I'm way too proud of my own terrible pun
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,
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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
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
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10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
I'm way too proud of my own terrible pun
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
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10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
I feel like the bear would almost be embearassed to eat prey in such a sorry state.
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
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10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Samaire Greatly Disapproves.
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
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10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Awww yeeee, we're back, bitches
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
She might have slept in the mud, had the manthing not stirred. She’d known exhaustion all her life; she had been training for as long as she could remember, a practice sword thrust into her hand the moment she’d mastered walking, padded armor strapped around her limbs. There had been no rest under Uncle Jonas’ black eyes, only endless drills and lessons. Tiredness lived in her bones, and she knew how to let it strengthen her.
This was more than simple fatigue. This was nearly six hundred nights of failure on her shoulders, of an empty name and vengeance with no direction. It was having lost even the shadow of a home, with familiar faces closed and backs turned. It was Pylos’ little, broken body, slumped like a sparrow with its meat sucked clean, his eyes staring accusingly in his severed head. It was Uriah, his skin melted off his bone, her father’s spine scattered along the floor. It was Gildas, his golden head in mother’s arms. It was that wail that split the heavens, seared to the bone, and Go. Don’t come back until they have paid for everything they did to us.
She did not even know who they were.
The chain rustled. Samaire turned numbly to one side, pushing herself up on shaking limbs. The manthing drew even with her and shook like a dog, spattering her face with mud, to match the filth caking her arms and back. She needed to clean her things before it dried. The thought felt distant, like it wasn’t hers, simply echoing across a valley from someone else.
The manthing found soft grass and tumbled into it, chain clinking heavily as it cleaned itself. Samaire watched it, still sat in the mud. It eventually stilled, tending to one of many cuts, and Samaire finally found the will to rise to her feet.
It was a long night of cleaning, the man-thing tied off to a tree and left alone. By the time Samaire collapsed to her bed roll, the sky was beginning to blush with sunlight. She slept without dreaming.
They settled into a rhythm, of sorts. He tested her limits. She pulled his chain. Sometimes running, sometimes dragging, they journeyed west. The woods changed in form, from dense thickets of sharp brambles to wide bowers and soft paths as the days passed. Samaire kept them moving from dusk to dawn, pushing for ever more distance between them and the Zarnofskys.
They found three more slaughtered doe, but the shadows weren’t quite so heavy and the stars never truly disappeared anymore. Samaire tracked, and hunted, snaring rabbits and fish for silent meals. Sometimes she tossed the man-thing a share. It was useless to her starved, after all.
Nine days west and they finally broke through the storm. Samaire awoke to find the sky clear between the trees and the earth dry. The woods had changed again, with trees towering to impossible heights. Sunlight scattered like topaz, glittering and wondrous. The soil was black and rich and even the wind seemed to whisper this place is more than bark and flowers. They walked along gentle paths, life teeming in green and gold and fluttering heartbeats.
They stopped for camp early that night, before the sun had even sunk below the earth, if only to indulge the peace.
This was more than simple fatigue. This was nearly six hundred nights of failure on her shoulders, of an empty name and vengeance with no direction. It was having lost even the shadow of a home, with familiar faces closed and backs turned. It was Pylos’ little, broken body, slumped like a sparrow with its meat sucked clean, his eyes staring accusingly in his severed head. It was Uriah, his skin melted off his bone, her father’s spine scattered along the floor. It was Gildas, his golden head in mother’s arms. It was that wail that split the heavens, seared to the bone, and Go. Don’t come back until they have paid for everything they did to us.
She did not even know who they were.
The chain rustled. Samaire turned numbly to one side, pushing herself up on shaking limbs. The manthing drew even with her and shook like a dog, spattering her face with mud, to match the filth caking her arms and back. She needed to clean her things before it dried. The thought felt distant, like it wasn’t hers, simply echoing across a valley from someone else.
The manthing found soft grass and tumbled into it, chain clinking heavily as it cleaned itself. Samaire watched it, still sat in the mud. It eventually stilled, tending to one of many cuts, and Samaire finally found the will to rise to her feet.
It was a long night of cleaning, the man-thing tied off to a tree and left alone. By the time Samaire collapsed to her bed roll, the sky was beginning to blush with sunlight. She slept without dreaming.
--
They settled into a rhythm, of sorts. He tested her limits. She pulled his chain. Sometimes running, sometimes dragging, they journeyed west. The woods changed in form, from dense thickets of sharp brambles to wide bowers and soft paths as the days passed. Samaire kept them moving from dusk to dawn, pushing for ever more distance between them and the Zarnofskys.
They found three more slaughtered doe, but the shadows weren’t quite so heavy and the stars never truly disappeared anymore. Samaire tracked, and hunted, snaring rabbits and fish for silent meals. Sometimes she tossed the man-thing a share. It was useless to her starved, after all.
Nine days west and they finally broke through the storm. Samaire awoke to find the sky clear between the trees and the earth dry. The woods had changed again, with trees towering to impossible heights. Sunlight scattered like topaz, glittering and wondrous. The soil was black and rich and even the wind seemed to whisper this place is more than bark and flowers. They walked along gentle paths, life teeming in green and gold and fluttering heartbeats.
They stopped for camp early that night, before the sun had even sunk below the earth, if only to indulge the peace.
After the first week, Sadie finally found the rhythm of her schoolwork. It was tricky work—she frequently had to ask her classmates what certain magical terms meant—but that was good. Sadie had always liked cutting her teeth on difficult concepts. There was nothing like the joy of finding the answer, especially when she found it herself. She’d apparently become the class nerd, but Sadie found the near apathy of some of her classmates staggering. She knew in the way that she knew that she must breathe that she would never tire of the magic of spells and potions and earth beneath her fingernails.
The first Quidditch game was terrifying and exhilarating in equal parts. She couldn’t forget the sight of that little Hufflepuff girl hurtling towards the ground. She’d woken up in a cold sweat half a dozen times, heart slamming into her ribs until she feared they might break. No one else seemed particularly bothered, and Sadie kept those nightmares quiet.
It had been two months, and Brennan had barely spoken more than a dozen words to her. She’d seen how he darkened when she came around with George, his lips pressing into a thin line. But it hadn’t been George who’d said those awful things, she wanted to scream at her brother. Somehow, Sadie didn’t think Brennan much cared. It was, truthfully, rather lonely. At least her mum wrote frequently, sending sweets and trinkets from back home. Her dormmates had been fascinated by the still photographs Sadie’s muggle friends had sent, their fashion and technology so alien to them.
She was surprised to find herself missing home. Magic was wonderful and great, and she adored it, but she yearned for her phone, for streaming music and television. She missed knowing slang and context and staircases that didn’t change on her. Sadie had a sharp sense of direction, but Hogwarts seemed to be purposefully trying to make her late for classes by completely altering its layout halfway through her walks.
Halloween was as lavish as Christmas, she’d realised with a gasp as she and her friends entered the Great Hall. It was spectacular, flickering candles and spiders crafted of wisps of smoke dancing up and down webs of gossamer magic. Sadie spent the first five minutes of the meal whipping her head back and forth to catch sight of something new and wondrous. One of the older students chuckled as she gasped in delight at little cauldron cakes with ladles stirring around in their chocolate.
Seine was regaling them with a particularly thrilling (and brutal) Quidditch recounting, Estonia vs. Laos, but she was only half listening. Seine was an amazing story teller, but she’d already heard the match--yellow and black robes whipping in wind, body tumbling like a rag doll toflat, flat earth—and she instead focused on the food.
She was halfway through a bowl of pumpkin soup when she noticed that a tall, thin Professor was whispering into the Headmistress’ ear. Sadie watched at the elderly witch’s face blanked, her lips pursing into a thin line. Little whispers seemed to break out along the Head Table—and then they were hushed, smiles placed back on their faces. She almost thought she had imagined it, but…
“Did you see that?” Niall muttered from across the table. Sadie met the his curious gaze, flicking her eyes back to the Head Table. Everything seemed normal, but…
“That didn’t look like good news,” Sadie murmured, knitting her brows together. “Wonder what they’re hiding.”
The first Quidditch game was terrifying and exhilarating in equal parts. She couldn’t forget the sight of that little Hufflepuff girl hurtling towards the ground. She’d woken up in a cold sweat half a dozen times, heart slamming into her ribs until she feared they might break. No one else seemed particularly bothered, and Sadie kept those nightmares quiet.
It had been two months, and Brennan had barely spoken more than a dozen words to her. She’d seen how he darkened when she came around with George, his lips pressing into a thin line. But it hadn’t been George who’d said those awful things, she wanted to scream at her brother. Somehow, Sadie didn’t think Brennan much cared. It was, truthfully, rather lonely. At least her mum wrote frequently, sending sweets and trinkets from back home. Her dormmates had been fascinated by the still photographs Sadie’s muggle friends had sent, their fashion and technology so alien to them.
She was surprised to find herself missing home. Magic was wonderful and great, and she adored it, but she yearned for her phone, for streaming music and television. She missed knowing slang and context and staircases that didn’t change on her. Sadie had a sharp sense of direction, but Hogwarts seemed to be purposefully trying to make her late for classes by completely altering its layout halfway through her walks.
Halloween was as lavish as Christmas, she’d realised with a gasp as she and her friends entered the Great Hall. It was spectacular, flickering candles and spiders crafted of wisps of smoke dancing up and down webs of gossamer magic. Sadie spent the first five minutes of the meal whipping her head back and forth to catch sight of something new and wondrous. One of the older students chuckled as she gasped in delight at little cauldron cakes with ladles stirring around in their chocolate.
Seine was regaling them with a particularly thrilling (and brutal) Quidditch recounting, Estonia vs. Laos, but she was only half listening. Seine was an amazing story teller, but she’d already heard the match--yellow and black robes whipping in wind, body tumbling like a rag doll toflat, flat earth—and she instead focused on the food.
She was halfway through a bowl of pumpkin soup when she noticed that a tall, thin Professor was whispering into the Headmistress’ ear. Sadie watched at the elderly witch’s face blanked, her lips pursing into a thin line. Little whispers seemed to break out along the Head Table—and then they were hushed, smiles placed back on their faces. She almost thought she had imagined it, but…
“Did you see that?” Niall muttered from across the table. Sadie met the his curious gaze, flicking her eyes back to the Head Table. Everything seemed normal, but…
“That didn’t look like good news,” Sadie murmured, knitting her brows together. “Wonder what they’re hiding.”
Aw! I'm sorry hon. -hug- If you ever need to talk, I'm always here.
I'm actually doing pretty well. Xmas was good, just four of us this time (smallest holiday I have ever hosted--I usually average around 15 people). I surprised him on his trip to California a few weeks ago and we had a good time. Met his dad, saw some cool geology, ate so much delicious food. I miss him, but I've got my family and friends, so it'll be alright. Once I manage to get a job it'll be way easier haha
I'm actually doing pretty well. Xmas was good, just four of us this time (smallest holiday I have ever hosted--I usually average around 15 people). I surprised him on his trip to California a few weeks ago and we had a good time. Met his dad, saw some cool geology, ate so much delicious food. I miss him, but I've got my family and friends, so it'll be alright. Once I manage to get a job it'll be way easier haha
And I did my Hawke's tarot card. She's really, really bad at the 'not getting her family killed' thing.
It is! My PMs are finally nice and clean aaahhhh!!
Alright, I will clickity clackity and make a post appear
Alright, I will clickity clackity and make a post appear
In
Taco's Taco Truck, Take Three: The Return of the Taco. Updated 02/13/19
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10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Hey bros and brosephines and those outside the gender bronary! I'm Taco. If you don't think food counts as a name, you can call me Alice. Now, let's get this interest check rolling!
Background, Rules, and Bears, Oh My!
The Good Stuff!
Now that you’ve trudged through all that—or you’ve skipped ahead (clever girl)—let’s get to what I write. Which is, as it turns out, a lot of things! Here’s the deal—I’ll list out what fandoms and original settings I love, and if I have characters or plots built already, there’ll be a cute lil’ hider beneath the name with the information. If there's an idea you have that you think I'll like, but I don't have it listed, feel free to shoot it my way!
Any character with a ► by their name already has a starter post ready to go.
Roleplay Settings and Ideas
HARRY POTTER
It’s the fandom that doesn’t quit. I'll always love Potter, despite Rowling's attempts to ruin it, so we’re going to split this into two categories—canon characters, and original characters.
I haven't read Cursed Child and I'm not watching Fantastic Beasts soooo ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I haven't read Cursed Child and I'm not watching Fantastic Beasts soooo ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
STAR WARS
DRAGON AGE
MASS EFFECT
FORGOTTEN REALMS
NON-FANDOM SPECIFIC
You made it! If you're interested in roleplaying with me, PM me or post here!
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