Haha, I'll get Nat more in her usual lame jokes mood soon. I'm a little rusty, my b!
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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- El Taco Taco 12 yrs ago
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TheDookieNut,
Cream
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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
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9 yrs ago
"We're talking about a tentacled flying lamp fucker, Dave. What are you prepared to call unlikely?"
2
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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
There was this air of, she didn’t know, mystery around this? Chase spoke so low his words nearly vanished in the steady breaking of the tide and the delighted shouts and laughter echoing along the beach. It seemed a strange thing—but, she amended quickly, she really had no base line for what was normal or not in the area. Carys tucked a wayward bang behind her ear as he began to answer questions that had lingered since she’d first been given the deed. The internet was as bad as people had mentioned? Well, that sucked. But the rest of it was…well, it wasn’t that bad. Maybe she’d lose her mind, maybe she’d fall in love with it.
For now, it was fresh and new, and that was enough.
“Hmmm,” she remarked, tapping her lips. It was an answer, if not the most satisfying one. There had seemed like a real story behind it—but it must have been her curiosity eloping with her imagination. Before she could comment, Mason had broken in with an invitation; to surf, not a ticket to axe town, and she offered a little huff of laughter. Well, that was—forward. Maybe she was reading too much into it. A very loud part of her was demanding she say yes, that she chase the next adventure.
She might have, had they not been distracted by the return of the shortest of the trio (Ryan! She was determined to get their names right), with what looked to be a younger sibling or cousin guiltily in tow. Chase was polite enough to explain and Carys made a sympathetic ‘aww’, glancing in the direction they had gone.
Chase and Mason were debating their policy of guest qualifications, and Carys huddled into her flannel, content to listen for the moment. They were lively, which provided great amusement, filing away little nuggets of information in the flow of words.
“You have a sister?” She’d asked Chase, rather surprised. On reflection, it wasn’t that strange. She was an only child and she always seemed to assume that everyone else was too. Not that she hadn’t wanted siblings—they always seemed like great fun—but it still seemed so novel. Siblings seemed like something almost unreal, like something only in movies or television.
There was something odd about Mason’s insistence of their…she didn’t even know. The usual, twenty something male bravado, she suspected—young and seemingly invincible. Carys didn’t think on it more as a newly familiar voice called her name.
“Carys!”
Carys turned, brightening at the sight of Audrey, who paused, something indescribable flashing over her face. Audrey smiled suddenly, and Carys didn’t have time to wonder if she had imagined it.
“Sorry for abandoning you,” Audrey spoke, “It was important.”
“No problem,” Carys laughed, “I ruined your shirt, because I am really spectacularly awful at first impressions. The stout deserved better.”
“That’s what laundry is for, dear.” Audrey looked between Chase and Mason, her brow arching impossibly high. “You’re not getting her into trouble, right?”
Carys found this idea both incredibly amusing and incredibly appealing, her eyes lighting up with fiendish delight. Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach had been stupid, and she’d probably regret it in the morning, but that was Future Carys’ problem. Present Carys was perfectly pleased.
For now, it was fresh and new, and that was enough.
“Hmmm,” she remarked, tapping her lips. It was an answer, if not the most satisfying one. There had seemed like a real story behind it—but it must have been her curiosity eloping with her imagination. Before she could comment, Mason had broken in with an invitation; to surf, not a ticket to axe town, and she offered a little huff of laughter. Well, that was—forward. Maybe she was reading too much into it. A very loud part of her was demanding she say yes, that she chase the next adventure.
She might have, had they not been distracted by the return of the shortest of the trio (Ryan! She was determined to get their names right), with what looked to be a younger sibling or cousin guiltily in tow. Chase was polite enough to explain and Carys made a sympathetic ‘aww’, glancing in the direction they had gone.
Chase and Mason were debating their policy of guest qualifications, and Carys huddled into her flannel, content to listen for the moment. They were lively, which provided great amusement, filing away little nuggets of information in the flow of words.
“You have a sister?” She’d asked Chase, rather surprised. On reflection, it wasn’t that strange. She was an only child and she always seemed to assume that everyone else was too. Not that she hadn’t wanted siblings—they always seemed like great fun—but it still seemed so novel. Siblings seemed like something almost unreal, like something only in movies or television.
There was something odd about Mason’s insistence of their…she didn’t even know. The usual, twenty something male bravado, she suspected—young and seemingly invincible. Carys didn’t think on it more as a newly familiar voice called her name.
“Carys!”
Carys turned, brightening at the sight of Audrey, who paused, something indescribable flashing over her face. Audrey smiled suddenly, and Carys didn’t have time to wonder if she had imagined it.
“Sorry for abandoning you,” Audrey spoke, “It was important.”
“No problem,” Carys laughed, “I ruined your shirt, because I am really spectacularly awful at first impressions. The stout deserved better.”
“That’s what laundry is for, dear.” Audrey looked between Chase and Mason, her brow arching impossibly high. “You’re not getting her into trouble, right?”
Carys found this idea both incredibly amusing and incredibly appealing, her eyes lighting up with fiendish delight. Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach had been stupid, and she’d probably regret it in the morning, but that was Future Carys’ problem. Present Carys was perfectly pleased.
Nat’s lips quirked into a knowing smile when he spoke of Laura’s enthusiastic support in kicking Clint’s ass out to the field. Laura was—Laura was sunlight and such incredible faith in people. If she’d ever worried that Clint wasn’t safe with Natasha, she’d never said anything to her face. Laura simply looked at her with trust, as if there weren’t a thousand words in her ledger arguing that Natasha was the last person to believe in. Natasha would have liked to be the person that Laura saw.
“True on both counts,” she agreed. She’d spent years working with Clint, and his chronic inability to not get himself beat to shit and his stupid quips had once perplexed her. He’d been her handler once; he was the only one who really seemed to think she could be deprogrammed, could be something resembling human again. So Fury had dropped her leash in his hands and wished the poor bastard luck. Natasha often wondered how often he’d regretted it—lowering his bow. How many times had she taken a blade, a garrote to his throat over the years? Coming down off red in the helicarrier, Ivan and whispered words that dragged her back like a chain around her throat, Budapest, nightmares when the world still blurred at edges?
Thirteen. Thirteen times she’d nearly killed him. She’d burned every blade and broken bone into her memory, as if knowing what she had done would ensure it would never happen again. As if there were promises she could truly keep.
Clint spoke of Nathaniel. She didn’t soften, not quite, but there was something like warmth in her eyes at the thought. Nathaniel, who deserved more than her legacy, and a world where things like her didn’t exist. She’d douse her ledger a thousand times over to keep his world safe and happy. He dropped into the chair next to her gracelessly, delighting in his truly awful coffee. Natasha shot him a flat look. All these years and she’d never understand his pathological need for coffee and his complete disregard for its quality.
He claimed the headset wordlessly, taking up her restless watch. He knew. He usually did; if anyone could read her, it was Clint. She could lie to him, could craft a myth around herself, but it made her skin crawl. She saved those falsehoods for the things that he didn’t need to know, the things that could only lead to hurt and arrows and lead. But when she simply was, he had an unerring sense for when she was off. It had saved his life too many times before.
“Only his security detail,” she remarked, leaning back in her chair, toes tucked beneath her thighs. She curled into Sam’s sweater, crimson hair spilling down its front. He would have been just as good backup. Any of them would have been, really. The new team was finally learning how to work together (and Steve was undoubtedly annoyed that she had vanished and left him with all the heavy lifting), finding their rhythm.
“They’re Kurdish, for the most part. There’s a Ukranian. A Canadian, too. They’re methodical. Quiet enough to mean that they didn’t come cheap. I’ve mapped out their patrols, but if they’re half as good as I think they are, they’ll change them nightly.” The mission was steadying, simple facts and familiar ground. She knew how to slip through shadows. She knew the bite of copper in her mouth and the rush of combat. This was what she was made for.
She nodded over to one of four monitors, satellite imagery and LIDAR on display of the mansion and its surrounding terrain. “He’s got some patrols in the surrounding area as well, but they’re stretched thin. We can work that if we have to.”
Ideally, they’d get more information about his deals with Ten Rings before storming the gates—which meant for who knew how many more long hours staking out in this cold room.
“True on both counts,” she agreed. She’d spent years working with Clint, and his chronic inability to not get himself beat to shit and his stupid quips had once perplexed her. He’d been her handler once; he was the only one who really seemed to think she could be deprogrammed, could be something resembling human again. So Fury had dropped her leash in his hands and wished the poor bastard luck. Natasha often wondered how often he’d regretted it—lowering his bow. How many times had she taken a blade, a garrote to his throat over the years? Coming down off red in the helicarrier, Ivan and whispered words that dragged her back like a chain around her throat, Budapest, nightmares when the world still blurred at edges?
Thirteen. Thirteen times she’d nearly killed him. She’d burned every blade and broken bone into her memory, as if knowing what she had done would ensure it would never happen again. As if there were promises she could truly keep.
Clint spoke of Nathaniel. She didn’t soften, not quite, but there was something like warmth in her eyes at the thought. Nathaniel, who deserved more than her legacy, and a world where things like her didn’t exist. She’d douse her ledger a thousand times over to keep his world safe and happy. He dropped into the chair next to her gracelessly, delighting in his truly awful coffee. Natasha shot him a flat look. All these years and she’d never understand his pathological need for coffee and his complete disregard for its quality.
He claimed the headset wordlessly, taking up her restless watch. He knew. He usually did; if anyone could read her, it was Clint. She could lie to him, could craft a myth around herself, but it made her skin crawl. She saved those falsehoods for the things that he didn’t need to know, the things that could only lead to hurt and arrows and lead. But when she simply was, he had an unerring sense for when she was off. It had saved his life too many times before.
“Only his security detail,” she remarked, leaning back in her chair, toes tucked beneath her thighs. She curled into Sam’s sweater, crimson hair spilling down its front. He would have been just as good backup. Any of them would have been, really. The new team was finally learning how to work together (and Steve was undoubtedly annoyed that she had vanished and left him with all the heavy lifting), finding their rhythm.
“They’re Kurdish, for the most part. There’s a Ukranian. A Canadian, too. They’re methodical. Quiet enough to mean that they didn’t come cheap. I’ve mapped out their patrols, but if they’re half as good as I think they are, they’ll change them nightly.” The mission was steadying, simple facts and familiar ground. She knew how to slip through shadows. She knew the bite of copper in her mouth and the rush of combat. This was what she was made for.
She nodded over to one of four monitors, satellite imagery and LIDAR on display of the mansion and its surrounding terrain. “He’s got some patrols in the surrounding area as well, but they’re stretched thin. We can work that if we have to.”
Ideally, they’d get more information about his deals with Ten Rings before storming the gates—which meant for who knew how many more long hours staking out in this cold room.
Carys got a little caught up in appreciating the delight of her utterly fake, and utterly delicious, treat. She probably shouldn’t be as delighted as she was, but there was a comfort in the nostalgia. She’d always been around the sea in her youth. She’d lived for the days when her mother would make space for her on the keelboat and let her thrust her face into the wind while the team practiced. They’d always collapse on sand after, exhausted and basking in the crisp air, chocolate and marshmallow sticking to her fingers and salt in her hair.
Ryan, evidently, did not approve of this Seth being at The Party, and Carys quirked a brow at his spectacularly quick escape. It was dropped in favor of the obvious question. Covering her mouth as she finished her bite, she spoke, determined to sound light.
“I literally finished unloading the truck three hours ago,” she remarked, “I came by a house about a week after my apartment was robbed, so I opted not to argue with the universe and move.”
She’d somehow managed to keep her voice even; Carys was grateful for that small mercy. She had no idea what her mother’s life had been like here—her mother had been gone for nearly thirty year, maintaining the property from afar. She’d meant to come back, to retire, after another Olympics, but—well. Carys was here now. All she knew was that the house had been in the Rees side of the family for nearly seventy years…and that she was probably in over her head. She had lived in five hundred square feet for the past six years. What the hell did people do with so much space?
“Little?” She laughed, glancing around her at the mass of people. She looked back with a cocked brow and a wicked grin, “You and I clearly have very different definitions of the word ‘little’. But this is, ah, different? That’s really vague. Umm—“ Carys trailed off for a moment, scrunching her nose as she debated on her description. “I like that I’m not crammed into a tiny apartment and six bottles of wine deep into my friends bitching about everything? Gold star stickers all around for that.”
She shrugged a shoulder, polishing off her s’more quite contentedly. A thought struck her suddenly, and she spoke up, “Soooo, my fancy new roommate gave this whole shenanigan fancy capital letters when she bullied me into coming,” Carys looked between Chase and Mason, head tilted quizzically. “What’s that all about?”
Ryan, evidently, did not approve of this Seth being at The Party, and Carys quirked a brow at his spectacularly quick escape. It was dropped in favor of the obvious question. Covering her mouth as she finished her bite, she spoke, determined to sound light.
“I literally finished unloading the truck three hours ago,” she remarked, “I came by a house about a week after my apartment was robbed, so I opted not to argue with the universe and move.”
She’d somehow managed to keep her voice even; Carys was grateful for that small mercy. She had no idea what her mother’s life had been like here—her mother had been gone for nearly thirty year, maintaining the property from afar. She’d meant to come back, to retire, after another Olympics, but—well. Carys was here now. All she knew was that the house had been in the Rees side of the family for nearly seventy years…and that she was probably in over her head. She had lived in five hundred square feet for the past six years. What the hell did people do with so much space?
“Little?” She laughed, glancing around her at the mass of people. She looked back with a cocked brow and a wicked grin, “You and I clearly have very different definitions of the word ‘little’. But this is, ah, different? That’s really vague. Umm—“ Carys trailed off for a moment, scrunching her nose as she debated on her description. “I like that I’m not crammed into a tiny apartment and six bottles of wine deep into my friends bitching about everything? Gold star stickers all around for that.”
She shrugged a shoulder, polishing off her s’more quite contentedly. A thought struck her suddenly, and she spoke up, “Soooo, my fancy new roommate gave this whole shenanigan fancy capital letters when she bullied me into coming,” Carys looked between Chase and Mason, head tilted quizzically. “What’s that all about?”
@ClocktowerEchos
There's a huge push in libraries to incorporate Maker Spaces, and I know the ones local to me offer free sewing lessons and help! You should see if there's a Maker Space near you. They usually have 3-D printing and other cool resources, they're super great!
@Raxacoricofallapatorius I've heard mixed things about Wizard Con! How's the atmosphere???
Also, that is hella adorable!
My favorite is little kid Avengers ;A; Hearing that little excited gasp of "mom it's Black Widow!" and that super shy 'canigetaphotowithu' is so magical. Emerald City and Geek Girl Con are so family friendly, and I adore it. I do PAX Prime--I'm a cookie brigadier actually-- but the atmosphere is really different and I don't like it nearly as much.
There's a huge push in libraries to incorporate Maker Spaces, and I know the ones local to me offer free sewing lessons and help! You should see if there's a Maker Space near you. They usually have 3-D printing and other cool resources, they're super great!
@Raxacoricofallapatorius I've heard mixed things about Wizard Con! How's the atmosphere???
Also, that is hella adorable!
My favorite is little kid Avengers ;A; Hearing that little excited gasp of "mom it's Black Widow!" and that super shy 'canigetaphotowithu' is so magical. Emerald City and Geek Girl Con are so family friendly, and I adore it. I do PAX Prime--I'm a cookie brigadier actually-- but the atmosphere is really different and I don't like it nearly as much.
There should be a word for that feeling. I'm too lazy to invent it, but someone should do it.
Woosh! Excited to read it. I haven't written Natasha in a few months, and she's always a fun challenge. She makes me up my bad jokes game.
Woosh! Excited to read it. I haven't written Natasha in a few months, and she's always a fun challenge. She makes me up my bad jokes game.
They wove throughout the crowd, by bonfires and crisp night air, and Carys scoured it all with curious eyes. If this was to be her new home, her new world, she wanted to know it inside and out and learn its secrets. She’d never been content to leave questions unanswered, stories uncovered, people unmet. She polished off her beer, slipping it into a thoughtfully provided can as they approached a small group—the aforementioned friends.
The greeting and exchanging of bet money had her ducking a grin into a hand. It was good knowing that, no matter where she went, she’d be entertained by the stupid antics of men. People were people, no matter their world, and it made the shock of moving a little more bearable. There was something familiar, even without concrete and endless sirens.
“Heya,” she greeted simply, waving a hand as she was introduced. And look at that, Chase hadn’t utterly butchered her name. How thoughtful. She arched a brow as Chase requested they attempt to adult, and glanced over at his friends. She’d bet her house that that was practically impossible. It was certainly fine with her; she’d never fit in with those who took themselves too seriously. Mason and Ryan, right. She could remember that.
S’mores were offered and Carys’ grin widened. She decided that she rather liked this group—if they ended up axe murdering her, she wouldn’t even be upset. Well, maybe a little. Axe murdering seemed like a bad way to go.
“You are now my third favorite person in the world,” she informed Mason lightly, accepting the marshmallow delight with nimble fingers. Chocolate and marshmallow practically melted amid graham cracker goodness, and her toes curled in the simple delight. “I haven’t had a s’more in—oh, god, eleven years now. It’s even better than I remember. Correction, you’re my second favorite person.”
The greeting and exchanging of bet money had her ducking a grin into a hand. It was good knowing that, no matter where she went, she’d be entertained by the stupid antics of men. People were people, no matter their world, and it made the shock of moving a little more bearable. There was something familiar, even without concrete and endless sirens.
“Heya,” she greeted simply, waving a hand as she was introduced. And look at that, Chase hadn’t utterly butchered her name. How thoughtful. She arched a brow as Chase requested they attempt to adult, and glanced over at his friends. She’d bet her house that that was practically impossible. It was certainly fine with her; she’d never fit in with those who took themselves too seriously. Mason and Ryan, right. She could remember that.
S’mores were offered and Carys’ grin widened. She decided that she rather liked this group—if they ended up axe murdering her, she wouldn’t even be upset. Well, maybe a little. Axe murdering seemed like a bad way to go.
“You are now my third favorite person in the world,” she informed Mason lightly, accepting the marshmallow delight with nimble fingers. Chocolate and marshmallow practically melted amid graham cracker goodness, and her toes curled in the simple delight. “I haven’t had a s’more in—oh, god, eleven years now. It’s even better than I remember. Correction, you’re my second favorite person.”
Ahhh, I saw some super cute Cecil's at Geek Girl Con last October! They were wonderful, and there was an AMAZING Astrid with the most wonderfully detailed everything. Those sound like so much fun. And Deadpool cosplayers are the best, they're so nice! I'm really looking forward to seeing all the new cosplay that'll come out after the movie. Their costuming department is on their fuckin game, it looks so rad.
I can basically gush forever about cosplay I love. I really want to cosplay Fiona from Tales From the Borderlands and make a little Gortys. And bully husbandito into cosplaying Rhys for the ensuing snark off *A* Our amazing friend is forging him an Iron Man arm while husbandito is out to sea, I'm super stoked to see it. Making props is the fuckin best.
I can basically gush forever about cosplay I love. I really want to cosplay Fiona from Tales From the Borderlands and make a little Gortys. And bully husbandito into cosplaying Rhys for the ensuing snark off *A* Our amazing friend is forging him an Iron Man arm while husbandito is out to sea, I'm super stoked to see it. Making props is the fuckin best.
Right on!
DUDE YES. For like, twenty minutes, I was completely caught up in threads on all my sites and it was glorious. And then timing lined up to 'lol, back to square zero NERD'.
I mean...I can't complain, not really. But I will, because that's how I roll.
DUDE YES. For like, twenty minutes, I was completely caught up in threads on all my sites and it was glorious. And then timing lined up to 'lol, back to square zero NERD'.
I mean...I can't complain, not really. But I will, because that's how I roll.
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
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10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
OH MY GOSH YES. I met so many cool people--learned about a printing press here in Staberton and I'm going to go do a workshop there ahhhhh!! And some really cool spice companies were there and we chattered about food forevesies! And my friend is so awesome, I missed the smol salty lass. She's getting married in a hot air balloon!! HOW FUCKING COOL IS THAT?????
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