, then the large pile of paperwork she was in the midst of sorting. She was supposed to be meeting Jim for drinks at six, to give him advice on his latest lady friend, but she could probably finish on time and make it to the bar… she resumed working, rolling between desk and cabinet as quickly as she could manage.

Thirty five minutes later had her testing the lock on the door and running down the steps to the sidewalk. She hitched her plain black purse higher on her shoulder, heading north. It was a ten minute walk to the bar. It’d be faster to Jump, of course, but Kalyani was reluctant to do so these days. After having to go on the run for a year after the L.A. debacle, she’d avoided Jumping whenever possible. She’d grown to like Manhattan, and after nearly three years here she’d had yet to see a single Paladin. She’d found a secretarial job for a local plastic surgeon and a cute little apartment in a quiet neighborhood. She’d made friends, and for the first time in her life she didn’t feel as if she had to constantly look over her shoulder. She hadn’t Jumped in months. Life was glorious.

I have time to head through the Park, she decided. The sun hung low in the sky, but there was at least an hour until sun down and she yearned to make the most of her evenings before winter claimed the city. She cut over a block, relishing the sight of the treeline. Huddling into her black peacoat, she entered the park, breathing deep. This, she decided, was where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.