El Taco Taco

Please Stay

You are too good to me! ;_; Thanks for being so rad. Go, get some rest! <3

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

Bump! I'm interested in either an original Jumpers game, a Harry Potter World Cup game playing Katie Bell and possibly doubling with Viktor Krum, or a Pacific Rim game. All three of these have starters for games that never really went anywhere that I'd like to actually get to play. Woosh!

Please Stay

Sorry this took so long, @SirensCall! >_< I am the total worst!

Please Stay

Oliver Wood hated formal robes. No matter how many times he wore them, he would never enjoy the stiff collars or the pressed lines that, no matter how often he practiced the charm, he could never for the life of him get crisp. He hated to bother his mother but, for this, he’d been willing to make the Floo up to Scotland. Kearney Stevens’ hearing. Ryan had made good on her word, pushing paperwork through to get them here. Three weeks had felt like forever, but when he’d heard how long others had been waiting, well… they were lucky. Manpreet leaned into his side beneath his arm, her face drawn with worry. She’d been a good manager and a better friend in the years he’d known her. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. Oliver squeezed her shoulder. “Hoo’s yer wife daein’?” He asked. She sighed in relief, evidently welcoming the distraction from the courtroom looming ahead of them. “I huvnae seen ‘er around th’ pitch lately.” “Gaelle’s in Iceland on a field expedition,” Manpreet smiled softly, and it was one of the few genuine smiles he’d seen her give since before the war. “I’m taking the Floo over after the hearing. She’s got some time off from chasing after Yetis and armored bears.” “Hoo much lahnger will she be gain, dae ye reckon?” He remembered the woman from a team holiday party—Gaelle always left an impression. The curly haired magizoologist was certainly a character, flitting from thought to thought without finishing half her sentences. He’d rather liked her, even if it was evident that was the sort of brilliant that meant she was completely mad. “They’re scheduled to come home late October,” she sounded reasonably cheerful, all things considered. “And she’s promised no more field work until next summer, at least. It’ll be nice having her home, driving me spare.” “Mr. Wood. Mrs. Bellamkonda,” a small wizard in stately black robes had exited the courtroom. He eyed them rather condescendingly. Oliver arched a heavy brow. Behave. For Kearney, he reminded himself. He smiled politely, slipping his arm from Manpreet with a pat on her back. “The Wizengamot is ready for you now.” Where’s Lockwood? Oliver glanced down the hallway. Maybe she’d decided not to show her face. Surprising—he’d thought, with what she’d told him about her husband, that she might have shown. He nodded, following the tiny wizard and Manpreet into the courtroom. The Wizengamot was as untouchable as ever, many of them dour, and his jaw clenched tightly. Many of these same people had sat on the registration commission. He may not have been a Malfoy, filthy ferrety bastard, but his family was old enough to have linked him to a good deal of other wizards in Britain. He knew some of these bastards—and they belonged in Azkaban far more than his chaser.

and they were hurricanes ;; dontcallmezelda && eltacotaco

UGHHH OKAY. I finally just made myself post it. I kept fighting the ending and hklkadsjjhdlkajsjldjks. >.< I get really obsessive about starters, but I'm trying to write more concise openers and worry less. Sorry I made you wait like, a million years ): ): ):

and they were hurricanes ;; dontcallmezelda && eltacotaco

The world was white and burning. There was a deafening roar, pressing in on every inch of her, blistering in its rage. Everything was spinning. That was impressive. There wasn’t even a horizon to focus on. How was the world spinning? Why? Something flashed in her head—bullets, a sign, enough dynamite to have levelled the Abbey—and her thoughts slipped away like water. ”Take cover! Get ready to meet the missus!” A turret digistructing, spitting an endless stream of bullets—“Come at me, pendejos!” more bullets than she had ever seen before, ripping holes in a loader—the flash of a blade and the whisper of the thing in armor—a round spiraling towards the center of her head, as if through molasses, shifting, watching it soar past—the shiver as she pulled from that shimmering well inside her, tattoos glowing blue, raising her hand to lift the Loader, crushing it in time and space, “Please stop.”—somewhere, the whirring of an buzz saw— A crunch. Something shifting. White everywhere—something yellow and black and smoking. The stench of cooked meat, carbon fiber, metal in her mouth. Something cold brushing against her arm, stinging against her tattoos, melting with wisps of steam. Black again, for a while. Then, the telltale sounds of digging. Her eyes cracked open, lids nearly frozen shut. Her hands planted against the ground—snow everywhere, wind, glaciers in the distance—and Maya eased herself to her feet. For a moment, she thought she might be on Athenas, training under Brother Sophis. Except, she had burned the memory of three bullets through his skull into her memory. Even the throbbing in her head—which she suspected to be a minor concussion, nothing she couldn’t handle—couldn’t make her forget that perfect image. Not Athenas. Pandora, she remembered foggily. I came to Pandora. And some asshole blew up our train. She staggered to her feet, armored hand brushing against her forehead. The little flares of tattoo on her cheek burned, as if trying to come to life. Maya frowned and flexed her left hand. She couldn’t quite touch the shadows inside, and her tattoos glowed only feebly. That was problematic. She took another step, her knee nearly giving out. Up just ahead, amidst the rubble of what had once been a train (Welcome Vault Hunters To Your Doom, the thrill of battle, strangers flowing into combat as if they’d spent years at war together), there were the outlines of what might have been bodies, the outline of something exploring a heap of wreckage. Maya eased herself forward, forced herself to push past the screaming in her joints. “Great—another dead Vault hunter. Handsome Jack’s been busy.” What the hell is that? What appeared to be a small… trash can? On a wheel? was digging through what Maya now recognized as the mangled remains of what had once been people. She repressed her sound of disgust. None of their forms were recognizable. Perhaps, then, the others had survived. “Wait a minute—you’re not dead! Yes! Now I get off this glacier! Claptrap, your metaphorical ship has finally come in!” Maya wasn’t sure what she had been expecting the robot to say—but it certainly wasn’t this. “Allow me to introduce myself! I am a Cl4P-TP steward bot, but my friends call me Claptrap! Or they would, if any of them were still alive. Or had existed in the first place!” Perhaps, she mused, her concussion was worse than she had thought.

and they were hurricanes ;; dontcallmezelda && eltacotaco

I'm editing my post now! It should be up in the next hour or so.

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

Bump!

Vanish Into Light

Chamera could piece together the likely story from his scant descriptions. Drow weren’t known for taking human lovers—but their brutality was known even as far south as Amn. As a little girl, she’d heard stories about the dark elves, meant to frighten her into behaving. It had been a futile effort. She’d lacked the sense to be truly afraid of anything. Jeron asked about Pan. Her stomach clenched, as if she had eaten tanglefoot. Her hand automatically moved for the coin in her braid—but her holy symbol had been lost with her cloak. Her fingers dropped to her lap. “The Zhents did something to the Weave. Hid runes and symbols all over the village. I think some of them are Infernal? I’m not an expert on the languages of the Hells. Whatever they did, it’s like…” she frowned, considering her words. “It was like touching the Weave was tainting it. It was difficult to control. And Pan, he’s not some wizard locked up in his tower, poring over books to learn magic. He’s a natural. As long as I’ve known him, he’s always had a spell at his fingertips. Asking him not to cast would be like asking him not to breathe. He drew deep for that blizzard—I suspect it got away from him.” Chamera returned her gaze to the fire, sweeping her bloodied hair out of her face. She was going to need to set up camp soon, before the ache set into her bones. She breathed a deep, shuddering breath. He’ll live. He will. She lifted her pouch from her discarded belt, fiddling with the buckle. Her probing hand plunged into the pocket dimension as she rose to her feet. Tent, bedroll, blanket, food—these were fine distractions from the guilt gnawing at the back of her mind.

Vanish Into Light

Haha, it's all good! I barely recognize celebrities unless I use them as faces for characters. =_=' Ah, yeah! I super love the version Mary Lambert released though. Hers is just, GAH, so heartwrenching! ;_;