- Last Seen: 5 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: IntenseInsanity
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 1517 (0.39 / day)
- VMs: 15
-
Username history
- cerozer0 7 yrs ago
- ██████ 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Dion,
AlteredTundra
Status
Recent Statuses
6 yrs ago
Current
rpg’s biggest issue? the gender binary
2
likes
6 yrs ago
im a fool in fool clothes
2
likes
6 yrs ago
pussi
6 yrs ago
the nyc commute grind reveals why adults pass out at 9 pm daily
4
likes
6 yrs ago
its a dick suck dick world ya know
7
likes
Most Recent Posts
@HushedWhispers @Apokalipse
Popped her out real quick because I'm busy this weekend! If anything needs changing LMK
Popped her out real quick because I'm busy this weekend! If anything needs changing LMK
I haven't been excited for an OOC in ages!!!
Reserving:
Sae Eun Kim | Little Sister Sophmore | #ffeca6
Reserving:
Sae Eun Kim | Little Sister Sophmore | #ffeca6
Sorry to bother! And don't feel rushed! But if you could change my name to "cerozer0" I would greatly appreciate it! Thank you! /o\
slides in......
it’s been awhile i have four lit classes and a basketball game tomORROW but i want to get back into being in ur lovely games 8)
it’s been awhile i have four lit classes and a basketball game tomORROW but i want to get back into being in ur lovely games 8)
The spell was not difficult, on paper. Nausea flared up in the pit of Astrid’s stomach as she used her brother’s blood to saturate the cloth doll. It wasn’t quite voodoo––she didn’t have any real education on magical history, but she knew enough to know that the spell wasn’t voodoo––but it was the closest thing to it she had ever put into practice. Each movement was careful not to get any excess gore on her fingertips, but speedy enough just to ensure that Richard didn’t faint where he was standing.
Who came up with these things, anyway? How did people make spells that involved decapitating a voodoo doll to cure a city of sleepiness? With Aiden’s borrowed knife and on Mal’s tentative approval (at least that’s what she figured the terse nod was for), she gingerly sliced off the head of the doll and placed both separate parts in the center of the circle, on opposite sides of the well of blood.
The more she looked at the ‘head’, the more it looked like one rather than a bound ball of cloth and straw.
A soft blue glow diffused through the pre-drawn lines of the circle, and Mal gestured for them all to sit down––”For the drain,” he said between chewing on his lip and rereading the spell criteria––before starting the spell. His gaze slipped to King more than once. He was searching for any sign of weakness, of course, that could jeopardize the spell. He wasn’t worried about him, not at all. No siree.
“When the spell starts, after the incantation, we have to hold our form. I think it’ll be, well,” he swallowed. “A wild ride.”
“Good. Sounds like fun.” King took his seat, pressing the awkwardly wrapped wound down onto his knee for the added pressure, “Let’s just get this over with, where’s the dumb spell sheet-” He reached over carefully to pluck the paper from the ground behind them and read over the incantation once, twice, before putting it outside the circle. Cracking a bone in his neck, King leaned forward and gave each of his four companions a hard and understanding stare.
“All of you quit worrying, by the way. Your bad vibes are fucking up with my head.” He waved his wounded hand around quickly, the blood stained rag nearly slipping from his palm due to the ferocity of the gesture. “I’m fine. Now get ready. I’m going to start the chant.”
His head fell, eyes focusing on the dark red splotch on the cloth, and with a droning voice he began to recite the incantation.
At first, it seemed like nothing happened. Jessica did a small double take — was the spell a dud? Were they not powerful enough? Anxiously, she chewed on her bottom lip until she was sure that there were specks of her lipstick staining her teeth. It was after the third time that she shifted her sitting position uneasily that the spell began to truly take effect. Jessica felt the magic hum in the air — so subtly that she dismissed it as just paranoia or something at first. As the hum grew and grew until she swore she could hear it, her back began to slump as she felt her strength getting sapped away by the spell. It wasn’t a new feeling by any means, every magic-user knows the feeling of slight fatigue after casting a spell. Jessica had never felt it to this degree though — it was like a parched person desperately sucking at water through a straw; unrelenting, fast, and desperate.
Perhaps it was the fact that they were too preoccupied with this massive spell that they didn’t notice another presence until it was too late.
“Y-you…! Stop right there!” A wavering voice pierced through the thick veil of magic.
Jessica’s shoulders visibly jumped at the sudden voice, and her gaze snapped up to its source in alarm. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the guy’s face — she’s never been particularly good at remembering them but she swore that it looked familiar. “Who the hell are you?”
“It’s the cop that stopped us when we came into Seattle.” Aiden supplied through gritted teeth. “Guess he’s magical too, since he’s not asleep like the rest of them…”
Mal shuddered as the miasma of otherworldly effects was penetrated by an outsider, like a tiny pinprick in a old balloon, deflating it slowly. A light in the pattern of woven spells blinked out. He quickly muttered under his breath, “King, keep reciting,” and though he thought he could turn around and stand up to face the unwanted intrusion, magic willed it otherwise. He was pinned in his current position, able to only move in small gestures.
Plus, he was feeling a little light-headed. He hadn’t used that much energy beforehand, had he? “Keep reciting so we don’t die––or worse, end up drained, and the poor Sleeping Beauties in the city don’t get saved,” he repeated, loud enough this time for the cop to hear it.
“Stop what you’re doing,” the cop said, though only slightly more uncertain than he was before. “I’m armed and I will draw on you. Put your––” He was interrupted by the crack of ozone above their heads, but forged on. “Hands where I can see them!”
Despite stuck in one place, in one position, Mal snarled out, “Listen! We’re fixing whatever was done here. If you’re going to shoot us like you’re supposed to, do it after we wake up a few hundred thousand people!” On the third run-through of the incantation, the circle lit up fully with a bright, blinding light. In his mind’s eye, the alchemist could see each and every individual spiral of the spell’s inner workings coming to life. The magic being leached out of their reservoirs flooded into a kaleidoscope of colours, like food colouring in water. Its destination was the doll.
(King’s magic was as red as blood, ebbing out of him slowly and surely. If the mechanics of magic were not so wondrous, Mal would have cringed away from the sight of it.)
A jolt of electricity ran down his spine, and it seemed as if the others felt the same sensation of discomfort. The magic dissipated, and some of it – the excess – blessedly returned to them like an an elastic band pulled too far and snapping back.
They were not the only one to feel it. The cop’s legs almost buckled under his weight, and he was forced to keep himself upright with one hand on the grassy hill. “What was that? What did you do? Tell me,” he demanded, though it was clear he didn’t have the strength to do anything, let alone overcome five magically gifted teenagers.
Astrid wiped at her eyes in a futile attempt to stave away a headache. “We tried to wake up Seattle. It might have… I think it worked.” The eclipsing fog was clearing up, and for the first time in almost a day, it was possible to see the city’s skyline in all its beauty –– and horror. Fires brought on by the damage from the initial sleeping spell had not yet been put out. People would wake up to chaos. “Look, sir, we’re not the ones who did all this, but we’re the ones who tried to fix it.” She tried to rub some feeling back into her legs, which had gone numb with an unnatural cold during the spell, so that she could stand. “Are you going to make this difficult and arrest us, or are you going to let us get out of here before the cavalry’s called in?”
There was a pause where it seemed as if the officer was going to go for his gun, having made his decision. Instead, he straightened himself up, albeit weakly. “Yeah. Go,” he said. “Go before I change my mind.”
It didn’t leave them much time to lick their wounds and return to the van, but there was a chance.
Who came up with these things, anyway? How did people make spells that involved decapitating a voodoo doll to cure a city of sleepiness? With Aiden’s borrowed knife and on Mal’s tentative approval (at least that’s what she figured the terse nod was for), she gingerly sliced off the head of the doll and placed both separate parts in the center of the circle, on opposite sides of the well of blood.
The more she looked at the ‘head’, the more it looked like one rather than a bound ball of cloth and straw.
A soft blue glow diffused through the pre-drawn lines of the circle, and Mal gestured for them all to sit down––”For the drain,” he said between chewing on his lip and rereading the spell criteria––before starting the spell. His gaze slipped to King more than once. He was searching for any sign of weakness, of course, that could jeopardize the spell. He wasn’t worried about him, not at all. No siree.
“When the spell starts, after the incantation, we have to hold our form. I think it’ll be, well,” he swallowed. “A wild ride.”
“Good. Sounds like fun.” King took his seat, pressing the awkwardly wrapped wound down onto his knee for the added pressure, “Let’s just get this over with, where’s the dumb spell sheet-” He reached over carefully to pluck the paper from the ground behind them and read over the incantation once, twice, before putting it outside the circle. Cracking a bone in his neck, King leaned forward and gave each of his four companions a hard and understanding stare.
“All of you quit worrying, by the way. Your bad vibes are fucking up with my head.” He waved his wounded hand around quickly, the blood stained rag nearly slipping from his palm due to the ferocity of the gesture. “I’m fine. Now get ready. I’m going to start the chant.”
His head fell, eyes focusing on the dark red splotch on the cloth, and with a droning voice he began to recite the incantation.
At first, it seemed like nothing happened. Jessica did a small double take — was the spell a dud? Were they not powerful enough? Anxiously, she chewed on her bottom lip until she was sure that there were specks of her lipstick staining her teeth. It was after the third time that she shifted her sitting position uneasily that the spell began to truly take effect. Jessica felt the magic hum in the air — so subtly that she dismissed it as just paranoia or something at first. As the hum grew and grew until she swore she could hear it, her back began to slump as she felt her strength getting sapped away by the spell. It wasn’t a new feeling by any means, every magic-user knows the feeling of slight fatigue after casting a spell. Jessica had never felt it to this degree though — it was like a parched person desperately sucking at water through a straw; unrelenting, fast, and desperate.
Perhaps it was the fact that they were too preoccupied with this massive spell that they didn’t notice another presence until it was too late.
“Y-you…! Stop right there!” A wavering voice pierced through the thick veil of magic.
Jessica’s shoulders visibly jumped at the sudden voice, and her gaze snapped up to its source in alarm. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the guy’s face — she’s never been particularly good at remembering them but she swore that it looked familiar. “Who the hell are you?”
“It’s the cop that stopped us when we came into Seattle.” Aiden supplied through gritted teeth. “Guess he’s magical too, since he’s not asleep like the rest of them…”
Mal shuddered as the miasma of otherworldly effects was penetrated by an outsider, like a tiny pinprick in a old balloon, deflating it slowly. A light in the pattern of woven spells blinked out. He quickly muttered under his breath, “King, keep reciting,” and though he thought he could turn around and stand up to face the unwanted intrusion, magic willed it otherwise. He was pinned in his current position, able to only move in small gestures.
Plus, he was feeling a little light-headed. He hadn’t used that much energy beforehand, had he? “Keep reciting so we don’t die––or worse, end up drained, and the poor Sleeping Beauties in the city don’t get saved,” he repeated, loud enough this time for the cop to hear it.
“Stop what you’re doing,” the cop said, though only slightly more uncertain than he was before. “I’m armed and I will draw on you. Put your––” He was interrupted by the crack of ozone above their heads, but forged on. “Hands where I can see them!”
Despite stuck in one place, in one position, Mal snarled out, “Listen! We’re fixing whatever was done here. If you’re going to shoot us like you’re supposed to, do it after we wake up a few hundred thousand people!” On the third run-through of the incantation, the circle lit up fully with a bright, blinding light. In his mind’s eye, the alchemist could see each and every individual spiral of the spell’s inner workings coming to life. The magic being leached out of their reservoirs flooded into a kaleidoscope of colours, like food colouring in water. Its destination was the doll.
(King’s magic was as red as blood, ebbing out of him slowly and surely. If the mechanics of magic were not so wondrous, Mal would have cringed away from the sight of it.)
A jolt of electricity ran down his spine, and it seemed as if the others felt the same sensation of discomfort. The magic dissipated, and some of it – the excess – blessedly returned to them like an an elastic band pulled too far and snapping back.
They were not the only one to feel it. The cop’s legs almost buckled under his weight, and he was forced to keep himself upright with one hand on the grassy hill. “What was that? What did you do? Tell me,” he demanded, though it was clear he didn’t have the strength to do anything, let alone overcome five magically gifted teenagers.
Astrid wiped at her eyes in a futile attempt to stave away a headache. “We tried to wake up Seattle. It might have… I think it worked.” The eclipsing fog was clearing up, and for the first time in almost a day, it was possible to see the city’s skyline in all its beauty –– and horror. Fires brought on by the damage from the initial sleeping spell had not yet been put out. People would wake up to chaos. “Look, sir, we’re not the ones who did all this, but we’re the ones who tried to fix it.” She tried to rub some feeling back into her legs, which had gone numb with an unnatural cold during the spell, so that she could stand. “Are you going to make this difficult and arrest us, or are you going to let us get out of here before the cavalry’s called in?”
There was a pause where it seemed as if the officer was going to go for his gun, having made his decision. Instead, he straightened himself up, albeit weakly. “Yeah. Go,” he said. “Go before I change my mind.”
It didn’t leave them much time to lick their wounds and return to the van, but there was a chance.
i here 4 this
In a world no one has heard of, in a time scholars will never report, sits a city. A large, sprawling, cluttered city. An urban jungle where magic felt as though it could happen, and in many, many cases it most certainly can. The supernatural line these worn streets-- those who are fueled not by heartbeats and blood but fire and brimstone and the ever elusive arcane forces. Beings much different than what others may consider normal make up the backbone of this metropolis, and that is why it is considered one of the hottest tourist spots in all of the known world.
New Ester was a city where anything at all was possible.
And tonight, once again, impossibilities were running rampant. It was a regular evening, for the most part, as light pollution nearly blotted out the inky black sky and New Ester's various clubs whispered heavy bass lines into the streets that filled with dwindling traffic. Neon shadows dripped across alleyways and glistened off the wharf and sea, and apartment buildings stood like beacons among the glass skyscrapers that were falling dark as work began to wrap up. Despite all of the city life and the lights and music and rumbling, though, the night refused to remain dormant and still. Instead of reflecting the sea, the sky burned. Stars fell from space like boulders, flashing across the universe in brilliant waves of white and purple and green and blue. Thousands of meteors sallied over the city and vanished beyond the horizon.
There was no forecast for a meteor shower tonight. No predictions, no hypothetical guesses. There was nothing at first and now, something. Just an impossibility that has become possible, and most of New Ester could seem to care less. They had seen an uncalled for meteor shower perhaps a dozen times by now, it was normal to them. Just another oddity. Just another day in New Ester.
The stars fell for a total of fifteen minutes before the sky fell silent. Life continued on without even the briefest pause, or that was what Finn thought of when his eyes fell to the dark streets beyond his apartment's balcony. None seemed to ponder about the wondrous event, all except him, who was left to furiously scribble each detail of the shower into his journal just in case he happened to forget it in the future. Finn couldn't help but think the meteors were meant for him for some reason, as if the universe was showering him with beauty for finally having the guts to move into the city of strangeness. Of course, he would have enjoyed the show a bit more if not for a certain nagging feeling in his gut. Finn's eyes fell away from the sky and his journal and settled on the phone next to his leg. Three messages stood out in pale blue boxes on the lock screen:
hey man, lotte and i both know ur having some trouble paying for the apartment
soooooooo, like, we kinda got u a roommate!
he should be over there tonight! hes this buff blonde kid, real cute, cant miss him! ur welcome!
Finn's eyebrow twitched once, twice, and then he stood with a dry huff, snatching up his phone and journal in the process. "I moved out to avoid being babied, you know." He muttered, drifting back inside with his usual noiseless footsteps. The usual whispers played around him as he reentered the den of his four room apartment, soft, playful voices that threatened to throw his shoes in the river and ruin his internet connection if he continued to ignore their existence. Ghosts were fickle beings, after all. Most of them craved some sort of frequent conversation or deed, but Finn didn't have the time or patience to deal with any of them recently-- and thus he found himself surrounded by a legion of angry, winking lights. They confirmed that he would be babied for the rest of his life because he was a spoiled, apathetic man, and Finn only scoffed and tossed his sweatshirt over the back of the couch.
"Are you all done being brats yet? Do you not realize that us living people have, well, lives?" He spat, "Really, I expected most of you to stay behind when I moved out as well." The whispers reacted meekly, buzzing high among the ceiling like fairy lights in December, and they shut up for a moment to perhaps come up with a reason to why they only follow him. Finn sighed at the new silence and settled at the dining room table, eyeing the apartment's front door warily. He wished, for a moment, to be a real psychic- to have the power to see into the future and foretell what events laid in store for him, but no, he was a mere medium. A conduit for spirits and nothing more.
Hopefully his new roommate was scared of ghosts.
Hopefully his new roommate was utterly normal and decided against moving in at all after meeting Finn.
Oh, that would be ideal, huh?
Fin's head fell back down to his journal and phone, and he gently dragged a thumb across the spine of the thick book, staring numbly at the way the leather dipped in where pressure was briefly applied. Finn felt a bit nervous about meeting someone new, though the emotion didn't register on his face. He was nervous because people... Even the oddities that lived in New Ester-- they barely understood him. He was far too gloomy even for demons to befriend. He hoped for a quick and easy meet-and-forget tonight, but as the doorbell finally rang and he rose to his feet in a minor hurry, all he found to fret over was what his introductory line should be.
Twenty-one || Literature Major || 5'9" || Apathetic
——————————————————————————————
⊗ Gay
⊗ Medium
⊗ Con-artist palm-reader
⊗ Alien enthusiast & supernatural observer
⊗ Emotionally detached, and just as gloomy as he appears
© 2007-2024