It was okay! Good material, douche classmates.
-shrug-
Aww
-hugs-
I feel you
Also, yay, your tattoo sounds AMAZING! :D
I'm getting my Deathly Hallows with my tax return this year
-dance-
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: 28 days ago
- Old Guild Username: El Taco Taco
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
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TheDookieNut,
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8 yrs ago
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'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?'
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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.'
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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."
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9 yrs ago
"We're talking about a tentacled flying lamp fucker, Dave. What are you prepared to call unlikely?"
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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
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12 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Quick bump!
Pretty well! 3.7 in Medieval Mysteries, 3.5 in Physical Processes of the Earth, 3.0 in bio. So, pretty well, considering I was sick during all my finals!
How was your holiday?
How was your holiday?
February 15th, 2015
Kodiak, AK
Pan Pacific Defense Corps Proving Grounds
10:43
The complex was too large to have been built in only four months, but perhaps that was only true in a Pre-Kaiju world. And perhaps “built” was a poor choice of words; built implied that the structure was complete. Scaffolding and frenzied workers still covered the snow-dusted hangar bay, an impossibly endless river of people working through all hours of the short days and nearly endless nights. Announcements blared almost constantly over the 1MC, coordinating working parties, heralding meal times, announcing casualty reports, white noise when compared to the veritable army of workers down below.
Olivia Murphy had been in Kodiak for only three weeks, but in that time the size of the main bay had more than doubled. It stood nearly three hundred feet now, stretching towards the scant rays of sunlight, sprawling over nearly three quarters of a mile in length. New warehouses seemed to sprout up like weeds, a mad attempt to keep up with the incomprehensible amount of materials shipped in hourly. Rumor had it that the Supply Division had been gifted a supercomputer straight out of science fiction to deal with the logistical nightmare. Olivia believed it as she watched the thousands of people below, so distant they ceased to be people. A train inched along towards the main Hangar Bay, bearing a massive blade, glittering in the early morning sun.
All this work, all this brilliance and productivity and desperation, and the only thing it had earned them was another funeral. A secret burial, out in the snow, an unknowing widow back in Ohio, a complex of nearly thirty thousand people who hadn’t seen the techs pry the Captain’s limp body out of the Pons. The workers repaired the monster and everyone lied through their teeth. The good Captain was going to be okay, they repeated, he was just a little overwhelmed and back in the states receiving treatment. Nothing to worry about. Everything is going well. Get back to work
Get back to work had become the battle cry of the complex.Get back to work or the Kaiju win! Get back to work or your city will burn and your loved ones will die! Get back to work! Problem was, if you were a Candidate, there wasn’t any work to do. Just hold tight, the Marshall had told them. We’ll be running another test on the 18th. No one talked about the good Captain’s death. No one asked if the next Candidate would die too. They let the doctors poke and prod and ask questions, they trained, they ate, they waited. Olivia almost wished she had stayed in Norfolk. She had never felt so useless before in her life. After a long moment, she finally turned away from the window, rubbing the kink in her neck.
The accommodations were nice, if a bit soulless. She’d tried to decorate her room, but her photographs and spider plant were overwhelmed by the grey. The desk light buzzed and the showers were only ever lukewarm at best, but she’d made do with worse. As grim as her room was, it was nowhere near as miserable as the clinic where she had spent her morning. Three hours of tests-- she had given up on asking what the tests were for. She was found, as she was every other day, to be in perfect health. The curve of her nails bit into her palm, knuckles whitening, frustration bubbling in her chest.
Darren had told her she would be useful here. He’d vouched for her, gotten her a spot in the Candidate pool, promised her that this was where the fight would be. This was the way to finally even the odds between humanity and the Kaiju. He’d promised her she wouldn’t regret this. But the fucking Jaeger was broken and everyone was pretending it wasn’t. All these millions of hours of work and none of it fucking mattered. She hadn’t even seen Darren since she’d arrived. Of course, he actually had a job to do.
A strangled shout tore through her throat. Her pale hands gripped the chair, knocked it to the metal ground where it screamed into the wall. She swore beneath her breath, pressed her palms into her eyes. She was going to go mad here long before she had a chance to die in the cockpit. It was such bullshit.
Someone rapped enthusiastically on her door and opened it without waiting. A lanky blonde man leaned in her doorjamb, looking entirely too chipper
“Yo, Murphy. Marshall says we gotta play with the new Candidates.” He paused for a long moment, looking at the chair suspiciously out of place, then gave her a shit-eating grin. “You alright?”
“Peachy,” she was impressed at how even her voice sounded there, as if she hadn’t just thrown a tantrum like she was four. Clemens smirked, but wisely remained silent. Olivia almost wanted him to taunt her, just so she could lash out. She grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on as she followed her fellow Candidate out. Maybe they’d all be lucky and Clemens would be the next one in the cockpit. Maybe he’d be the next secret funeral in the snow. Olivia fell into step with him, twisting their way through the massive building.
The gym had become the central hub for all things Candidate. Working out was really the only productive thing to do, and it was a fair shade less grim than the barracks. Everything here was shiny and new, presents from various governments, the ultimate whetstone to train their saviors. The Candidates had taken over a small ante-room, creatively reappropriating furniture and tools to make something of a lounge. A platter of mass-produced cookies sat on a table, men and women chatting away. She counted quickly. Six had become twelve had become eighteen. How many people were they going to throw against this robot until they stopped dying? There would be no shortage of volunteers. Four cities had been decimated. Millions of people would kill to be where she stood, and none of them knew the depths of their failure.
“Welcome, new Candidates!” Clemens had taken it upon himself to be their leader on day one, directing their actions and puffing out his chest for the Marshall. He’d been livid when the good Captain had been selected for the first trial-- less so after the good Captain’s death. He’d been quiet for a good day or so before resuming his antics. Olivia quietly seated herself at the table, ignoring the too-sweet cookies in favor of a stolen bagel. Clemens greeted the new Candidates, fresh from processing, in his usual grandiose fashion. Something about heroics, greatness, and a lot of fucking boredom. It was the same shit he’d spouted when the last group had showed up two weeks ago, like he was some wise leader with all the answers. Olivia rolled her eyes. Her bagel was cold and stale. It tasted like cardboard in her mouth. Awesome.
Clemens was still talking. A couple Candidates were looking attentive, if a bit uncertain, a few looked incredulous at the length of the welcome speech, and they all looked tired. They’d probably been up all night being tested and examined and shuffled around. Now they had to listen to some asshole spew bullshit at them. Olivia’s temper flared.
“Shut the fuck up and let them fucking breathe, dickwad,” was probably not the most diplomatic thing in the world to say. Clemens looked ready to strangle her with her own intestines. That sounded like fun. She rose to get in his face and was ready to unleash hell when the Marshall cleared his throat.
The Marshall was the sort of man Olivia didn’t want to fuck with. He never shouted but he was still the most intimidating person she’d ever met. He exuded confidence, seemed to be forged from steel instead of flesh. He hadn’t even flinched when they’d the good Captain from the Jaeger. He was the sort of man who could balance the odds-- what were the deaths of one, two, a dozen, a thousand Candidates if they could make this Jaeger work? He’d kill them all if it were necessary. And it was, she reminded herself. It was all necessary. She hated that. She didn’t want to die here, paving the way for others to kill the Kaiju. That would be too cruel.
“Marshall,” Clemens greeted professionally. They’d all risen, all instinctively stood at attention. The Marshall’s eyes lingered on her and Clemens, as if inviting them to fight, but Olivia remained still. He knew she’d cheated her way here, used her connections to get her candidacy. His eyes moved to the rest of the group. The Marshall nodded, almost like he approved.
“Candidates,” he greeted, and something in his voice made the very simple statement sound terribly profound. “Welcome to the Proving Grounds.”
He seemed different somehow--more determined than she had last seen him, if such a thing existed. He looked tired, but something had changed. Maybe the program had been cut. Maybe something else had broken. He continued,
“We have three days until the next trial run. For the next two, we will be conducting interviews and running drill to determine our next pilots.”
Pilots, he had said. Olivia glanced about her. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Was there another Jaeger, or did they simply want a spare? She returned her gaze to the Marshall. His gaze focused on her and Clemens again, and she could feel the mothefucker stand straighter beside her. An irrational surge of irritation filled her. Damn if she was letting him take that spot.
“Lieutenant Murphy,” the Marshall said suddenly. “Help our newest Candidates to their rooms. Lieutenant Clemens, with me please. We’ll reconvene here at 0600.”
That son of a bitch. Clemens looked entirely too pleased with himself, falling into step with the Marshall like it was the most natural thing on the planet. There was silence for moment, but it quickly gave way to nervous energy and chatter. The dark cloud of the good Captain’s death seemed a distant memory. Pilots, she wondered, then turned to her charges.
“Come on then,” she tried to sound professional, but damn if Clemens’ smirk hadn’t pissed her off. “We don’t have all day.”
Kodiak, AK
Pan Pacific Defense Corps Proving Grounds
10:43
The complex was too large to have been built in only four months, but perhaps that was only true in a Pre-Kaiju world. And perhaps “built” was a poor choice of words; built implied that the structure was complete. Scaffolding and frenzied workers still covered the snow-dusted hangar bay, an impossibly endless river of people working through all hours of the short days and nearly endless nights. Announcements blared almost constantly over the 1MC, coordinating working parties, heralding meal times, announcing casualty reports, white noise when compared to the veritable army of workers down below.
Olivia Murphy had been in Kodiak for only three weeks, but in that time the size of the main bay had more than doubled. It stood nearly three hundred feet now, stretching towards the scant rays of sunlight, sprawling over nearly three quarters of a mile in length. New warehouses seemed to sprout up like weeds, a mad attempt to keep up with the incomprehensible amount of materials shipped in hourly. Rumor had it that the Supply Division had been gifted a supercomputer straight out of science fiction to deal with the logistical nightmare. Olivia believed it as she watched the thousands of people below, so distant they ceased to be people. A train inched along towards the main Hangar Bay, bearing a massive blade, glittering in the early morning sun.
All this work, all this brilliance and productivity and desperation, and the only thing it had earned them was another funeral. A secret burial, out in the snow, an unknowing widow back in Ohio, a complex of nearly thirty thousand people who hadn’t seen the techs pry the Captain’s limp body out of the Pons. The workers repaired the monster and everyone lied through their teeth. The good Captain was going to be okay, they repeated, he was just a little overwhelmed and back in the states receiving treatment. Nothing to worry about. Everything is going well. Get back to work
Get back to work had become the battle cry of the complex.Get back to work or the Kaiju win! Get back to work or your city will burn and your loved ones will die! Get back to work! Problem was, if you were a Candidate, there wasn’t any work to do. Just hold tight, the Marshall had told them. We’ll be running another test on the 18th. No one talked about the good Captain’s death. No one asked if the next Candidate would die too. They let the doctors poke and prod and ask questions, they trained, they ate, they waited. Olivia almost wished she had stayed in Norfolk. She had never felt so useless before in her life. After a long moment, she finally turned away from the window, rubbing the kink in her neck.
The accommodations were nice, if a bit soulless. She’d tried to decorate her room, but her photographs and spider plant were overwhelmed by the grey. The desk light buzzed and the showers were only ever lukewarm at best, but she’d made do with worse. As grim as her room was, it was nowhere near as miserable as the clinic where she had spent her morning. Three hours of tests-- she had given up on asking what the tests were for. She was found, as she was every other day, to be in perfect health. The curve of her nails bit into her palm, knuckles whitening, frustration bubbling in her chest.
Darren had told her she would be useful here. He’d vouched for her, gotten her a spot in the Candidate pool, promised her that this was where the fight would be. This was the way to finally even the odds between humanity and the Kaiju. He’d promised her she wouldn’t regret this. But the fucking Jaeger was broken and everyone was pretending it wasn’t. All these millions of hours of work and none of it fucking mattered. She hadn’t even seen Darren since she’d arrived. Of course, he actually had a job to do.
A strangled shout tore through her throat. Her pale hands gripped the chair, knocked it to the metal ground where it screamed into the wall. She swore beneath her breath, pressed her palms into her eyes. She was going to go mad here long before she had a chance to die in the cockpit. It was such bullshit.
Someone rapped enthusiastically on her door and opened it without waiting. A lanky blonde man leaned in her doorjamb, looking entirely too chipper
“Yo, Murphy. Marshall says we gotta play with the new Candidates.” He paused for a long moment, looking at the chair suspiciously out of place, then gave her a shit-eating grin. “You alright?”
“Peachy,” she was impressed at how even her voice sounded there, as if she hadn’t just thrown a tantrum like she was four. Clemens smirked, but wisely remained silent. Olivia almost wanted him to taunt her, just so she could lash out. She grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on as she followed her fellow Candidate out. Maybe they’d all be lucky and Clemens would be the next one in the cockpit. Maybe he’d be the next secret funeral in the snow. Olivia fell into step with him, twisting their way through the massive building.
The gym had become the central hub for all things Candidate. Working out was really the only productive thing to do, and it was a fair shade less grim than the barracks. Everything here was shiny and new, presents from various governments, the ultimate whetstone to train their saviors. The Candidates had taken over a small ante-room, creatively reappropriating furniture and tools to make something of a lounge. A platter of mass-produced cookies sat on a table, men and women chatting away. She counted quickly. Six had become twelve had become eighteen. How many people were they going to throw against this robot until they stopped dying? There would be no shortage of volunteers. Four cities had been decimated. Millions of people would kill to be where she stood, and none of them knew the depths of their failure.
“Welcome, new Candidates!” Clemens had taken it upon himself to be their leader on day one, directing their actions and puffing out his chest for the Marshall. He’d been livid when the good Captain had been selected for the first trial-- less so after the good Captain’s death. He’d been quiet for a good day or so before resuming his antics. Olivia quietly seated herself at the table, ignoring the too-sweet cookies in favor of a stolen bagel. Clemens greeted the new Candidates, fresh from processing, in his usual grandiose fashion. Something about heroics, greatness, and a lot of fucking boredom. It was the same shit he’d spouted when the last group had showed up two weeks ago, like he was some wise leader with all the answers. Olivia rolled her eyes. Her bagel was cold and stale. It tasted like cardboard in her mouth. Awesome.
Clemens was still talking. A couple Candidates were looking attentive, if a bit uncertain, a few looked incredulous at the length of the welcome speech, and they all looked tired. They’d probably been up all night being tested and examined and shuffled around. Now they had to listen to some asshole spew bullshit at them. Olivia’s temper flared.
“Shut the fuck up and let them fucking breathe, dickwad,” was probably not the most diplomatic thing in the world to say. Clemens looked ready to strangle her with her own intestines. That sounded like fun. She rose to get in his face and was ready to unleash hell when the Marshall cleared his throat.
The Marshall was the sort of man Olivia didn’t want to fuck with. He never shouted but he was still the most intimidating person she’d ever met. He exuded confidence, seemed to be forged from steel instead of flesh. He hadn’t even flinched when they’d the good Captain from the Jaeger. He was the sort of man who could balance the odds-- what were the deaths of one, two, a dozen, a thousand Candidates if they could make this Jaeger work? He’d kill them all if it were necessary. And it was, she reminded herself. It was all necessary. She hated that. She didn’t want to die here, paving the way for others to kill the Kaiju. That would be too cruel.
“Marshall,” Clemens greeted professionally. They’d all risen, all instinctively stood at attention. The Marshall’s eyes lingered on her and Clemens, as if inviting them to fight, but Olivia remained still. He knew she’d cheated her way here, used her connections to get her candidacy. His eyes moved to the rest of the group. The Marshall nodded, almost like he approved.
“Candidates,” he greeted, and something in his voice made the very simple statement sound terribly profound. “Welcome to the Proving Grounds.”
He seemed different somehow--more determined than she had last seen him, if such a thing existed. He looked tired, but something had changed. Maybe the program had been cut. Maybe something else had broken. He continued,
“We have three days until the next trial run. For the next two, we will be conducting interviews and running drill to determine our next pilots.”
Pilots, he had said. Olivia glanced about her. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Was there another Jaeger, or did they simply want a spare? She returned her gaze to the Marshall. His gaze focused on her and Clemens again, and she could feel the mothefucker stand straighter beside her. An irrational surge of irritation filled her. Damn if she was letting him take that spot.
“Lieutenant Murphy,” the Marshall said suddenly. “Help our newest Candidates to their rooms. Lieutenant Clemens, with me please. We’ll reconvene here at 0600.”
That son of a bitch. Clemens looked entirely too pleased with himself, falling into step with the Marshall like it was the most natural thing on the planet. There was silence for moment, but it quickly gave way to nervous energy and chatter. The dark cloud of the good Captain’s death seemed a distant memory. Pilots, she wondered, then turned to her charges.
“Come on then,” she tried to sound professional, but damn if Clemens’ smirk hadn’t pissed her off. “We don’t have all day.”
Let's get this started!
Well-- he certainly didn't mince words. Blind, deaf, and moronic, huh? Despite herself, a pleased smirk lit Mia's lips. It wasn't every day that incredibly wealthy, talented, and famous musicians called mere Aurors amazing. It was even more impressive that he had deigned that upon what he believed to be a lowly Patrol Officer, not a woman tasked with killing him. She couldn't forget that-- she had to keep that close to her heart. Even though he'd clearly eased up on his animal magnetism, it was still difficult to keep her focus. Mia ignored the implications of that. She was simply playing a part. She had to get him to trust her, had to get his guard down. She ignored the uncomfortable twinge in her gut. He was a vampire, and vampires were dangerous. Even if Jett seemed, for the most part, like a relatively normal man just trying to navigate the tumultuous waters of fame. Dangerous, she reminded herself, a mantra that didn't quite sit well with her.
Mia listened attentively as he divulged what seemed to be a touch of honesty himself. The wine sat untouched as she studied him, rather fascinated. A small part of her, the poor, angry girl who'd grown up in the ghetto, was in disbelief. He came from money, but he'd forged out on his own. He could have lost everything, could have ended up in the gutter with a gamble like that, how stupid-- except, he hadn't failed. His charisma was supernatural, sure, and maybe even his talent was, but he had taken a huge risk. She wasn't sure if she was impressed or contemptuous. Perhaps he'd been naïve, or simply too proud to be sensible, but at the end of the day, he'd made a name for himself and achieved glory. She ignored the petty, jealous voice, squashing it viciously. She wasn't fourteen anymore. The cards had been stacked in his favour, but she couldn't blame him for taking advantage of them. Mia Ramirez had been a Slytherin, after all, and she understood the value of using every edge at her disposal.
"A little spoiled, at first," she agreed finally, taking a sip of her wine, marveling at the play of flavours dancing across her tongue. "But I don't see anything wrong in that. We all have to become our own people at some point. It's clear you've been quite successful at carving out your own path. You could have sat back and indulged all your life without ever lifting a finger. That's a tempting offer. You're to be commended for earning your success, I think."
He brought up her exes, and her hand tightened reflexively on her wine glass, her other hand moving to her wand. The glass snapped beneath the pressure and she swore rapidly in Spanish and English, leaping to her feet, desperate to save her dress. She made good money, but not such good money that ruining a designer gown wasn't horrifying to imagine. Mia began rushing apologies, moving to clean up the mess, cheeks burning with shame. It was stupid. Somehow, hearing him say it like that, ‘chasing me down after I sleep’, had triggered her fight or flight instinct. Flashes of memory—her bedroom, his hands at her throat, her wand just out of reach, the sting of curses, the desperate bid for survival, her thumbs in his eyes, his foot stomping on her rib cage, the curious wheeze of bone through lung, Cohen’s bloodied face swimming in the glare of St. Mungo’s lights, the assurances of Azkaban, the whispers on the grapevine that he’d bribed his way out—Merlin, she’d never felt so pathetic before in her life. Some Auror, her ego whispered contemptuously. Mia gripped the napkin she’d tried to clean the mess up with tightly, willing herself calm. Everything would be fine. She’d moved somewhere unplottable and layered every inch of her flat with protective spells. She still had a week (no, five days now), until he got out. He’d caught her off guard last time. She wouldn’t be so stupid this time. Hell, even this undercover gig in the Patrol would help protect her. He wouldn’t find her. Mia methodically swept the shattered glass into the napkin, trying to find calm in the motion. She needed air, needed to get away, but she had work to do—
“I’m sorry, I’m such a brute,” she forced out the charming laugh, hated how hollow it sounded, “You can see why I don’t go to fancy places. I always break something expensive.”
Mia listened attentively as he divulged what seemed to be a touch of honesty himself. The wine sat untouched as she studied him, rather fascinated. A small part of her, the poor, angry girl who'd grown up in the ghetto, was in disbelief. He came from money, but he'd forged out on his own. He could have lost everything, could have ended up in the gutter with a gamble like that, how stupid-- except, he hadn't failed. His charisma was supernatural, sure, and maybe even his talent was, but he had taken a huge risk. She wasn't sure if she was impressed or contemptuous. Perhaps he'd been naïve, or simply too proud to be sensible, but at the end of the day, he'd made a name for himself and achieved glory. She ignored the petty, jealous voice, squashing it viciously. She wasn't fourteen anymore. The cards had been stacked in his favour, but she couldn't blame him for taking advantage of them. Mia Ramirez had been a Slytherin, after all, and she understood the value of using every edge at her disposal.
"A little spoiled, at first," she agreed finally, taking a sip of her wine, marveling at the play of flavours dancing across her tongue. "But I don't see anything wrong in that. We all have to become our own people at some point. It's clear you've been quite successful at carving out your own path. You could have sat back and indulged all your life without ever lifting a finger. That's a tempting offer. You're to be commended for earning your success, I think."
He brought up her exes, and her hand tightened reflexively on her wine glass, her other hand moving to her wand. The glass snapped beneath the pressure and she swore rapidly in Spanish and English, leaping to her feet, desperate to save her dress. She made good money, but not such good money that ruining a designer gown wasn't horrifying to imagine. Mia began rushing apologies, moving to clean up the mess, cheeks burning with shame. It was stupid. Somehow, hearing him say it like that, ‘chasing me down after I sleep’, had triggered her fight or flight instinct. Flashes of memory—her bedroom, his hands at her throat, her wand just out of reach, the sting of curses, the desperate bid for survival, her thumbs in his eyes, his foot stomping on her rib cage, the curious wheeze of bone through lung, Cohen’s bloodied face swimming in the glare of St. Mungo’s lights, the assurances of Azkaban, the whispers on the grapevine that he’d bribed his way out—Merlin, she’d never felt so pathetic before in her life. Some Auror, her ego whispered contemptuously. Mia gripped the napkin she’d tried to clean the mess up with tightly, willing herself calm. Everything would be fine. She’d moved somewhere unplottable and layered every inch of her flat with protective spells. She still had a week (no, five days now), until he got out. He’d caught her off guard last time. She wouldn’t be so stupid this time. Hell, even this undercover gig in the Patrol would help protect her. He wouldn’t find her. Mia methodically swept the shattered glass into the napkin, trying to find calm in the motion. She needed air, needed to get away, but she had work to do—
“I’m sorry, I’m such a brute,” she forced out the charming laugh, hated how hollow it sounded, “You can see why I don’t go to fancy places. I always break something expensive.”
I'm okay! I'll be in and out today studying, since I have an exam on Friday, but this RP is top on my list to finish in between all that.
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Taco's Taco Truck! [High Casual-Advanced, Ignore Post Count]
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12 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Bump!
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Taco's Taco Truck! [High Casual-Advanced, Ignore Post Count]
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12 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Hi! I’m Taco/Alice. I’m an old fart who’s been roleplaying for well over ten years now, from tabletop to forums to Tumblr and everything in between. My favorite fandom is Harry Potter, and I’m up for a huge variety of original games. Feel free to suggest a plot to me, I love picking other people's brains!
My ideal partner writes 3-6 paragraphs a post, depending on what’s working best for the game. I like to be buddies with my partner, and I request a fair amount of patience. I recently finished school, but I have job hunting and house repairs to finish before I move. I love roleplaying, it’s one of my main hobbies, but there are going to be periods where you might go a month without a post from me. I’ll never abandon our game once it starts, but I have other priorities.
Roleplay wise, I’m about character development, drama, humor, action, and just plain *fun*. This is OUR game—let’s work together to create a game where we both want to tweak with the plot and throw wrenches at each other in a strictly figurative manner. I don’t mind romance. I enjoy it, actually, but it has to make sense and be somewhat organic. If it happens, it happens! Content wise, I'm pretty flexible. Mature themes are fine, but I'm totally content to fade to black. I'm not looking for PWP. Basically, let me know your comfort level and we'll be good to go.
That’s about it. Following this are my plots that I am favoring, because WOOSH they have starters already, aww yiss. After that is my standard list, which is just about always open. LET'S DO IT!
My ideal partner writes 3-6 paragraphs a post, depending on what’s working best for the game. I like to be buddies with my partner, and I request a fair amount of patience. I recently finished school, but I have job hunting and house repairs to finish before I move. I love roleplaying, it’s one of my main hobbies, but there are going to be periods where you might go a month without a post from me. I’ll never abandon our game once it starts, but I have other priorities.
Roleplay wise, I’m about character development, drama, humor, action, and just plain *fun*. This is OUR game—let’s work together to create a game where we both want to tweak with the plot and throw wrenches at each other in a strictly figurative manner. I don’t mind romance. I enjoy it, actually, but it has to make sense and be somewhat organic. If it happens, it happens! Content wise, I'm pretty flexible. Mature themes are fine, but I'm totally content to fade to black. I'm not looking for PWP. Basically, let me know your comfort level and we'll be good to go.
That’s about it. Following this are my plots that I am favoring, because WOOSH they have starters already, aww yiss. After that is my standard list, which is just about always open. LET'S DO IT!
The Quidditch World Cup
A lot is riding on the 2002 Quidditch World Cup for England; after failing to qualify for the 1998 cup amid the terror of the Second Wizarding War, the country is eager to prove that not only are they ready to compete, they're ready to host.
I'm looking to play Katie Bell on the English team. If doubling is your thing, I also have a starter for Viktor Krum for this.
I'm looking to play Katie Bell on the English team. If doubling is your thing, I also have a starter for Viktor Krum for this.
Jumpers
As the Paladins get more and more aggressive, Jumpers have begun to coordinate their survival efforts. Building safe havens in the most remote corners of the world, several Jumpers have begun trying to not only get by, but eradicate the Paladins once and for all.
My starter begins with a supply run to feed a growing compound, and there's loads of room for plot and trying not to get killed.
My starter begins with a supply run to feed a growing compound, and there's loads of room for plot and trying not to get killed.
The First Wizarding War
I would love to play my Alice with a Frank or any other fellow Aurors/Order Members. I have a hella angsty starter after a Death Eater sparked fire ravages most of London. It can also be tweaked for a game with a Death Eater.
Harry Potter Canons
Harry Potter Originals
Star Wars, Original
Borderlands
Avengers - MCU, smatterings of Earth 616
Original Games
Assorted Fandoms
Dragon Age
Mass Effect
Forgotten Realms
Arrow
Sailor Moon
I hadn't! I'll post tonight. Thanks dude!
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