El Taco Taco

in a blaze of glory ;; carravin&&eltacotaco

Blue Moon

"That smells amazing," Carys called, bare feet padding down the wooden stairs. She rounded the corner, wet hair bouncing as she went. The sitting room gave way to an expansive kitchen and dining room, awash in natural light. Crisp white wood, granite, and black trim gleamed bright.

At the stove, Audrey was bustling over a pan, the source of the aforementioned delicious smell. The dark woman looked up with a grin, shaking her head.

"It's just grilled cheese."

"And it smells divine. Please tell me there's some for me."

"I'm not so cruel as to deny a woman grilled cheese," Audrey intoned, turning off the gas to the stove and bringing the pan around. Carys seated herself at the counter, dropping her hands to her chin.

"You are an angel," Carys grinned as Audrey plated the sandwich and slid it towards her. "Seriously, hallelujah and all that."

"For a sandwich?" Audrey snorted, clearing up. Carys was too busy eating to respond, delighting in gooey cheese and crisp, buttery bread. This was proof that the world was kind and good.

"Yes," Carys said finally, leaning her head briefly against Audrey's shoulder. "Thank you. I'm sorry my boxes are still in the way. I'll get them sorted today."

"I'm in no rush," Audrey assured.

Shut up and dance with me! trilled suddenly, breaking the silence. Fishing her phone out her back pocket, Carys opened the text, grey eyes scanning it quickly. Her lips curved into a grin, thumbs dancing in response.

thanks for the info!! (: and could u maybe come by today??? I offer food and beer in payment.

"Mind if Chase comes over to help me get those boxes cleared?" Carys cocked her hsad to one side, grinning. At the look on her roommates face, the grin turned to a frown. "Okay, so what's the deal? I mean, he's kind of awkward, but it's fumbly-cute, not 'going to wear my skin' creepy awkward."

"Look," Audrey began delicately. "I'm not saying there's anything to worry about. I'm not saying don't be friends--there's just...rumors, about them. And I know that rumors are 90% bullshit--"

"What kind of rumors?" Carys interrupted, impatient.

"Just...whispers. Their lot, they keep to themselves, out in the woods. People go missing out there. Not a lot, just...enough."

Carys cocked a brow.

"So...being reclusive and living in a sketch place is a bad thing?" She quipped with a laugh, shaking her head. "Shit, that was me in New York."

"I know, it's probably nothing. Just--just be careful, Carys."

in a blaze of glory ;; carravin&&eltacotaco

April awoke to Charlie farting in her face.

She didn’t wake to the action, per se, but the stench of rotten meat and overcooked cabbage. Gasping for breath, she flailed wildly for a moment, trying to reach the wand on her bedside table to fight off what was surely an attack. Charlie, roused suddenly and violently from happy crup dreams, began to bark as though the room were on fire. April shoved the tangle of fuzz and fury off her pillow. Choking violently, she scrambled out of her bed. Or rather, attempted to. Her leg had managed to get stuck in her sheets and April only had time to yelp before falling out of her bed.

Staring at her ceiling, mercifully free of the stinking cloud, April wondered how her life had led her to this moment.

“Are you fuckin serious, dude?”

Charlie barked happily. April swore again.

Extracting herself from her prison of sheets, April staggered to her feet. Charlie bounded across the bed towards her, rearing up on his hind legs, ready to play. April glowered at him. He wagged his tail. Warring with herself for a long moment, she finally reached out to let him nuzzle against her hand. Turning around to dig through her laundry pile, April swore again.

“You little shit! Stop fuckin’ eating my clothes! Get back here!”

Charlie made an expeditious retreat, disappearing out the door in a flop of tongue and cheery yips.

April’s morning continued in a similar vein. Her supposed underwear drawer was filled with mismatched socks and dirty t-shirts. Fine, whatever, fuck that. She’d found a pair of grey jeans and pulled them on, only to realise they were backwards. She was out of coffee, and the trash bag split when she tried to take it out. Charlie had immediately bounded towards the mess, and April was very nearly outplayed by her shithead of the crup desperate to eat garbage.

“How the fuck did you live this long?” April asked the mutt, horrified as he attempted to pounce on a broken piece of glass. Charlie said nothing, as he was a dog.


--



By the time April had fed and walked the fart machine, locked up, and set a course for coffee, it was half past nine. The streets were already bustling with activity as wixen perused stalls and popped in and out of existence along Avenue Lambda. April wove around a pair of chattering youths to duck into a poorly lit bodega.

“Morning Peg,” April called, shuffling to a sliver of counter. Fiddling with a pair of tongs and withdrawing a bagel, April was very pleased that she managed not to drop anything. “How’s it going?”

Peg was a half-giantess, draped in shawls and with her gnarled black hair pulled into a severe looking bun. She fussed with a pot of coffee, large hands surprisingly dexterous as she capped the paper cup and slid it to April.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Cooling charm went out in the building again,” her throaty voice carried through the cramped shop. April grimaced, fishing a few crumpled notes out of her coat pocket, passing them to Peg.

“That’s the third time this month,” April arched a brow, looking up at Peg. The woman shrugged as she made change, dropping coins into April’s waiting hand. April promptly upended the pile in a tip jar. “Want me to have words with your blowhard landlord?”

“Honestly, I’m just ready to move,” Peg sighed, dropping into a chair that strained under her mass. April made a sympathetic sound.

“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” She commented, taking a sip of glorious, perfect caffeine. It was the first good thing that had happened to her all morning. “Chin up, beautiful; I’ll pull some strings.”

Peg laughed, waving a dismissive hand at April. “Aren’t you running late, sweetpea?”

“Eh,” April shrugged, glancing to the clock mounted on the wall, surrounded by countless knickknacks. “What else is new?”


--



“I distinctly remember telling you that you needed to be on time today,” Marcell’s voice greeted her as soon as April entered the precinct. The small, neatly dressed witch shot April a chastising look. She’d perched on a corner of April’s desk. April wondered how long her superior had been waiting there.

“Probably,” she agreed around her last mouthful of bagel, dropping into her creaky chair and hooking her finger through her stained mug. Upending the contents of the paper cup into ceramic, she leaned back and tossed in the direction of a trash can without looking. The cup went wide and skittered across the floor. Oops.

“What was it this time?” Marcell commented dryly. She poked her wand at the discarded cup, redirecting it to reach its mark. April snorted.

“Crup ate my underwear.”

“Really.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Do you happen to remember why you needed to be on time?”

“So I could see your smiling face?”

“Hilarious,” Marcell deadpanned. April thought she saw humor flashing in the blonde witch’s grey eyes. Mission accomplished. “You had a meeting.”

Wait.

“With the Chief.”

Oh shit.

“Twenty minutes ago.”

FUCK.

April sprang to her feet, and began to dart towards Chief’s office. She skittered to a halt, turned around, and promptly drank half her coffee. That accomplished, April began running through the desks of the Thirteen and Three Halves finest. Pausing in front of a frosted glass door, April took a moment to try and straighten up. Fingers combed through her cropped dark hair, then attempted to smooth out a wrinkle in her black coat. She attempted to remove the crup fur clinging to her ratty pants, with mixed results.

Rapping her knuckles on the glass, April braced herself for the Chief’s ire.

“Enter,” a baritone rumbled through the door. April obeyed quickly, slipping in with a tight smile. “Shut the door, Kaufman.”

Shitshitshitshitshit, April panicked. The door clicked with a final sort of noise.

The office was filled with clouds of orange and violet smoke curling around finely crafted mahogany furniture. Golden light cast a deceptively warm atmosphere through the room. April stood, spine ramrod straight, as she looked to the Chief.

Chief Wells was, to put it lightly, fucking terrifying. Built like a small house, his gold trimmed black robes only seemed to make him larger. He sat comfortably in a plush, velvet backed chair, a cigar perched between thick fingers. April met his gaze, fatherly disappointment painted across his dark features. The expression was like a kick in the gut.

“It’s good of you to join us,” he intoned. April winced. “Have a seat.”

She hastened to obey, dropping into a straight-backed and thoroughly uncomfortable chair. Wait. Us?

In all her terror apprehension, she’d failed to notice the thoroughly unfamiliar face in the chair beside her. April looked between the pale haired witch and the Chief, arching her brow.

“Auror Forsythe is the newest member of the Three Halves.” Chief Wells spoke blandly, gesturing with his cigar to the newbie.

“Okay,” she said cautiously. The caffeine had yet to properly kick in, and her mental faculties lagged for several moments.

“Kaufman’s going to be showing you the ropes,” Chief Wells directed towards Forsythe and everything clicked into place. A very, very bad place. April blinked intelligently.

“Uh—“

“You’ll be happy to do so, won’t you Kaufman?”

“Ah—“

“You will, in fact, take this seriously?”

“Um—“

“And, perhaps, exercise some punctuality?”

“Yes?” April ventured. She hadn’t meant to make it a question, but Chief was looking at her with that Dad face, and she was trying her hardest not to cower in her chair. She winced. The Chief smiled placidly at her.

“Good to hear. Kaufman, show Forsythe around.”

“Right, yeah, of course Chief.” April was privately impressed that she didn’t scramble out of her seat, rising with some shreds of dignity. She barely spared a glance for the poor bastard newbie, all too happy to snap open the door and escape the pervasive air of I’m not mad, just disappointed.

From across the Precinct, April could see Marcell snickering.

“Well, shit.”

in a blaze of glory ;; carravin&&eltacotaco

April Esther Kaufman

^{It’s too early for surrender,
Too late for a prayer,
We can’t go to Hell if we’re already there.}

Twenty-Six || Half-Blood || Blackgate Academy Alumna || Sycamore, Eleven and Three Quarters Inches, Kelpie Heartstring, Springy || Auror

Born and raised in the Sixth Borough, April spent her childhood exploring city streets both magical and mundane, her younger twin close on her heels. The only daughters of Gideon Kaufman, a respected wandmaker, and Miriam Kaufman, a Mediwitch, April and May had a happy, albeit modest, childhood.

Of the two, April was the leader, through sheer force of personality. May was quiet, but clever, and her sweet nature and quick wit got the pair out of trouble as often as April’s impulses got them into it. Disagreeing on almost every interest, from Quodpot team to colour, they were nevertheless extremely close.

Placed into different units at Blackgate, April and May grew in their own directions. Where May was clever and charming, April’s shit eating grin and penchant for black eyes did little to win her professor’s affections. Despite her behavioral issues, April earned top marks in dueling and transfiguration.

After a brief stint attempting to apprentice under her father (and his extremely polite request that she find something else to do), April was tapped as a Patrol Officer for AB-DENS. She spent five years as a beat cop; checking on parolees, enforcing ordinances, and doing a lot of bitchwork. The bitchwork, and her familiarity with the Sixth Borough and its residents, eventually got her picked up as an Auror Select and pushed through training.

April got the sense that it was something of a joke; luckily, she was used to being underestimated. Despite being perpetually late, incapable of ass kissing, and something of a hot mess, she was good—especially at finding people trying not to be found. She earned the promotion (and the fancy leather jacket!) and a reputation for getting results—even if her methods are…unconventional.

in a blaze of glory ;; carravin&&eltacotaco

Useful Links

General:
Handy demographics ideas
Cute culture flavor
Generic fashion inspo
Super neat list of fanon spells

Shit I will probably lose and need to reference later:
Blackgate
Golems
History

Auror Specific:
HQ snippet
Fashion inspo

"Okay, This Looks Bad."

Posted! In which Natasha is the shittiest lil shit.

"Okay, This Looks Bad."

August ████
Madripoor

One.

Legs kick uselessly, hands slicing themselves on the wire turned noose, red arcing across her vision.

Two.

Someone screams as the man on their right is whipped out of his seat, as men in suits stagger to their feet, swaying unsteadily. A gun cracks, a bullet screams past, but her body is already moving to the third buyer through the darkened room, working through another length of wire.

Three.

She has barely captured the fat man when the door explodes. People start running, her targets are running and she cannot let them go. Alarms scream in her head—if they don’t die, she fails, if she fails then they will drag her back into the red, into smoke, with needles and knives and she is better than failure.

Kostya is leaving the stage, panicked, and her body moves, leaping off swaying lights. She rolls through the impact, sprints through the panicked crowd, trying to find him—

He has a gun when she finds him, but she is faster, deadlier, and his hands are shaking. He fires, she strafes, someone else screams at the bullet in their back. Kostya’s eyes are bulging as she knocks him off balance, swings her body around and snaps the garrote about his throat.

He goes down, hard, thrashing desperately as she tightens the weapon. His curses are choked by the blood bubbling in his throat. Her body leans in, close to his ear, lips curving with someone else’s smirk,

“<You should have known better than to cross us,>” means nothing to Natalia, but Kostya thrashes violently, and the message is delivered. Something in her head clicks into place, although she does not comprehend it, and she knows he is dead. Her job is done.

Completion allows her to shift her focus to survival. She releases the corpse and rises, blank eyes scanning the room. There is a bottleneck at the destroyed door, terrified guests trampling each other to fit through the wreckage. She slips her switch from a pouch, already running the opposite direction to a small door off the side of the stage. It flips and there is a delightful click as the lock is disabled. The door opens with a slam of her shoulder and she runs.

---

S.H.I.E.L.D. Mission Report
STRIKE Team Delta
DATE REDACTED
Galveston, Texas

“You’re telling me you really don’t know who this is?” For a man with only one eye, Fury managed to deliver the single most skeptical expression Natasha had ever seen.

A blonde woman stared up at her from a photograph, curls tumbling down her back as she snapped a neck, lips curved into a wicked smile. She’d left the security footage for them to find and disappeared.

“ I am,” Natasha said blandly, arms folded as she looked up to the Director. “ Perhaps she is new.”

“New,” Fury huffed, leaning back against his desk, looking ten thousand percent Over This Shit. Natasha cocked her head to one side. “You think they kept this shit up after the collapse?”

“ You know they did,” Natasha pointed out, green eyes searching Fury. He was testing her, she knew, trying to catch her in a lie. “ If I knew her before, I don’t remember it.”

Fury said nothing for a long moment, before handing her the file and nodding towards the door.

“Take Barton with you.”


--

They tracked the Widow throughout the US, following bodies without identities, dismembered in a way that made her brain tickle with unexplained familiarity. They found a man with his eyes gouged out, his tongue severed, his ears meticulously carved from his head, all placed neatly on his chest. Snow, breath clouding the air, December—it’s Christmas Eve—the warehouse is freezing and he is screaming as she delicately severs the optic nerve, a man’s voice laughing in her skull.

“ St. Petersburg,” She’d murmured. Barton had looked at her curiously. She’d collected the preserved eyes and sent them to S.H.I.E.L.D.

S.H.I.E.L.D. named him Николай. That night, Natasha dreamed in red. She woke to her hands strangling the air, pulse screaming through her veins, laughter that wasn’t hers bubbling out of her throat.

At least she hadn’t attacked Barton when he’d pulled her back to reality. Progress! He’d informed her, rather cheerily for someone whose neck she had nearly snapped only a month ago.


--

It was dark, another hour yet before the sun was due to rise, but it was already uncomfortably humid. The material’s scientists who had made her suit had made it durable, breathable, and surprisingly good at repelling knives, but there was only so much they could do. The harbor warehouse was practically sweating. Red curls stuck to the back of her neck and the air sat heavy in her lungs.

She was a shadow, skulking through the warehouse in perfect silence, tracking every corner with sharp eyes. It was a shipping warehouse, which meant numerous containers, and numerous places to hide. Natasha cleared rooms methodically.

Two taps on the comm meant she had another pair of eyes. She didn’t relax—she knew better than to let back up make her sloppy—but there was something almost like reassurance in the knowledge. Barton was a special brand of crazy, but he’d never failed to have her back.

No workers yet. No signs of life, even, in a building that had been fully staffed only a day ago. Her brows knitted together as she paused, surveying her surroundings. Something was wrong. She wasn’t sure how she knew it—but that was nothing new. Natasha simply accepted that there was knowledge locked inside of her that she’d never know how she learned it. At least it was useful.

There was a whisper in the air. Natasha shifted on pure instinct, guns drawn, aimed. Suits, men in suits, faces she knew without knowing, features that she was forgetting, even as she looked at them—

Red Room.

“ Barton. Run.”

---

Lisbon

Leaning against the front of the car, Natasha was sure to flash Clint her most smug smirk. He’d moved for an arrow on instinct and found only empty air, and she’d won their pointless wager. She took entirely too much delight in her victory, even chuckling as Clint complained.

“ You can’t honestly say you expected me to play fair,” She drawled, eyes glittering with mirth. He tossed her the case, her hands automatically snapping up to capture it.

Clint’s antics made Natasha scoff, although the sound was playful, free of genuine scorn. The case found its home in the back seat, and Natasha withdrew keys from a belt pouch, unlocking the bland sedan, They had borrowed it from an old S.H.I.E.L.D. cache, one that had been mercifully left alone after the intelligence dump before Sokovia. It looked unassuming, but S.H.I.E.L.D. engineers had always been good at hiding power in plain sight.

“ That’s quite the injury. You might not make it,” Natasha quipped, glancing over a shoulder as they whipped out of the space, before turning on a dime and screaming down the memorized route. “I’ll be sure to invent something suitably heroic at your funeral.”

Pet Owners: Help? [SOLVED!]

Personally, I'm not much a fan of hamsters; I found them dumb and not particularly affectionate.

If you're struggling to care for just the dog now, adding another animal on top of that is only going to make things more difficult.

Best of luck to you!

Pet Owners: Help? [SOLVED!]

@Vilageidiotx is right; no matter the animal, you have to be able and willing to put in the work. And make sure your pup is going somewhere loving to soften the blow; no matter how poorly behaved they are, losing you is going to be very hard on them.

Now, more to answer your question, have you considered rats? Having owned a small menagerie over the years, I can say that rats are great little buddies. They have their challenges; you need at least two so they don't get bored, finding fancy rats that aren't sick can be difficult, and their cages need to be big and cleaned frequently. But they're dead clever, loyal, and absolutely sweet. My rats used to sit on my shoulders, climb on my head, nibble my ears and such. If you socialize them from an early age, they're very cuddly. They're adorable, although their little claws are pretty scratchy.

Greetings, Sup and Hi.

Gortys 5ever.

Back in my day we used to have to climb uphill both ways, in the snow, to RP over dial-up. I'm practically a grandma. -shakes fist-