HE'S SO YOUNG THERE ahhhhhhhhh so adorable
El Taco Taco
Member
Schist happens.
STATUS: '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.' 8 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 24 days ago
- Old Guild Username: El Taco Taco
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 1221 (0.27 / day)
- VMs: 2
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Username history
- El Taco Taco 12 yrs ago
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TheDookieNut,
Cream
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
Perseus Holt
Let's leave this life behind, forgetting all they say.The time we have, is time well borrowed.
Stay out all night; forget tomorrow.
Incredibly, the morning had gone from bad to worse. Any hopes for a tolerable morning had nicked their brooms and flown off into the grey horizon. Atlas pursed her lips as Perseus and Kisaragi mocked her, deciding on a thoroughly unpleasant breakfast.
It wasn’t that she detested Gryffindors, per se, but they were so loud. There was never a chance to breathe around lions, and in a pack they were unbearably suffocating. Atlas yearned for the bell tower, for the hidden latch to their secret patch of rooftop. She’d managed a tricky bubble charm two years prior, turning the small flat into a warm and quiet haven. They’d had dozens of breakfasts there with stolen feasts and friendly bickering. Nearly two months into term, and Perseus had canceled every time, to follow awe struck after Kisaragi.
Her lips pursed into a thin line. Perseus, predictably, paid no heed, bounding on ahead and chattering wildly. Atlas tucked her hands beneath her arms, burrowing into her own warmth.
“No jumper? No cloak?” Perseus drawled, clearly delighted. Atlas’ scowl deepened.
“Shut it,” she warned, but he’d already run off with it.
“Oh but you’ll get sick and you’ll end up in hospital wing and miss out on everything and mum will be so upset, that’s what you told me—“
“Hilarious,” she snipped, cheeks reddening in annoyance. Once. She’d fussed after him once for trying to play quidditch in the snow without dressing intelligently, and of course he remembered. Git.
“Hypocrite,” he returned cheerily, snickering as Atlas reached out and punched his arm. Mercifully, he let the matter drop, turning instead to chatter at Miyu, walking backwards with zero concern for hazards.
The walk was deeply uncomfortable. Once again, she was on the fringe while they bantered, making the trek back to the Great Hall. The castle, at least, was welcoming in its warmth. There were students milling around, much warmer and much cheerier. Atlas considered leaving but—as much as he irritated her, she did actually want to see Perseus. It was so rare that they spend time together these days and he was her little brother.
Of course, getting squeezed in at the Gryffindor table, Atlas wasn’t entirely sure if she’d made the right choice.
It wasn’t that she detested Gryffindors, per se, but they were so loud. There was never a chance to breathe around lions, and in a pack they were unbearably suffocating. Atlas yearned for the bell tower, for the hidden latch to their secret patch of rooftop. She’d managed a tricky bubble charm two years prior, turning the small flat into a warm and quiet haven. They’d had dozens of breakfasts there with stolen feasts and friendly bickering. Nearly two months into term, and Perseus had canceled every time, to follow awe struck after Kisaragi.
Her lips pursed into a thin line. Perseus, predictably, paid no heed, bounding on ahead and chattering wildly. Atlas tucked her hands beneath her arms, burrowing into her own warmth.
“No jumper? No cloak?” Perseus drawled, clearly delighted. Atlas’ scowl deepened.
“Shut it,” she warned, but he’d already run off with it.
“Oh but you’ll get sick and you’ll end up in hospital wing and miss out on everything and mum will be so upset, that’s what you told me—“
“Hilarious,” she snipped, cheeks reddening in annoyance. Once. She’d fussed after him once for trying to play quidditch in the snow without dressing intelligently, and of course he remembered. Git.
“Hypocrite,” he returned cheerily, snickering as Atlas reached out and punched his arm. Mercifully, he let the matter drop, turning instead to chatter at Miyu, walking backwards with zero concern for hazards.
The walk was deeply uncomfortable. Once again, she was on the fringe while they bantered, making the trek back to the Great Hall. The castle, at least, was welcoming in its warmth. There were students milling around, much warmer and much cheerier. Atlas considered leaving but—as much as he irritated her, she did actually want to see Perseus. It was so rare that they spend time together these days and he was her little brother.
Of course, getting squeezed in at the Gryffindor table, Atlas wasn’t entirely sure if she’d made the right choice.
Hands jammed into her sleeves and hugged tight to her body, Atlas tried not to let her irritation consume her. It had taken nearly five minutes to detangle her dark hair, and she was certain that her nose was still red from the cold. It was shaping up to be a bitter winter, and, not for the first time, Atlas wished that she’d never had to come home from the summer holiday in the Maldives. As soon as she graduated, she was moving somewhere tropical.
To the surprise of absolutely no one, Perseus kept her waiting. Atlas studied the storm clouds gathering above the forrest as a few of Perseus’ teammates passed. She ignored their suspicious looks, her own face painted with disinterest. It was aggravating, really. Did they place house loyalties above their loyalty to their own blood? Why people thought she should have turned on Perseus was as much a mystery as why anyone bothered with quidditch.
A shiver crawled down her spine. Atlas frowned, hazel eyes flashing around her. She thought she had felt… She pushed off from her patch of wall, a hand moving to touch the wand against her leg. Nothing happened. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she scoffed, chalking it up to the wind. Her patience had been worn to a single thread, and she had half a mind to leave and salvage something out of this nightmare of a morning.
“Atty!” The familiar butchering of her name earned a roll of the eyes as Atlas turned. She cocked a brow at the sight of her younger brother bounding towards her. His dark hair was wind-tossed, blue eyes nearly mad with fiendish glee. It was the look he always had after he’d been flying, like he was drunk off flight. “You look cranky.”
“Astute observation,” Atlas snipped, folding her arms tightly beneath her chest. Perseus grinned brightly, looking over his shoulder to—ugh, Kisarigi, her least favorite person in the bloody castle. If Perseus noticed the way her expression went flat, he said nothing.
“Fancy joining us for breakfast, Miyu?” Perseus chirped. Her eyes flashed sharply, turning on her prat of a little brother.
“That wasn’t the plan,” she insisted sharply, an edge in her voice.
“Pft, plans,” Perseus scoffed, sounding eerily like her. “Plans are boring.”
To the surprise of absolutely no one, Perseus kept her waiting. Atlas studied the storm clouds gathering above the forrest as a few of Perseus’ teammates passed. She ignored their suspicious looks, her own face painted with disinterest. It was aggravating, really. Did they place house loyalties above their loyalty to their own blood? Why people thought she should have turned on Perseus was as much a mystery as why anyone bothered with quidditch.
A shiver crawled down her spine. Atlas frowned, hazel eyes flashing around her. She thought she had felt… She pushed off from her patch of wall, a hand moving to touch the wand against her leg. Nothing happened. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she scoffed, chalking it up to the wind. Her patience had been worn to a single thread, and she had half a mind to leave and salvage something out of this nightmare of a morning.
“Atty!” The familiar butchering of her name earned a roll of the eyes as Atlas turned. She cocked a brow at the sight of her younger brother bounding towards her. His dark hair was wind-tossed, blue eyes nearly mad with fiendish glee. It was the look he always had after he’d been flying, like he was drunk off flight. “You look cranky.”
“Astute observation,” Atlas snipped, folding her arms tightly beneath her chest. Perseus grinned brightly, looking over his shoulder to—ugh, Kisarigi, her least favorite person in the bloody castle. If Perseus noticed the way her expression went flat, he said nothing.
“Fancy joining us for breakfast, Miyu?” Perseus chirped. Her eyes flashed sharply, turning on her prat of a little brother.
“That wasn’t the plan,” she insisted sharply, an edge in her voice.
“Pft, plans,” Perseus scoffed, sounding eerily like her. “Plans are boring.”
Atlas Holt
I'm headed straight for the castleThey wanna make me their queen
And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean
doot doot
Atlas Holt could think of nineteen different ways she’d rather be spending her morning off the top of her head, and that was only the beginning of what might be a truly infinite list. Sitting in the Quidditch stands on a brisk October morning, shivering into her jacket, would never rate as enjoyable. The bitter wind cut to the bone. There weren’t enough warming charms in the world to protect the shells of her ears and her slim fingers from the chill. If Perseus had not looked at her with that damnable pout, she would have blown off his request in favor of an extra hour of sleep in the warmth of her bed.
But he had pouted, and with their breakfast plans contingent on her waiting for his bloody Quidditch practice to end, Atlas had found herself sat in her least favorite part of all of Hogwarts. It was terribly dull up here. It was bad enough when she was squeezed in with hundreds of other students, surrounded by the deafening roar of their delight. Atlas had thought it might have been more tolerable as the only soul on the rickety benches.
She had thought wrong.
The practice utterly failed to capture her interest. Quidditch had never appealed much to the lanky Slytherin. It seemed such a foolish thing, a waste of time. Who cared about broomsticks when there was old magic to ferret out of ancient books and secret places? She’d rather be in the library, curled up next to the fire with a massive book sprawled across her lap. Or in her dormitory. Or the Great Hall. Or literally anywhere else on earth. This was beyond stupid—they could have simply met for breakfast after he was done. Merlin’s wrinkled balls, why had he asked her to come to his stupid practice?
Because he had her wrapped around his finger, she mused with a scowl. Atlas folded her arms beneath her chest, trying in vain to warm her numb hands. Booted feet resting on the bench below her, she ignored the sensible voice in her head that reminded her she could have worn a cloak. And gloves. And a scarf. Leggings and a stolen borrowed vintage Weird Sisters shirt were cute, sure, but perhaps vanity should not have been her priority. Atlas ignored that traitorous thought, instead peering up into the early morning sky.
Fingers of sunlight were finally managing to pierce the heavy blanket of clouds. She couldn’t quite make sense of what the Gryffindors were doing, exactly. Drills of some sort? There seemed to be a lot of ‘let’s all chase Perseus and try to unseat him from his broom with elbows and bludgers’. Undoubtedly, Perseus deserved this punishment (?) for good reason, but it was a little alarming to see the small wizard pursued by six, much larger players. He was quick, and judging by the continued Gryffindor domination of the sport, quite good. A little rush of pride surged through her, but even that affection could not overcome her overwhelming indifference to the sport.
The watch looped around a wrist informed her that it was half past eight when the team began to circle down towards the pitch. Perseus shot her a shit-eating grin as he descended, pale face flush with wind and excitement. Atlas arched her brow in return, scoffing.
Her joints protested as she rose to her feet, numb legs carrying her towards the steps. Her dark hair caught and tangled in the wind, and Atlas spent the walk down rickety, winding stairs trying to tame it. Dragonskin boots clicked in a flurry as she took stairs two at a time.
The wind was less vicious as she reached the solid ground, but frozen grass crunched beneath her boots. Her breath came out in heavy curls of fog, lungs stinging with every pull of morning air. The pitch was empty, still cloaked in the shadows of the stands. Atlas leaned against a solid patch of wall outside the locker rooms to wait, cursing the cold morning all the while.
But he had pouted, and with their breakfast plans contingent on her waiting for his bloody Quidditch practice to end, Atlas had found herself sat in her least favorite part of all of Hogwarts. It was terribly dull up here. It was bad enough when she was squeezed in with hundreds of other students, surrounded by the deafening roar of their delight. Atlas had thought it might have been more tolerable as the only soul on the rickety benches.
She had thought wrong.
The practice utterly failed to capture her interest. Quidditch had never appealed much to the lanky Slytherin. It seemed such a foolish thing, a waste of time. Who cared about broomsticks when there was old magic to ferret out of ancient books and secret places? She’d rather be in the library, curled up next to the fire with a massive book sprawled across her lap. Or in her dormitory. Or the Great Hall. Or literally anywhere else on earth. This was beyond stupid—they could have simply met for breakfast after he was done. Merlin’s wrinkled balls, why had he asked her to come to his stupid practice?
Because he had her wrapped around his finger, she mused with a scowl. Atlas folded her arms beneath her chest, trying in vain to warm her numb hands. Booted feet resting on the bench below her, she ignored the sensible voice in her head that reminded her she could have worn a cloak. And gloves. And a scarf. Leggings and a stolen borrowed vintage Weird Sisters shirt were cute, sure, but perhaps vanity should not have been her priority. Atlas ignored that traitorous thought, instead peering up into the early morning sky.
Fingers of sunlight were finally managing to pierce the heavy blanket of clouds. She couldn’t quite make sense of what the Gryffindors were doing, exactly. Drills of some sort? There seemed to be a lot of ‘let’s all chase Perseus and try to unseat him from his broom with elbows and bludgers’. Undoubtedly, Perseus deserved this punishment (?) for good reason, but it was a little alarming to see the small wizard pursued by six, much larger players. He was quick, and judging by the continued Gryffindor domination of the sport, quite good. A little rush of pride surged through her, but even that affection could not overcome her overwhelming indifference to the sport.
The watch looped around a wrist informed her that it was half past eight when the team began to circle down towards the pitch. Perseus shot her a shit-eating grin as he descended, pale face flush with wind and excitement. Atlas arched her brow in return, scoffing.
Her joints protested as she rose to her feet, numb legs carrying her towards the steps. Her dark hair caught and tangled in the wind, and Atlas spent the walk down rickety, winding stairs trying to tame it. Dragonskin boots clicked in a flurry as she took stairs two at a time.
The wind was less vicious as she reached the solid ground, but frozen grass crunched beneath her boots. Her breath came out in heavy curls of fog, lungs stinging with every pull of morning air. The pitch was empty, still cloaked in the shadows of the stands. Atlas leaned against a solid patch of wall outside the locker rooms to wait, cursing the cold morning all the while.
QUIDDDDIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTCH
-FROTHS AT THE MOUTH-
-FROTHS AT THE MOUTH-
I LIVE.
I took a totally unannounced hiatus to spend time with my husband, like a jerkbutt! He just left on deployment for most of the year, so I wanted to maximise dat time, and I had to adult like crazy.
BUT I RETURN.
Interested in picking this back up?
I took a totally unannounced hiatus to spend time with my husband, like a jerkbutt! He just left on deployment for most of the year, so I wanted to maximise dat time, and I had to adult like crazy.
BUT I RETURN.
Interested in picking this back up?
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