Avatar of El Taco Taco
  • Last Seen: 27 days ago
  • Old Guild Username: El Taco Taco
  • Joined: 12 yrs ago
  • Posts: 1221 (0.27 / day)
  • VMs: 2
  • Username history
    1. El Taco Taco 12 yrs ago
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Status

Recent Statuses

8 yrs ago
Current 'I know the Goliath Fucking Bird-Eating Spider can't fly because if it could, it would have a different name entirely. We would call it "sir" because it would be the dominant species on the planet.'
7 likes
8 yrs ago
'There is no word in the English language for the feeling someone gets when they suddenly realize they're standing next to an unholy monster impersonating a human. Monstralization, maybe?'
2 likes
8 yrs ago
'If Zoey Ashe had known she was being stalked by a man who intended to kill her and then slowly eat her bones, she would've worried more about that and less about getting her cat off the roof.'
1 like
9 yrs ago
"And watch out for Molly. See if she does anything unusual. There’s something I don’t trust about the way she exploded and then came back from the dead like that."
7 likes
9 yrs ago
"We're talking about a tentacled flying lamp fucker, Dave. What are you prepared to call unlikely?"
2 likes

Bio


"OK, I've just about had my FILL of riddle-asking, quest-assigning, insult-throwing, pun-hurling, hostage-taking, iron-mongering, smart-arsed fools, freaks, and felons that continually test my will, mettle, strength, intelligence, and most of all, patience! If you've got a straight answer ANYWHERE in that bent little head of yours, I want to hear it pretty damn quick or I'm going to take a large blunt object roughly the size of Elminster AND his hat, and stuff it lengthwise into a crevice of your being so seldom seen that even the denizens of the nine hells themselves wouldn't touch it with a twenty-foot rusty halberd! Have I MADE myself perfectly CLEAR?!" - CHARNAME, Baldur's Gate


Most Recent Posts

I assume we're puking profiles up here. If not, I can replace this post with photos of adorable kitties, as if by magic.
At the risk of losing all my street cred I'm interested. I should have a rough character up by tonight.
Bump! First post mostly updated, finally.
Maya accepted the insistently offered ECHO communicator reluctantly, turning it over in her hand before clipping it to her belt and slipping in the ear piece. The heads up display was a little disorienting. Athenas hadn’t been in the Stone Age, but their tech hadn’t been nearly as… integrated. She’d certainly never seen such a crisp prosthetic in the Abbey. Of course, she hadn’t seen much of anything in the Abbey. She’d read about other worlds, but it was something else entirely to see it. “Ah,” Maya said simply, eying all the wreckage. If there had been a shuttle, it was indistinguishable from the rest of the rubble. At the girl—woman’s compliment, Maya frowned a little. She glanced to her arm, trying vainly to flare the tattoos to life. No dice. Maybe her injuries had thrown her off kilter? “Thanks?” Maya couldn’t help but sound a little wary; she’d seen the wanted posters in the spaceport when she’d first arrived on Pandora. Bullets and her phaselock had dealt with the idiots that had attempted to collect thus far. She disliked having access to neither of these. “Your… arm is interesting.” She paused for another beat. “I’m Maya.” Smooth. “Now, come, come, friends! Let’s get you inside!” Maya glanced to the redhead, shrugging a shoulder as if to say ‘well, we don’t have any other options’. She set off after Claptrap as it wheeled away surprisingly well, considering all the snow. The robot chattered away above the roar of the blizzard, its voice surprisingly irritating. “Man, this is great! Now that I’ve met might Vault Hunters, I can finally join the resistance in Sanctuary, take vengeance against Jack for killing my product line, and repair my central processor so I can stop thinking out loud! I wonder what it’s like to have a belly button.” She had been about to ask the little robot about the resistance when a small feed popped up on the, weird as all hell, display. It was grainy, as if the video feed was corrupted, but the smooth feminine voice in her ear was crisp, as if she were only paces away. “I’ll explain everything soon, but know this—you’re alive for a reason, and I…am here to help you.” Maya’s eyes narrowed. “I hate cryptic bullshit,” she muttered darkly, raising a hand to shield her face against snowflake ineffectually. She glanced to her companion, who looked as though she might crystallize at any moment. “Did you get that message too?”
Quidditch again. Sadie perked up. Brennan hadn’t explained it much, mostly because mum tended to fuss over the stories of his injuries, but she had gathered that it was deeply important to him. He’d mentioned broomsticks and that it made football look positively glacial in pace. “That’d be brilliant,” Seine lit up, a toothy grin crossing his face. Sadie smiled, tucking her hair behind an ear. The World Cup… that sounded like fun, even if the sport was still a mystery to her. Maybe there was a book on it in the library? She’d have to investigate. First thing after class today, she was going to find this magical place and devour its secrets. “Wow,” she beamed, nodding enthusiastically. “That would be incredible. Thanks!” George asked about Herbology. Seine shrugged, draining his pumpkin juice. “Sort of. My mum says it starts slow, but that it’s dead useful.” “It’ll be interesting to see how it’s different,” Sadie nodded, clearing her plate of the remnants of breakfast. “But I do like gardening. My dad has a green thumb, and he always said that nurturing a plant from seeds to the dinner plate was important. People forget how much work it takes.” She paused, swinging her legs as she looked around. Large hourglasses filled with beautiful gems caught her eye, glittering in the morning light. “House points,” Seine explained. “The more in the bottom, the more the house has. At the end of the year, the winning house gets honored at the feast.” He grinned suddenly. “My dad says he and his best friends nearly set a record for losing the most points in a single go.” Sadie quirked a brow, watching the rubies shimmer curiously. The display of wealth was just… incredible. “That doesn’t exactly sound like a good thing,” she remarked, but looked to her wrist watch. “Ooh! I think we need to get to class.” “We have half an hour,” Seine remarked and Sadie boggled “We can leave in twenty minutes and still be on time.” “On time is late.”
Bump!
BASICALLY. I so see the whole "I'm done walking thing" and Matiir just sits down and Samaire has to bodily drag him thru the muck.
Her life fit into a large canvas backpack. Look how far you’ve fallen, Samaire mused as she tightened the buckles. No beautiful silks, no golden mirrors or paintings. No soft slippers nor golden ribbons. The thought stung no less than it had the first time. The bag creaked as she slipped it over her shoulders. Fastening her oiled cloak above the bag, she considered her little bed. It had been stiff and cold, but it was dry and it had been safe. Safe no longer, she mused, securing her golden lily and scimitars above the clasp of the cloak. If she was no longer a Zarnofsky soldier, it only seemed appropriate that she wear her own colours. Her hand rested on the glittering emeralds and gold hilt of her blade, relishing their splendor. Samaire left the barracks without wishing it goodbye. It did not deserve the ceremony. The rain was relentless. It was as if it had always been raining. Skyfire was only a distant memory, more a fevered dream than reality. And this close to the wilds, who could truly say what was real? Samaire kept her footprints solid as she trekked to the cell where her claws awaited. The manthing was pulling at its chain. Samaire’s pulse quickened. It was hers, and she would not let it escape. Her pace quickened, mud spattering the edges of her cloak. She would not let it run, not when she had finally found her first weapon. The lock was old, the pins prone to sticking as she fumbled with the keys. Breathe, she reminded herself. Fingers turned careful and she was soon rewarded with the give of a creaking gate. It churned through the mud, catching on a patch of grass and sticking open. Samaire abandoned the keys. All that mattered was the manthing. Its growl seemed to be a force all its own, rumbling like it was an echo from the Thunder Maiden’s drum. It sounded like the rage of sphinxes trapped in cages in the bazaars of Kivar. She had only been a girl of three and ten, trailing after her Uncle Jonas, desperate to mold herself into a perfect copy. He had been the First that all other First’s aspired to—until he had died and his Second had fallen. Samaire planted her feet squarely, winding the chain around her gloved hands. Laboring with the guard had done her a service. Slowly, but steadily, she withdrew the pin from the earth. She winched it around her arm, shortening the chain to a more manageable lead. Emerald eyes turned on the manthing as she jerked the chain sharply. “With me,” she insisted. It didn’t seem to know the words of men, and she cast back. Nymph tongues, perhaps. The dancing lilt of her voice was sharpened by the steel of a command, “Uylpora.” Samaire jerked the chain more viciously, backing out the open gate. It was a battle to coax and drag the manthing away from the cage. It could not like its prison, she scowled, but it was reluctant to follow her. Strength and the metal snapped around its wrists served her well. Slowly—far too slowly—they approached the gate. It stood open, waiting. Samaire noted the absence of guards with a sharp look before she noticed the hulking outline in the shadow. Confusion stole across her features before she could help herself. She grit her teeth, careful to yank the manthing further away from Jules. It would be too cruel to let it taste his blood again. “You belong at the hearth,” she reminded Jules. There was something like softness in his eyes, but Samaire had never understood the look. She raised a brow in question. He shrugged, a smile touching the corners of his lips. “Can’t truly leave if no one sees you go,” his voice was as gruff as ever. “Walk softly, lass. I’ll shut the gate behind you.” Samaire swallowed, dropping her gaze. Her throat felt very small, eyes stinging. She took a deep breath, nodding when she could finally trust herself to be steel instead of silk. “Spirits bless you,” she managed, voice thick and clumsy. Tightening her grip on the chain, she fought the manthing through the gate and down towards the winding path. Samaire paused as she heard the grinding of the gate, turning briefly to watch that life disappear behind heavy oak.
Oh look, it's a bump! I'll eventually clean up my first post to better reflect what I'm looking for. BUT NOT TONIGHT.
In Please Stay 11 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
I stopped reading around when Jiraiya died. Like, 'OH, TRAGIC BACKSTORY??? GUISE HE GUN DIE' and then the Hidden Rain arc was just, so unbelievably fucking dumb so I jumped ship. I randomly investigated tumblr for Nejiten goodness on a whim of nostalgia a while ago, because it's the ship that don't quit, and I was like 'wait... wut. WUT. 8|' I'm still mad at Kishimoto for the way he fuckin' treated Ino. >:[ Like, HE BUILT SUCH A GREAT CONCEPT FOR A CHARACTER AND THEN TOTALLY FUCKED IT ALL UP. Duuuuuuuuuuuuude. Imagine it though! A verse where Ino totally is a kick ass interrogation/spy bitchin boss ass lady AND loves being girly and gives no fucks. Bossy/scary/girly Ino who truly reconciles with Sakura and puts Konoha above a stupid childhood crush and chickenbutt head would be the GREATEST. *A* Totally not biased because I wrote Ino for like, three years, nope. WEDDING! :D I LOVE WEDDINGSSSS!! :D :D :D Congrats! It's super magical and awesome and yiss. I hope yours is amazingly lovely. <3 Weddings are great. I planned mine in like, 2 months, but omg, 10/10 would wedding again. YESSS. ALTHO lez be honest, Slytherpuff smut is all sorts of delicious because POWER PLAYS *A* -grabby hands- But Slytherdor is just totes hatefucking and awesome and magical. Like I've always said... hundreds of years of bitter rivalry can be overlooked if the other side is hot enough. NO I TOTALLY GET IT! I actually read a really thought out meta on why the Twilight fandom popped out so many fanfictions that are becoming 'original' works. As much as, ew, Twilight, it's really interesting how COMMON publishing fics with renaming became. The article suggested that because the basics of character development and world building had been done in the canon source, it gave everyone common ground to play with. Everyone knows what a well written Alice or Jasper would have sounded like, so that enabled the huge dearth of AU fiction to get into the fun parts of writing without having to deal with all the exposition of building the core of the character. I'll have to find it! Like, totally not into the fandom, but srsly, most of the people in the fandom hated Twilight. It was a total 'god damn it, the canon could be SO GOOD but it has so much garbage in it, let's trim it and make it into something that could be KICK ASS' PEEVES ;_; WINKY!!! S.P.E.W.! AND I AGREE. EVERYONE WHO HATES RON BECAUSE OF THE MOVIES IS JUST, DSJKDSJHKDS. They literally gave all of his best qualities to Hermione. And like, don't get me wrong, I heart Hermione, but it's like... Ron's character got completely destroyed and they turned him into comic relief. Ronmione 5ever tho. *A* Let's be honest... we would all have preferred a mini series with one season per year and flawless attention to detail. IT'S WHAT WE REALLY NEEDED ;A; I barely remember Charlie. Didn't he show up in like... a photograph? SUCH A FUCKIN' OUTRAGE. D:< D:<
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