El Taco Taco

Year One [ Closed for TheDookieNut and El Taco Taco ]

Looks like we might be moving in August-ish, so I'll be graduated which will be rad! :D :D I'm totally looking forward to moving. I love Washington, and I totally want to settle down here eventually, but I'm itching to go somewhere else. I've been hella blessed to have been traveling my whole life! Even after we moved to America, I used to go back and spend two months over the summer in England with my family. And I've roadtripped all over the Midwest, lived in the South, spent a winter in upstate New York (jladshjkdaskdsa), explored the Northeast and ZOMG the West Coast. *_* WEST COAST BEST COAST. I'm heading up to Canada after graduation for some misadventures, trying to go see some dope ass geology. Then I'm hopefully going back to England at the end of the year to see my gran before she passes and finally introduce my family to hubs.

I'm trying to convince hubs to take orders to Naples, haha! He's never left the country. He was on a sub that just made circles in the ocean, and I want him to experience the joy of travel. The world is huge and awesome! And as much as I love traveling over the US, I'm itching to get back out there. I hope you get the chance to go exploring soon!

Haha, nope, I have not heard of them! That sounds hella fun tho, I'm glad you got to go! :D

Year One [ Closed for TheDookieNut and El Taco Taco ]

Sadie decided instantly that she rather liked Professor Sprout. She reminded Sadie of her mum, kind eyes and the little smear of soil on her cheek. Her heart ached for home; as wonderful as Hogwarts was, she missed their little dog and the way her mum hummed around the kitchen. Sadie forced her thoughts to the present, tucking a loose red bang behind an ear.

The Professors were busy placing potted plants on the table, all sorts of strange and familiar flora. Enormous daffodils that trumpeted enthusiastically as they strained towards sunlight, shivering shrubs whose spines looked as sharp as swords, bulbs that hopped enthusiastically in a glass covered tray.

Sadie wanted nothing more than to answer herself, but nerves had kept her hand in her lap. A reedy little Hufflepuff answered, eying the pot of violet flowers in front of him. Professor Sprout’s encouragement bolstered her confidence and her hand rose into the air.

“Wolfsbane; the leaves are toxic and used to be used to hunt wolves?” Sadie ventured, ears turning pink as eyes turned on her. Why had she said it as a question? She knew the answer. She’d studied her textbook exhaustively, since it had been the most familiar subject. Professor Sprout smiled sweetly nonetheless, and Sadie could feel her heart beat easing up.

“Correct! Five points to Gryffindor,” she moved on swiftly, and Sadie breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Freyja was slouching beside her, nails drumming a little rhythm on the table.

The calm was interrupted by a Hufflepuff squeaking terror as a tangle of vines lashed itself around Professor Longbottom’s arm, slithering up to his shoulder and chest with truly remarkable speed. Sadie gaped, the expression shifting rapidly to a grin of delight. No. Way. That was awesome! It occurred to her suddenly that, perhaps, she ought to be less thrilled by this development. But Professor Longbottom looked perfectly at ease, withdrawing a long wand from his pocket.

“Incendio,” he offered calmly, a little tendril of flames curling from his wands, chasing away the plant. Sadie’s grin widened further, eyes alight at proper magic. She felt Freyja perk up beside her, and she glanced to the Hufflepuff, her eyes glittering with interest. Okay, yes, that was the reaction people were supposed to have! Even Seine looked impressed, although he seemed less amazed by the magic itself. She glanced over to George, eyes dancing. Incendio, hm? She’d be practicing that tonight, she mused.

“Devil’s Snare. It fears fire. You’ll be working extensively with it in your third year,” he gently slid the plant further away from shrinking students, “We’ll start smaller.”

Sadie’s grin twisted to a frown of disappointment. Smaller sounded far less exciting than this Devil’s Snare.

Year One [ Closed for TheDookieNut and El Taco Taco ]

Haha, sort of?? Hubs and I are moving soon and dealing with some HURRRR BS (which might be sorted out?? who knows???? as per fuckin' usual, we have no idea what's going on with the navy haha) but I'm hopeful. I can't really start applying for jobs until we know where we'll be living, so I'm just trucking along with school and getting my resume finished.

Ooooh, who'd you see? :D

Character Appearance; How do you do it?

I use photos of celebrities, usually from a role that suits the theme of the roleplay. For example, I use LeeLee Sobieski in the god awful film In the Name of the King for a character in a medieval-ish world, Seychelle Gabriel's character in Falling Skies for a demigod, so on and so forth. Using celebrities is a pretty safe way of establishing appearance, because there's no real ethics issues. They performed in media meant for consumption and I'm not making any money off it. A lot of my games are grounded in realism, and I'll use the height of the actor/actress and make references to notable characteristics. I have some games off the guild where I'll use gifs of my chosen faceclaim to add to the end of posts and help illustrate the mood of the post. I roleplayed on tumblr for a while where gifs/icons in posts are common.

In games where there's no suitable person (usually when playing non-humans), I'll end up painting my character myself. I will look at other art for inspiration, and use photo references, but I don't like to use other people's art if I can avoid it. I have the capability to make my own, and enjoy doing so, so I'm a lot less limited in that regard.

Even though I don't view using personal art for RP description as stealing, I'd rather not risk upsetting the artist. Paintings can be pretty involved and I want to respect the creator's right to control their work. Sharing it online doesn't mean that they don't have ownership of the piece. I would be hella flattered to have someone ask me to use a painting as a character-- and I'd probably want to paint them more things just for asking.

When I do make character sheets, which isn't often, I almost always include a text description with the photo/art. There's certain things that don't come across in art-- fashion tastes, the way someone walks, additional features that the character possesses but the photo/art might not have, and so forth. That way I get the best of both worlds.

Year One [ Closed for TheDookieNut and El Taco Taco ]

Well enough! Graduating in June, ahhhhh! So not ready but oh well.

How have you been?

Year One [ Closed for TheDookieNut and El Taco Taco ]

Absolutely! I'm trying to get a post written in between school things today.

Please Stay

I feel you, bro! It's all good. :3

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

I'm aiming to have a post up by Tuesday, Wednesday at the very latest. Sorry for the delay!

blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]

Every inch of her body ached. The manthing was not much larger than her, but it was denser than steel. Whether a creature or a wish, it was heavy, and dragging it through the woods had been draining. Samaire could feel her thighs beginning to tremble in her cautious crouch. She needed to rest. As much as she could rest with the manthing watching, its eyes reflecting in the wavering light.

Not unlike glass.

Spirits, what was she doing?

They watched each other for several long moments, the flames flickering between them. It shifted, cleaning its wound with its tongue, as if it didn’t know what to do with its hands. Emerald eyes narrowed, watching its movements suspiciously. It did not move like a man or a thing of shadow. There was something feral about it, like the wolf-nursed boy Jonas had told her about as a child. The boy that spoke only the tongues of nymphs and wolves and that fought with teeth and nails like claws. But the wolf child had been a man simply raised by the wilds—Samaire did not think this thing had ever been a man. It moved on hands and feet, like a child pretending to be a beast, edging closer to the flames. It settled beside the flames, tending its wounds, regarding her as suspiciously as she did it.

The heat was already sinking into her bones, softening her muscles like rain to earth. She dropped back onto her haunches, numb fingertips steadying her in the dank earth. The leather was cold and stiff, and Samaire removed them with a sharp tug of teeth, resting them beside the fire to warm. Even as the heat eased her aches, her fingers and toes screamed in protest as feeling flooded through her veins.

Her pack dangled above her—she needed to make camp, and she swore beneath her breath. She couldn’t bear the thought of moving for another minute, yearned for nothing but the warmth of a bed—a warm body, dexterous hands, a voice of song and sunlight. Samaire cursed again, pushing herself to her feet, stumbling as she righted herself.

The routine was familiar, if not particularly enjoyable. A bedroll was placed near the heat of fire, on the driest patch of earth she could find, a heavy blanket and a knife—far easier to wield in close quarters than her blade if the manthing slipped its chain—a round of bread wrapped in cloth. Samaire dropped to the comfort of her bedroll, unlacing her boots to dry her feet, burning with the needles of hot blood running through iced veins. Her armor soon joined the leathers around the flames, mail and steel glittering almost like gold. Samaire yearned for proper gold for a moment, shimmering and soft to touch.

There was no softness on the road.

The bread was a little stale, but she would not thumb her nose at nourishment. She would have to hunt throughout the days ahead. Tonight, she was grateful for the ease of her meal, too exhausted to strap into her armor to track rabbits or deer. Her eyes found the manthing again, her lip curling. It had eaten food in the cell, she remembered. She ought to share her bread—but her muscles protested at the memory of dragging it through mud and brambles, and she could not bear the thought.

Instead, she spoke again, watching carefully.

“<Dawn we leave>,” she kept her voice sharp, even as she struggled to remember the words, the lilt of a language she’d once sung sweetly, her fingers curling around the knife in her bedroll, “<You stay far>.”

Please Stay

I'm so sorry for the delay, my love! BUT WOOSH! Olly post!