El Taco Taco

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

Parminder’s cheeks coloured at all the attention, an embarrassed smile tugging at her lips. It was high praise, the idea of an Order of Merlin. Even in the ten years of reformation after the war, things weren’t easy for muggleborns. Lingering prejudices made advancement in the ministry extremely difficult, even with progressives like Potter and Granger and Minister Shacklebolt at the helm. And to have Eric Pucey, the scion of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families, speak so highly of her was an honor. Eric himself was unconcerned with blood status, but she knew his family and how they looked down on her kind. And to have a stranger, especially one as handsome and charming as Trenton, compliment her work so sincerely… it was all rather new to her. It was encouraging. Maybe, after these ten long years, things were finally getting better. The thought warmed her, a cautious hope bubbling in her chest.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful--I-- thank you,” she managed with only the hint of a stammer. Sitting a little straighter, Parminder tried for graceful instead of awkward. She couldn’t help the smile crossing her face. “You do me a kindness.”

The conversation shifted to Trenton and his association with Mister Gigliotti. Parminder studied him as he spoke, her face a mask of pleasant curiosity. She kept her disappointment at bay with the ease of practice. The Gigliotti were renowned for their rather archaic views on blood. She was being silly, she reminded herself sharply. Trenton was certainly charming, but she knew better than to think of anything further. Parminder stifled her thoughts to better focus on his story.

She hadn’t expected such a history; her brow creased into a frown, a rush of sympathy running through her. Parminder didn’t detect a lie in his features. And when he spoke of life on the streets, she understood more than she liked. She had only spent a year on the run during the war, but it had marked her to the core.

From what Parminder knew, the Gigliotti were not typically charitable. Not unless it could benefit them. And with the flickers of silver dancing in her vision whenever she looked at Trenton, she knew there was something about the blue eyed wizard that benefited the family. Whether it was something legitimate or something seedier, she didn’t know, but she was deeply curious. She’d never been good at turning her work brain off, much to Eric’s displeasure.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she intoned quietly, gently resting a mehndi covered hand to his arm privately startling herself at her action. Parminder reclaimed her hand, taking care to keep her thoughts from going maudlin. Mister Bernard asked the question on her mind. She had never entertained anything but serving as an Auror after the war. Her ambition had consumed her after the war had ended and she had returned to Hogwarts.

His answer was interesting. As much as the bureaucracy of the Ministry tired her, working to improve the law was the only method she had ever considered. He spoke of working to create change within social and civilian spheres… or, perhaps, outside of the law. She did not want to entertain the possibility; he was pleasant company, charming, ridiculously handsome and polite. She opted to reserve judgment for the time being.

“Every little bit counts,” Eric remarked calmly, an indescribable look in his eyes. “The law will move forward as society does. Things will get better, slowly but surely.” Eric squeezed her shoulder affectionately there, and she flicked her chocolate eyes towards him. Her gaze softened, gratitude flooding her. Truly, Eric was the best mate a girl could ask for. Even small shows of solidarity were deeply appreciated.
“It’s our pleasure,” Eric answered the praise, and Parminder nodded in agreement.
“Truly, I’m blessed to have been given the opportunity to serve,” she admitted, “It means everything to me.”

A ringing echoed throughout the dining hall, calling attention to the dais at the front of the ball room. Parminder turned to see Emmanuel Gigliotti taking the stage, neatly dressed and smiling wide as he began his welcoming speech to their fundraiser.

Please Stay

Sorry it took so long!

I went back through our PMs and saw we’d agreed on the game taking place a few months after the Battle of Hogwarts, which is 1998, so I’m knocking Olly’s age back to 23 to make it more consistent with canon. It’s a totally minor thing, I’m just neurotic haha!
I’m assuming it’s late August/early September of 1998 in game c:

Please Stay

Oliver Wood had been playing Quidditch since he was old enough to walk. In his nearly twenty years of flying, he had never quite learned to manage first day nerves. In his youth, he had been prone to obsessive compulsively pacing his room, running through plays in his head. Oliver liked to think he had made significant progress in that he now spent his first night seated while obsessive compulsively running through plays in his head. While it wasn’t quite restful as, say, sleep, it left him a shade less exhausted than pacing had.

As far as first days went, this one was not going well. Oliver hadn’t played Quidditch proper in nearly a year—not since the ill-fated protest last December. Morally, it had been the right thing to do, of course, but it had thrown his life into a chaos for which he was ill-prepared. He’d nearly been thrown in Azkaban with his muggleborn players and had been issued a lifetime ban on playing Professional Quidditch. Oliver hadn’t quite realized how grim things were until he’d realized he was being tailed by Auror’s, marked for a dissident. And, well, since they thought he was a rebel proper, he’d given it a shot. Frustratingly, he hadn’t been able to do as much as he would have liked; the downside of being a former national Quidditch star. But he had lent his wand to old friends and helped smuggle a few muggleborns out of the country. And when the call to battle went out, Oliver was one of the first to answer.

The war had ended, and though it took a few months to sort through the mess, his lifetime ban had finally been reversed in time for the new season. Oliver noted with some bitterness that Kearney Stevens, one of his Chasers still hadn’t been freed from Azkaban, his paperwork somehow taking much longer than Oliver’s. No matter how he pushed, the Ministry was still slow to respond. Never mind the mess it made of his training schedule; Flitney should never have spent a day in Azkaban, let alone nearly ten months. Even without Dementors, the prison was not a place for good men. Now, he found himself in the Team Manager’s office, sorting through the aftermath. He should have been with his team at breakfast, raising their spirits, not drowning in a sea of miserable bureaucracy.

“Kearney Stevens' paperwork will be seen tae in due coorse',” Oliver read in disgust from a scroll of parchment. At the table, a weary witch groaned, dropping her face into her hands. Azkaban had aged Manpreet Bellamkonda—when Oliver had last seen the woman, she had been polished and bright eyed, passionate about Quidditch and brilliantly suited to liaising between the business and the sport. She had agreed to allow Oliver defy the order to fire all muggleborn players and go to play the Harpies with their original team in solidarity. The owner of Puddlemere had thrown her beneath the broom. He had blamed Manpreet for the stunt when it had (predictably, he realized now) gone to hell. She’d been sentenced to Azkaban where Oliver had escaped. She had not been protected by fame. Yet, unlike Kearney, her release paperwork had gone through almost instantly. Of course, unlike Kearney, Manpreet was a full blood. It shouldn’t have surprised Oliver, and yet, he’d thought that once the war had been won, things would be fair again. It was an awful lesson to learn. “This is disgustin’. They’re dragging thair feckin feet because he’s muggleborn.”

“I know. I’ve arranged for a hearing, but the earliest I could get was next month. They’re booked solid, or so they claim,” Manpreet sounded close to tears, raising her head to look at Oliver helplessly. “I’m beginning to think he’s dead, Oliver. I’ve been sending Kearney letters since I got out. He stopped writing back a month ago.”
Oliver’s blood ran cold. He’d been playing with Kearney for six years now, and the idea of losing one of his closest friends to that fucking prison was enough to make him want to scream. Instead, he reached out to drop a steadying hand to Manpreet’s slim shoulders. He drew deep for the confidence in his voice,
“Don’t think lik’ that. He’s going tae be okay. We’ll get him home.”
“Right,” she nodded, as if she were trying to convince herself. She took a shuddering breath, and then smiled weakly at him. “Okay. For now, pull up the reserve Chasers, see who we can substitute for him. I’ll write an appeal to get Kearney’s hearing moved forward, see if I can find an advocate to help out. You should get to practice.”
“Of coorse,” He squeezed her shoulder one final time, rising and gathering the folder of paperwork she’d assembled for him. Everything was mad; the Ministry wouldn’t release his innocent forward chaser from prison, but they’d assigned the team an Auror to protect them from blood elitists. He wondered if they’d purged their ranks of the scum who had served under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or if they’d be protected by a war criminal.

Oliver dropped his paperwork off in his small office off the locker room, hefting the practice chest out and onto the shoulder of his navy blue robes. Grasping his broom in his offhand, the burly Scot made his way towards the pitch. The autumn sun and the crisp morning air were a welcome comfort. Quidditch was back and soon he’d have his mate free and in the sky. Everything would be okay. It had to be; it was the only thing that kept him going some mornings.

He nodded to his assembled players as he approached, raising a brow at the sight of a neatly dressed woman. Approaching, he lowered the large chest to the ground in a smooth movement as she walked to him. The blonde looked a little familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her.
“Captain Wood?” She addressed him briskly, holding out her hand. He grasped it in a firm shake, giving her a questioning look. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I am Ryan Lockwood. I’m from the Auror’s office, sent to watch over your team in practice and the like.”
“Aye, that’s me,” he assured her, before his brows knit together at her greeting. A muscle in his jaw clenched. The Auror’s office. He’d been followed by Aurors, had dueled a few during the war, and it was difficult to forget the terror of being watched, of being hunted. Her name sounded familiar, but Oliver could only assume that they had been at Hogwarts together. “Ah heard you’d be joining us fur th' neist while. We… appreciate it,” he forced the words out, trying not to let on his discomfort too much. This was part of things getting better. She was trying to protect them. He needed to trust that.

She informed him she’d be out of the way, and presented him a letter. He accepted it, opening it and scanning it. Same paperwork that Manpreet had gone over with him. He stuffed it in a pocket in his robes.
“Whatever ye’ll need tae dae yer job, let me know, I’ll make sure ye get it,” He told her, before allowing her to depart. He turned to his team, watching him curiously, some of the lads watching the Auror leave with interest. A few had the same wary look on their face that lingered in his gut. War had changed all of them. “A'richt ye bastards, git in th' air! We're flyin’ suicides.”

The familiar chorus of complaints brought a grin to Oliver’s face, blue eyes dancing warmly as his team grudgingly obeyed. War had blighted the skies, but Quidditch would clear the air.

STAR WARS: The Legendary Bantha Fodders! [High Casual]

His voice is absurd. Omg, the whole show is SO BAD but I can’t stop watching it. True crime is my weakness *_*
Thanks, Skull! It’s a fun one to wear. And I don’t have to spend 2 hours painting on myself, which is nice.
I think I ruined my chances of Hawkeye!Husbando when I tried to bully him into doing Hawkeye Initiative… oops. I think it’d be hilarious, but wasn’t keen on the idea of spine-breaking poses. PFT I SAY.

Hahaha, I just want a scene where everyone’s like “Clint, where the fuck have you been?!” And it’s just a quick montage of him drinking coffee from the pot and fixing Simone’s cable and beating up the tracksuit Russians and of course, Pizza Dog, I’d be super happy. I’d probably implode with joy if Kate was referenced at all, I fucking love that nerd.

I’m *super* behind! I’ve heard amazing things about Ms. Marvel, I need to check it out. I’ve been reading Annie Wu’s Batgirl Beyond minseries (SO BEHIND!) after falling in love with her work on Hawkeye. I stopped reading comics for a few years because of getting swamped by life, and now I’m like UGH SO MUCH BACKLOG WHINE WHINE WHINE. I’m finally getting around to Edmonson’s Black Widow and I am super impressed so far. I’m going to have to give Daredevil a gander.

Something In Between That [El Taco Taco and mmidnight]

She hadn’t been this angry in months. She hadn’t felt much of anything in months, if she was honest. It was exhausting, being here, drowning in regret and frustration. Victoire wanted nothing more than a box of cheap wine and the solace of her flat. As a child, these dinners had been made bearable with Teddy’s humor and the promise of the quiet of her room. But her room was miles away and Teddy had no humor to share with her.

Her family, nosey as ever, was beginning to crowd around nearby. They were making half-hearted attempts at concealing their curiosity. Victoire tensed, her spine straightening and heart racing. The feeling of eyes on her made her skin crawl and yearn for the comfort of a disillusionment charm. Her ears burned under the weight of eyes and whispers. The sycamore wand in her pocket was uncomfortably hot, and she half wondered if it would throw up sparks. It had always been attuned to her temper. Sometimes it felt like it was egging her on.

His words cut, but it was her guilt that wounded her more than anything else. He had never stood in her way between her and her family—she had done that all by herself. She had been the one to isolate herself, to hide behind shifts at the hospital and letters. He said she belonged here; Victoire couldn’t disagree more. She loved her family dearly, but Victoire could never quite breathe when surrounded by her plethora of cousins and aunts and uncles. As miserable as the hospital had made her, the freedom from the constant din had been a welcome relief. Living with Naoko had been wonderful. Naoko was more than happy to spend a Friday night on the sofa, listening to radio dramas, or curled up with a book. There were no explosions, no shouting, no demands, no curious eyes, and no elaborate pranks in their home—just peace and quiet. She loved the quiet; and she hated herself for how much she wished that he would stand in her way.

Victoire felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. Her fingers were burning—her hand had automatically moved to her wand, touching the handle through the pocket of her dress.
“That’s bollocks, and you know it,” she snapped, her voice a low hiss. “My place has never been here. We’re all better for having you here and me at the hospital. Don’t be stupid, it doesn’t become you.”
He told her to piss off. And, despite having caused this, despite having deserved this, she yearned to hex him. Victoire grit her teeth.
“Gladly.”

STAR WARS: The Legendary Bantha Fodders! [High Casual]

Future Taco is undoubtedly whining about her suffering, but PFTTT WHATEVER, Future Taco is a scrub and should get a haircut.

Awww! That sucks, what buttheads. I hope you have better luck in future years! I missed out on EMCC for the past 2 years because it takes place during finals week and my life is sad.
I read Hawkeye digitally, it's like $2 per issue, but I'm considering shelling out for physical volumes because goddamn, it is SO GOOD. *_*
I've heard that Renner's agreed to one potential Hawkeye solo film and Avengers 3, which would be exciting! But I love that Renner's totally more about cameo roles, and he's been pushing for a Black Widow movie, WHICH WOULD BE AWESOME it could be called Budapest eeeyyyyyyyyy

My favorite true crime show is BEHIND MANSION WALLS
Because the host is such a fuckin dork, but he's so goddamn earnest that I love him

I just want to have drinks with the guy and have him tell me all about the scandalous murders of the rich and famous, he's amazingly awful

STAR WARS: The Legendary Bantha Fodders! [High Casual]

bleh! double post!

STAR WARS: The Legendary Bantha Fodders! [High Casual]

Haha, I'm just slacking until tomorrow. Homework is a problem for future Taco!

It should be fun! I'm looking forward to it. I grew up in Utah and we never had any good conventions, so I'm grateful for actually having decent options *_* Oh Seattle, how I love thee.
And thank you! It was pretty easy to assemble. I'm unwilling to give up my ombre, so I actually have to wig it up this time, but oh well!
PIZZA DOG FOREVER! Matt Fraction is srsly the best thing to ever happen to Hawkeye. I hope the movies nod to Pizza Dog and Clint the landlord. That would make me so happy *_*

Haha, that's magical. And you don't have to pretend they aren't hella lame; they totes are. I JUST LOVE THEM. *_* Gimme all the true crime even though I'm a wuss and can't sleep after watching them

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

Everything was swimming. The fluorescent lights in the café burned brighter than fiendfyre, and had burned spots into her vision. Closing her eyes hadn’t helped much. His hand was an anchor to reality. His words sounded as if they were drifting across an ocean, ripped into shreds by wind and waves, and she couldn’t sort through them. He’d said something—left—her hands were so fucking cold now, as if she had just plunged them into ice water.

He wasn’t going to come back. It was foolish to expect anything else. Her elbows dropped to the table, her forehead into her palms, as she tried to find herself in the burning cold. She tried to even out her breaths, to think, but everything was sparks and shivers and spinning, spinning, spinning. She had to remember something, but her thoughts were like rain water, running away to join rivers of sensation she couldn’t keep her head above.

Someone was talking. The words alternated between whispers and shouts, blurring into the background noise of the café. Her eyes eased open, stinging in the light, and refused to focus for a long moment. It might have been Justin, it might have been Harry Fucking Potter himself. Phoebe wasn’t sure. His face was melting. That was peculiar. The last time she had seen a face melt, it had belonged to a six year old boy whose mother had used him in dark magic. He had melted on the table, conscious until the very end. But this wasn’t St. Mungos, was it? She didn’t think so.

“What?” She wasn’t sure the word even came out properly. Her tongue felt clumsy, like it was made of iron instead of flesh. “I don’t know—“

STAR WARS: The Legendary Bantha Fodders! [High Casual]

Haha! Riiight?! I should be working on it now, but I have a headcold and I'm miserable. Why introduce gross homework into that? So not fun.

Oh! I'm going to Geek Girl Con with a dear friend of mine. I'm also probably using it for Emerald City Comic Con, so I wanted to get it finished properly. I finally got my guns disabled and ordered a new wig and S.H.I.E.L.D. patches, so woosh!! I just need to paint my Widows Bites. This is the unfinished costume I wore for a Superhero party last year with Husbando as Tony.
Now I just need an arrow necklace because yes.
I'm trying to convince Husbando to be Hawkeye, but no luck so far. We could use one of our dogs as PIZZA DOG!!!

Aw! I'm just sorry it took so long. Last night I ended up just feeling poopie and watching crime documentaries because I'm a loser. @_@