#curse gone wrong

[roguewhimsy]

"Cupid's Arrow"

By RogueWhimsy

This story was submitted as part of the Clementine Discord Server's Valentine’s Masquerade of '25. You can read it on ao3 here. Content warnings in the tags.

--

Fifteen minutes before Ronald Weasley was due to arrive at Presque L’amour for the most important Valentine’s Day dinner of his life, his floo erupted with an emerald flame.

“Ron? Where—oh, there you are.” 

He froze, clad in only a dress shirt and pants, clutching an iron above his wrinkled trousers. 

“Hermione, I’m not decent!” Ron squawked, but she batted away his trouserless outcry. “Now’s not a great time—.” 

“Conmenticius Amorem!”

Ron blinked. “Er, who’s what?”

Hermione huffed, “A curse, Ron. Draco Malfoy’s not in love with you. He’s cursed.”

Ron straightened, put the iron down, and assessed her. Shadows wreathed Hermione’s eyes. 

“It's known as 'Cupid's Arrow,'” she continued. “It pierces a target and causes them to instantly fall in love with the next person they see.”

“Herm,” Ron groaned, “I know you don’t believe Draco's changed—.”

“He hasn’t changed, Ron. Your Draco doesn’t exist .” Her words stabbed deeper than a dagger to the heart. “Didn’t you ever find it strange? How quickly everything changed? How quickly he changed—falling for Ronald Weasley, of all people?”

“Thanks.” 

“It never made sense,” Hermione insisted, rifling through her handbag. “And, deep down, you knew it too.” 

She sighed. “Remember when he collapsed? At our reunion?”

Ron needed to sit down. How could he forget? That bizarre evening changed his life.

He went from making small talk at the bar one second to dashing, as fast as his long legs allowed, to catch a crumpling Draco Malfoy the next. 

Malfoy showed his gratitude for Ron’s heroism by generously luring him to the nearest hotel for a night of “Interhouse Bonding.”

Afterwards, Malfoy started making random appearances to whisk Ron away: dinners, holidays, quidditch matches. A few months later, Ron gave up the pretense of keeping Draco at arm’s length. 

Eventually, he let himself fall for the absurd man. 

Hermione pulled out her mobile. “I got the tape from that night. Look.” 

He did. Ron witnessed the moment a flash of light hit Draco square in the back. He watched his past self leap into action to catch the man before he hit the ground. He saw the shadow pass over Draco’s face: a disgusted sneer melting into something softer, something magical. Ron put down the mobile. 

“You see, Ron? He is cursed. He doesn’t—.”

“Love me,” Ron murmured, “Yeah, I see it, now.” 

Hermione’s thrill at being validated quickly cooled. “Oh, Ron.”  

Ron shook his head. “Is there a cure?” Hermione, uncharacteristically quiet, nodded. He mimicked her nod and tugged at the hem of his dress shirt. 

Hermione noticed. “You look nice,” her voice soft, careful. “Plans tonight?” 

“Yeah,” Ron cleared his throat. “Er, just after I put my trousers on.” 

Hermione spoke gently. “Ron, don’t go to him.”

Ron couldn’t look at her. “Why?” 

“Because it isn’t real.” Her words sank in his chest like a stone.

Ron slumped back against the wall behind him. 

“Then,” his voice trembled, “Herm, what do I do?” 

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me tell him.”

It was hard for him to breathe. “I should do it.” 

“Maybe,” Hermione admitted. “But, I’m offering.” 

She only needed a reluctant nod before she disappeared in a verdant flash. Ron staggered over to his sports coat hanging on the coat rack and reached into the inside pocket. 

The velvet box in his palm made his hand look gigantic, his grandad’s wedding band nestled inside. Stubborn pieces of lint from Ron’s sock drawer clung to the box from months of waiting for the right moment to emerge.

Ella Fitzgerald crooned “Funny Valentine” from Ron’s wireless into the quiet flat. He unplugged the iron. 

[chaosfairy18]

Newsiestober Day 18 : Bad Moon Rising

Honestly, he should have seen it coming, but with how good everything had been lately, he just hadn’t thought of it. Maybe he just didn’t want to think of it.

Bumlets slowly sat down next to Swifty on the floor in front of the bed that had become his in the last month, putting a hand on his shoulder, not sure if he’d seen him with how he was hiding his face between his pulled-up knees. “Vince? Are you okay?”

“You know what day it is.”

So not okay then. “It’s not much different from what we practiced. I know you’ll control it, and just in case something happens I can easily defend myself, we talked about this.” Bumlets kept his voice calm and steady, wanting to coax the other boy out of his defensive shell. It was only a matter of time until he had confront what would happen, and they’d trained a lot for this.

“It’s different. It forces me to transform, not just- not just like when you help me. I- last time I attacked you-“

“Last time we didn’t know each other yet. You were scared.” Bumlets slung an arm around Swifty’s shoulders to pull him close. “And you didn’t hurt me at all.”

“Just because you’re a wizard, but I didn’t know that, anyone else I would’ve hurt-“

“But you didn’t.” Finally deciding to forcefully pull his head out of the defensive position, Bumlets grabbed both of Swifty’s cheeks, looking him in the already bloodshot hazel eyes, tears threatening to run down his face. “It was your first time transforming, you were scared, you got new instincts and didn’t want to be hurt yourself. It’s not your fault and nothing happened, Vincent.”

Now exactly one moon cycle ago, Bumlets had been interrupted at his midnight-full-moon-collecting of herbs by a large wolf running through his garden, startling as he saw him and snapping in his direction, clearly confused and scared. Bumlets had tried to calm it and get closer, assuming an injury, almost getting bit if it hadn’t been for his magic shielding his skin. The problem here had been, that the wolf wasn’t just that, but a werewolf, Swifty, to be exact, after he’d turned the first time.

He’d seen it as he got closer, seen the too human eyes, felt the too strong river of thoughts running through the creature, using a weaker, non-specific spell to communicate with him at least enough to make him understand that he’d be safe here, that he could hide here until morning if he needed to.

Bumlets wasn’t sure why Swifty had agreed, he hadn’t asked, but the next morning he’d found Swifty as he was now, curled in on himself and scared, but trusting him enough to not run far away.

It was easier to explain when they could both use words properly, and he’d found that Swifty never knew he was a werewolf until that transformation, having not grown up with his biological parents, so naturally, he’d been panicked. Then he’d also apologized over and over for attacking him, no matter that nothing happened, and of course Bumlets had told him he had nothing to apologize for.

Instead he’d offered him to stay, if he wanted. As a wizard, Bumlets had ressources to help him with transformations – not to mention knowledge on things and spells to protect himself – and in the forest there wouldn’t be anyone else he could potentially injure. “There’s no one around for a few miles and I can protect myself. I can help you try to control it, if you want.”, he’d said.

And had gotten a new roommate since.

It had been nice, too nice, everything going great and them getting along well, so of course it had to go worse again, to where they were now, Swifty terrified of what he might do, even though they had trained, even practiced the transformation without the full moon – which allowed clearer thoughts and control of one’s actions.

But it only made sense Swifty was still afraid.

“Let’s go downstairs into the garden. No matter what happens, it’ll be better outside.”

Bumlets just pulled him up as Swifty nodded, holding onto his arm and wiping at his eyes. “Sorry for being a mess.”

“You have every reason to be one.” He opened the door to the back, the last rays of sunlight already having disappeared, the flowers and herbs already in the dark. “It’s not something you knew of until a month ago and it changes you, completely, you have every reason to be afraid.”

Swifty just nodded and let himself be led near the stone fence, where Bumlets stopped. “Do you want me to stay close? Or- I could hold you. I just want to help when it happens.”

As much as Swifty was still scared of what he could do, of how he could hurt Bumlets in particular, he’d feel even worse if there was only the dark, cold garden here to comfort him. “Please.”

He wasn’t sure how long he still had, how hight the full moon was, but he did his best to ignore it, head lying on Bumlets’ lap while his eyes were closed. He could feel the sensations starting, slowly, much less intense than what had happened a month ago, but not of his own volition like the last few times he’d practiced it here.

“How long?”

“Maybe half an hour at most until the highest point. Don’t resist it, all will be okay.”

He kept trying to stay calm while Bumlets pet his head, soothing words and touches all around him. It was possible that the wizard also helped with spells, but he didn’t care, just trying to not get overwhelmed, limbs twitching now, waiting for what was inevitable.

When it came, it was sudden, almost surprising, making him roll off Bumlets’ lap to the grass, not fighting what was about to change him, that would only worsen the pain and make him slip somewhere into the instincts and far away from control.

“How do you feel?”, he heard, minutes later, the sensations ebbing down, having done what they aimed, leaving him a wolf, with no way to turn back until the sun turned up again. Getting on his four feet, he looked up, seeing Bumlets much clearer now in the dark, the slight blue hinting at his magic being used shining from his eyes, but not keeping his distance from him, as dangerous as he could be.

As he couldn’t answer, he just nudged Bumlets’ hand with his head, relieved to find his head mostly clear, no panic from last month left, though the new instincts and senses overwhelmed him still.

Swifty laid his head back on Bumlets’ lap, just wanting to close his eyes to at least not have to see anything, the new sounds of the surrounding forest and smells of the garden already enough.

“I told you we’d be fine. Just get used to it in your own time, I’ll be here.”

Swifty didn’t move from his spot much the entire night, and even after finally turning back, he just fell asleep in the same position again.

prompts by @newsiestober2024

[veterancoffeemaker]

“Why are you thanking me?” She shouted at this clearly delusional man at her doorstep. “I cursed you! Aren’t you here seeking revenge?

“A curse?” He replied, bemused. “Why, this was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“You had to give up that which was most precious to you, that which your heart most desired!” The witch replied in an exasperated tone. This wasn’t how it was suppose to go!

Yet instead of anger, the man seemed over the moon. “I got over my smoking addiction and it’s all thanks to you!”

“But I banished you from your own home, never to return. Never to see or hear from your family again.” This had to work, she knew his family loved him and he relied on them for everything, surely he hated her for that, right?

Instead he just laughed, a smile on his face. “Banishing me from my village? Why, that was the best thing that ever happened to me!”

“What.”

“It’s a sad thing, looking back, realising how much of a burden I was on them. I used their love and support to laze about, benefitting from their work while doing nothing myself.” He replied, his face turning solemn and somewhat ashamed before perking up again. “Your kick out the door was what I really needed to get my life going. Now I’ve got a real job, a house, everything! All thanks to you.”

The witch’s mouth was agape. “B-but… but… you can never see them again, did you not say you loved them?”

“It is regretful that I cannot speak or see them for myself, yes, but we still communicate regularly over letters. They are very proud of me, but I know it never would’ve been possible without your help. In fact, they even sent me this gift package to give to you, a small repayment for all the good you’ve done me.” The man said as he handed her a basket filled with various breads, fruits and more.

“I… this…” she stammered out.

“Please accept this as me and my family’s thanks for everything you've done. They also wanted me to let you know, if you ever find yourself in the village again, you’ll always be welcome to come in for a meal. Again, thank you so much.” At that, he gave one last wave and walked away.

The witch watched as he left, standing in the doorway, her gaze shifting between the diminishing figure and the basket in her hands, one question on her mind.

Was this her greatest failure or greatest success?

A witch found out to her horror that she had somehow cursed the wrong person. Expecting retribution when the victim came knocking at her doorstep, she was surprised to find them rather pleased with the curse's effects.

[wishmaster]

Beta Testing

Scanning....

The App said as it looked for it's first vic... subject.

It centered on me. Suddenly a 3D render of what I looked like appeared on screen, totally nude, which in an instant I found myself.

Can't believe I agreed to be a beta tester on something like this.

What Do you Wish to Change? It focused on my head first, like those avatar creators in games. Pulldown menus appear next to my hair, eyes, face and one appeared that read Pre Selected faces.

I pulled down one

I pulled up a pre selected and suddenly my body transformed to match the pre selected face.

If I had wanted to I could play with the settings, but I wanted to have a look first.

Fuck, Amazing! Look at my dick! I tried to reach down to touch it but then a collar appeared around my neck and I seemed to no longer be in control. I felt something cold and tight form around my cock, something triggered in my mind I couldn't touch it, it wasn't mine to pleasure anymore, I realized this pre select was collared, but by whom? I wondered, next a question on the app popped up, M/F?

I selected M, suddenly I felt a new presence around me.

Hello Boy, the voice was deep and commanding, I felt a boot pressuring down on my caged cock. ready to submit? Yet again a question appear Y/N?

I clicked no and was returned to the M/F screen, Master had disappeared I clicked F this time as it seemed I had to choose.

I found myself hanging up and chained. I looked around. Mistress had arrived.

She had my phone now, Yes or No huh, well I think yes is in order, she pressed it and my fate was locked in, I was hers now.

An app to change you, how quaint, thought you could get away from me huh? I own you and can do what I wish to you now.

She began to play around with my settings Once she pressed enter I felt myself change.

I was now fully encased in mistress's favorite material, a vibrating dildo trapped in my ass to keep my dick constantly hard and at the ready, My arms bound a mask covering my head, locked in place by a new thick nose ring, I was no longer just her slave, I was her personal sex dolly. I heard her crush my phone with her heels forever leaving trapped in my current hell.

review of W.M.A. 1 star, needs work.

Wow how harsh after all he did get a new life, but I can see where our new App may need work, tell me friends how should we improve our new Wish Master App 2.0?

[fivepoints]

So I’ve been thinking (re: obsessing) about the canary curse since I saw the last episode. And I read @goldenwitherphoenix13’s analysis which you should definitely check out here! And I realized that when

Jimmy died first, there was always a good chunk of players that would perma-die in that very same episode, and the series would end in either the episode after or the one after that, with many perma-deaths spread out along the way. 

But, in secret life, the only people who died after Lizzie were the others in the mine (Mumbo+jim). And, the series ended a whole 3 episodes after with the next perma-death being that final episode. This is way more indicative of a freak mining accident taking out a few people than of a canary falling silent due to CO2 which would then spread quickly to the others. I, obviously, don’t have any data on the rest of the perma-deaths for wild life, but it is important to note that mumbo’s death was not followed by anyone else’s immediately.

That being said, I do love diversity in headcannons within fandom. So, if you do prefer the headcannon of the canary curse being passed on, then there is definitely an argument that Lizzie and Mumbo actually did their jobs as canaries (successfully warding off death for a good while). Contrast this to when Jim fell silent, it was already too late to escape the cave.

[beargyufairy]

Come on, come on

Don't leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Something's gone terribly wrong

You're all I wanted

[scopophobia-polaris]

i think youre sick and twisted youre sic an twisted you cannot go on here and be like oh monsterfication in hyrule <3 it also happens to the non-humans its not that crazy OH BUT THE GORONS 👀 👀 👀 👀 👀 THE GORONS 👀 👀 👀 and then disappear I'm biting you I'm biting you like fredbear bit that child I'm biting you bithgin you my lawyer will hear from you youre like a little ghost in my ear teasing me about gorons and then I wake up and there's nobody there 💥this is sick n twisted u need to dig your brain just to get the goron lore out I need to stop sending you brainwaves about ganondorf and start sending you brainwaves about the gorns you will hear from me 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵me when I get you em what I get you me when I get y

OHHHH EZLO WANT A GOOD IDEA???? SOMETIMES THEY START TURNING INTO DODONGOS AND SHit

My best example of this ...IS TIMIE ACTUALLY

[noobiestnoober]

Cooking Disaster at the Boarding House (Reader, Stefan, Damon, and Enzo)

Stefan insists on making a "proper homemade dinner" for once, and you, Damon, and Enzo get roped into helping. The problem? You and Damon can’t cook, Enzo keeps taste-testing things before they’re done, and Stefan is two seconds away from throwing you all out of his kitchen.

Stefan wanted a “calm night in.”

That was his first mistake.

He’d appeared in the doorway of the Salvatore kitchen just after noon, wearing a crisp apron and an expression that screamed he was trying to manifest patience through sheer willpower. His arms were crossed. His brows were raised. His tone was calm—too calm.

“I’m making dinner,” he announced.

Damon, lounging shirtless on the living room couch with a glass of bourbon in hand, didn't even look up. “Congratulations. There’s leftover Chinese in the fridge. Knock yourself out.”

Stefan’s jaw tensed slightly. “No, I mean real dinner. Homemade. Like normal people.”

Enzo, who had just entered through the back door with a bag of marshmallows and zero context, perked up. “Did someone say dinner? Are we roasting someone?”

“Cooking, Enzo,” Stefan corrected. “Not torching villagers. Though I’m beginning to reconsider.”

And then, for reasons known only to whatever masochistic force guides your group, you were dragged into it. You had only come over to return Bonnie’s grimoire and maybe steal some of Damon’s bourbon. Within ten minutes, you were holding a mixing spoon and blinking in the fluorescent horror of Stefan’s idea of domestic bliss.

“I just want one night,” Stefan said, now stirring sauce in a stainless-steel pot like he was summoning peace, “where we act like normal people. No blood. No compulsion. No explosions.”

“You should’ve said that before inviting Enzo,” Damon muttered, pouring himself a drink and immediately being told to wash his hands before touching anything else.

Enzo, already chewing on a raw mushroom he’d fished out of a bowl, raised a brow. “You’re going to judge me on table manners, mate? Wasn’t it you who tried to flambé a squirrel last week?”

“That squirrel had it coming,” Damon said defensively.

You sighed and leaned against the counter. “So, what’s the plan here? What are we even making?”

“Lasagna,” Stefan said without missing a beat. “Garlic bread. And a salad. Simple. Manageable.”

There was a silence. You blinked at him.

“Lasagna,” Damon repeated. “With garlic?”

Stefan raised a brow. “You’re not going to burst into flames. Stop being dramatic.”

“You wound me,” Damon said, placing a hand over his heart. “You’d poison your own brother over carbs.”

Enzo picked up a tomato. “Should I chop this or eat it like an apple?”

Stefan physically snatched it from his hand.

It didn’t take long for everything to unravel.

Damon was somehow in charge of chopping onions. Except instead of chopping, he kept slicing them into elaborate spirals and arranging them into smiley faces on the cutting board.

“I’m adding artistry,” he said, unrepentant, when Stefan asked why the salad looked like it belonged in a haunted kindergarten.

You had been assigned to garlic bread—which sounded easy enough—until Damon distracted you with an impromptu vampire speed race to the liquor cabinet, and you forgot the bread was in the oven. Smoke began to rise. Stefan screamed.

You opened the oven door, coughing, waving away the smoke. “Crispy is trendy, right?”

Enzo was now licking sauce from the lasagna pan.

“It’s not even cooked yet!” Stefan shouted, yanking the pan out of Enzo’s reach. “Do you just wander through life taste-testing anything that looks vaguely edible?”

Enzo shrugged. “I’m just saying, it’s got potential.”

Damon leaned in. “It tastes like pain and disappointment. Much like your cooking career.”

Stefan turned slowly, murder in his eyes. “Get out of my kitchen.”

Damon held up his hands. “Okay, Gordon Ramsay, chill. You act like we burned the house down.”

“The night’s not over yet,” you offered cheerfully, scraping the charred garlic bread into the trash.

Stefan’s jaw was clenched. “Can any of you follow a recipe without turning it into a reenactment of ‘Hell’s Kitchen: Vampire Edition’?”

“No,” all three of you answered in unison.

Somehow, after much arguing, sabotage, and suspicious licking of utensils, the lasagna made it into the oven. Damon was banned from touching anything sharp. Enzo was banned from touching anything at all. You were put on salad duty—a task that Stefan described as “idiot-proof,” which, frankly, was just offensive enough to make you start spelling things in the lettuce.

When the kitchen finally quieted, Stefan stood in front of the oven like a man protecting the Holy Grail. The room smelled vaguely of smoke, wine, and passive-aggressive tension. Then the power flickered. All eyes turned to Damon, who was leaning against the fridge with his usual smug expression.

“I might have messed with the wiring last week to install a hidden bourbon shelf,” he said. “No promises.”

Stefan looked like he aged three centuries on the spot.

Dinner—if it could be called that—was served two hours late. The lasagna was slightly undercooked. The garlic bread was replaced with emergency toast. The salad was mostly arugula and spite. Everyone sat around the table in silence for a few bites, until Damon raised his glass with a lazy grin.

“To chaos,” he said, “and the culinary crimes we commit along the way.”

You clinked your glass against his. “To Stefan, who tried to bring order to a group of feral vampires and suffered deeply for it.”

Enzo raised his fork. “And to the tomato I never got to eat.”

Stefan just groaned.

🥖 The Salvatore kitchen has been declared a disaster zone. Cooking privileges are hereby revoked.

[communistkenobi]

purolator lost my kn95 mask order 😭

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Nanami, Ijichi and Nitta foil a bank robbery with a cursed twist ...

Genre: Suspense

Contents: Canon-typical violence, foul language, reader character narrator, reader perspective of sorcerers.

He’d never signed up for this.

When he’d joined, Ueno had gone on about the fun they’d have, the risk, the high of getting away with things like this. It was a release, a way to escape the drudgery of his long shifts at the convenience store and the hollow-eyed, resentful presence of his mother at home. If that place could even be called a home.

In the beginning, they’d just wandered the brightly lit streets of nighttime Shinjuku, vandalizing the shops Ueno’s boss had told them to target, getting into scuffles with rival gangs, keeping an eye on the activities of people of importance. Each time he’d left home, the door would swing shut behind him like the unseen gateway to another realm. The street before him would be familiar, but not, the night air crisp with possibility. He’d never been aware of the perilous web being woven around him, of the fact that none of these jaunts were disjointed activities, each with their isolated goal.

And now he was here, in the back of a dark blue minivan with no windows, the humid damp of the balaclava he wore sticking to his face, making breathing difficult. He couldn’t do this. He’d never known they would ask him to – but there was no time for that. No time to think about the number of times he shouldn’t have walked out that door, the number of times he should have turned Ueno down, the many, many nights he should have decisively put an end to any and all association with the present company.

They were crowded in on all sides, shoulder to shoulder, the cramped space filled with the smell of sour sweat, cheap cologne and the heavy funk of strong tobacco. These men would have no patience for a boy who backed out, even if he said he was young and stupid and regretted everything he’d done. They were wily, experienced, razor-edged and slick with survival instinct. There was no way out for him, not now.

The power of his fear roots him in place, even as his body rebels, his muscles catch and quiver, his breathing hitches sporadically and his bowels cramp and protest. If only … if only he were someone else, someone more equipped to deal with this. If only something, anything, would take over his body and mind, just for tonight. If only something would come along and turn him into the man he should be in this situation; fearless, aggressive, raring for battle, a spitting cobra rearing for a shot between the eyes. But he was not any of those things.

And they were on their way to rob a bank.

You'd made it something of a game over the years. Each person that swam into view in the window of your counter formed a portrait of an unknown life, one you tried your best to embroider.

Head, shoulders, knees and toes, just like the song you used to sing in elementary school. What would the shifting window bring you today?

Ah, here was a grandmother, feeble and infirm. Collecting her pension fund and rambling about her three adult children, including her son who was staying for the month. Most of that pension probably ended up in his pocket.

And here was the man who came every Tuesday since three months ago. Sweating, nervous, smelling faintly of cheap perfume. You'd bet your whole salary that each trip to the bank was followed by a sharp detour out the door to the seedy motel nearby.

Then, the antique shop owner, the family name a well-known one in the area. Pity his father gambled most of their inheritance away. Everyone knew that he lived in the once-fabled traditional home, now dilapidated and infested with mould, a Havisham who rotted beside his antiques in the wedding dress of former renown. His cash withdrawal was minimal, enough to feed him for a week at a time.

Today was spectacularly ordinary. As a financial services representative at this particular branch for an odd five years now, you'd come to recognise your usual patrons, along with the occasional tourist or visitor who'd pay a once-off visit. These were usually recognisable by their clothing, or accents.

Here were two such individuals right now. You'd definitely never seen them before. The man looked to be in his late twenties, wearing the harried, hollow-cheeked look of someone much older. His dark hair was neatly parted, a pair of rectangular spectacles enhancing the earnest, studious nature of his face.

Beside him was a girl with bright blonde hair in an untidy bob. In severe contrast to the man's sober, dark suit, she wore a pair of baggy black jeans, a crop top and oversized jacket, unzipped, over it all. The glitter eyeshadow she wore only served to emphasize her thousand-yard-stare and she looked you up and down appraisingly.

Oh. It was time to adjust to your customer service face. Feeling the stiff muscles of your lower jaw stretch into a wide, practiced smile, you bowed slightly.

"Good day. How may I be of assistance?"

"Ah, I'd like to open an account for my niece here. She's starting college next year and just landed a new job to help pay things off. A flexi-save option would be nice."

"Of course! Mister ...?"

"Ijichi. And my niece here is Miss Nitta."

"Pleasure to meet you."

You turn to the girl in question, eyebrows raising in slight query.

"Would you like to have a look at our options? There are varying interest rates with different benefits to each type of savings account you can open."

She shrugged with the kind of nonchalance that could only come with long practice.

"Uncle's handling all that. I just do the legwork and get my shit together. That's the deal."

Wow. The youth of tod -

You clear your throat and turn to your PC screen, avoiding the errant thought that had come dangerously close to leaping out of your mouth.

"Of course. Give me a minute."

The fairly youthful uncle nods, adjusting his glasses. He looks slightly tense, the poor thing. You would too, if you were planning the financial future of a niece like this. You wondered if he took care of her full-time.

The niece, Nitta, was focused elsewhere, eyes roaming across the high-ceilinged atrium, the neat and ordered rows of seats where clients waited for service, the row of reinforced glass windows that gave way to many small booths like your own.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her glancing in one particular direction more often than not. Following the path of her gaze, your own is arrested by the sight of a tall blonde man in a dark suit, red patterned tie vivid against his white shirt. He stands in the queue of a neighbouring window, eyes inscrutable behind dark lenses.

Well, you could hardly fault her for looking at that. He has a stern, cold face, but his chiseled features and imposing stature make him hard to look away from. Speaking of which, you had a job to do.

Turning back to your screen, you complete the series of prompts, until you're finally within the authorized programme for creating a new account.

"All right, can I see some identifica- "

A scream tears through the still peace of the atrium, carving a sudden flaw in of the passage of time. In that moment, you do not think, you do not feel, and your body seems foreign to you. A group of people, dressed in black, waving weapons that were definitely acquired illegally, charge into the open space. Still frozen, you watch as they move like an oil spill across the room, smooth, practiced, herding the panicking crowd with sharp, barked commands and prods of their weapons.

Ijichi and Nitta duck down immediately, and you vaguely hear the bespectacled man shouting at you to do the same. Finally, dragged against the opposing current of shock, your body responds to your wishes. Dropping boneless to your knees, you reach up, fumbling for the panic button beneath your desk.

You press and hold, releasing after 20 seconds. Your mind still hasn't fully caught up with what is occurring, but your body is guiding you through the motions, stilted and half conscious.

The gang that has infiltrated the banking hall seals the doors. One of the burly men is obviously the leader, standing at the centre of the chaos while his lackeys form a co-ordinated chain of carried instructions, the spokes of a turning wheel. One of the gang comes right up to your counter, screaming instructions across to you.

You are still slow to respond, but panic has now asserted itself and you let out a sob of a breath, scrambling to raise your hands above your head and stand as he tells you to. You, and the rest of the employees behind the safety of the barrier, are forced at gunpoint to open up the inter-leading door, flocking out among whimpers, soft pleas and muffled cries to the atrium floor where you are made to lie down along with the rest of the crowd.

You find yourself near Ijichi and his niece, Nitta. You meet his eyes with a blank, stricken stare, mouth half opening in an apology, before you realise how stupid and pointless such a thing would be. How could you have known? You still can't quite grasp what is happening all around you.

Strangely enough, it is Ijichi who counters your disoriented glance with a square sense of reassurance. There is something ... different about him. He seems surprisingly calm, a far cry from the nervousness he showed earlier while opening a bank account for his niece, of all things. The niece in question is also unusually collected, her body coiled with the readiness of physical conditioning. That isn't a normal response to this situation, you're sure of it. She's too young to -

But there isn't time to speculate on this. The gang is rushing behind the tills, one of the managers held at gunpoint pushed roughly to the interior vault where his superior security clearance will allow him to gain access.

Granted, your security isn't state of the art, but it is fair enough to cause some small delay. There are five different checkpoints, each with a unique pass code, and a thumbprint, voice recognition and retina scanner that need to be applied simultaneously.

Turning your attention back to the interior of the atrium, you notice that one of the gang members is behaving a little erratically. His eyes, visible through the small opening of his balaclava, seem just as terrified as that of the people he is holding hostage. His blue, long sleeve shirt is soaked through with large, darker patches of perspiration, creeping down from his armpits, neckline and across his back. His breathing is harsh, audible from where you lie as still as possible, and the way he is holding his weapon is far from expert.

There is a small movement from beside you as ijichi straightens slightly. He is, for some reason, watching that young assailant like a hawk, eyes steady, something like recognition stirring in their depths. Nitta has moved to a crouching position, one of her hands braced on his back.

What are they doing? Surely -

And then, the boy in the balaclava stiffens, as if stuck with a knife. He is now staring past the man next to him as if dazed, his limbs as limp as a marionette whose strings have been abruptly cut. The gun tilts dangerously floorward, and one of his companions yells to him to -

"Get the fuck back in line!"

Something, the likes of which you've never seen, is occurring right before your disbelieving eyes. A jet of viscosity, black as pitch, shoots from the boy's mouth, tearing past the balaclava. The remnants of the knitted fabric land a few feet away, exposing his pale, terrified face, the damp strands of hair that cling to his forehead, the strange look of relief that briefly crosses his features before his eyes close.

They re-open, and you utter a small, involuntary scream. Behind his lids, two neon rings of purple form a flickering gateway to madness, the slow, unhinged smile that sweeps up the corners of his mouth as unnatural as his posture. The men around him pause, exchanging uncertain glances, some of them even re-directing their weapons to his quivering form.

The boy, if he can still be called as such, takes little to no note of the threat from his own former comrades. The crowd of hostages has now noticed the change, cries of alarm ringing out as they see the boy's body contort, arms and legs snapping and twisting to distorted, elongated proportions. One of the other gang members shouts out a hoarse warning before firing a round into the boy's contorted head and chest.

He is ... unharmed. Instead, the nightmarish head sweeps back, the neck stalk-like, flexible. The features seem even more inhuman, his grotesque smile now jagged-edged, the teeth sliding like nails past the shredded, bloody lips. The heist completely forgotten, the men in dark clothes back away, yelling in fear and consternation, weapons clutched in sweat-slicked palms.

What is this? What is -

You scramble backwards, coming up against a firm, warm palm in the small of your back. The muscles of your abdomen and legs are now plagued by small tremors as you turn your head to see Nitta behind you. She doesn't seem quite so young and nonchalant any longer. There is a certain hard quality to her, a readiness for what is to come that takes you completely off guard. Beyond her, Ijichi shoots you a quick glance of apology before nodding at his 'niece'.

His hand raises towards the glass of the atrium ceiling, the cloudy sky outside clearly visible. Nitta mirrors his pose, palm pressed flat against the smooth tile beneath her. Their voices rise above the cacophony, a steady chant that somehow resonates in the furthest reaches of your being.

"Emerge from the darkness ... "

The vision of horror that used to be a human sweeps out an arm, narrowly missing the men who scream and return fire. It seems that he - it - is still learning the use of that body. It stumbles, clawed feet scraping across the floor, leaving deep grooves in its wake.

" ... blacker than darkness ..."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the group of civilians who has been standing at the counter being ushered to safety further into the lounge at the other end of the room. The man who seals the double doors behind him is one you recognise. The imposing blonde businessman, the one Nitta had been looking at earlier. This was now, in your mind, no mere coincidence.

Who were these people?

" ... purify that which is impure."

It slides from the fingertips of Ijichi and Nitta, a layer of otherness, a barrier between your world and the distortion of reality that has happened in here, in this space that used to be your everyday stronghold of familiarity. Ijichi meets your bewildered gaze and he pauses momentarily, mouth drawing into a regretful line.

"You can see it."

You nod wordlessly and he adjust his glasses, that incongruously stern set of his features directed at something past you.

"Don't worry. It'll be over soon."

One of the criminals spots the movement of Ijichi and Nitta, screaming out to them as they get to their feet on either side of you. 

"Get back down! Don't you fucking move! I'll - "

His words are cut off as one of the monster's flailing, spiked projections lob his left arm right off at the shoulder, the gun falling from the nerveless clasp of the severed hand. The noise that leaves his throat is thick, animal, full of existential fear. He slides forward, the floor now slick with his own blood, eyes bulging as his choked cries echo across the hall.

Two strong hands assert their grip under each of your armpits, dragging you to your feet. You realise that a sound, similar to the one the maimed man had made, was exiting your own throat.

"Easy," comes Ijichi's voice in your ear, "Just breathe. Move with us. It'll be all right."

How? How could any of this ever be all right?

You cannot comprehend how this man could possibly say that, but when you look over at him, there it is, in his eyes behind those rectangular frames. He does believe what he says. He means every word. But how can he -

"Step back, please. You're in the way."

The voice that echoes across the atrium is unlike any of the others, cutting through the chaos with calm, clipped, precise enunciation. It's the blonde businessman, who, you are rapidly realising, is also not what he seems.

He strides across the hall, completely ignoring the threatening gestures and shots fired in his direction by the gang who are now in disarray. He sheds his pinstripe coat, revealing a leather harness fastened across his torso, the dark straps stark against the white of his shirt.

And there is something else, something similar to the strange current you sensed from Ijichi and Nitta earlier, coursing along the powerful lines of his shoulders and arms. It is ... different, but holds a deadly latency that can't be denied. The businessman reaches up and removes his dark glasses, revealing a sharp-cornered, intensely shadowed gaze. He glances across at Ijichi, who straightens and nods in response.

"We'll leave things to you, Nanami."

"Thank you, Ijichi. Get the rest of the hostages to safety."

The rapid gunfight that had been punctuating by yells in the background had now taken a worrying turn. The force of the automatic rifles, puncturing skin and shattering bone, had been driving the monster back, but no longer. It was healing itself, shards of bone annealing, flesh knitting itself back together, blood decanting back into torn vessels as it slowly gained momentum, moving forward and driving them back.

The man called Nanami turned back to the battle, surveying it with the calm of a seasoned veteran. As Ijichi and Nitta help you along, you slowly regain your ability to move, but something kept your gaze fixed on Nanami's broad back as he reached behind him, fingers grasping the handle of what seemed to be a blunt blade wrapped in an oddly patterned cloth. It appeared to be a similar pattern to the one on his tie.

Is he mad? Bullets don't work on that thing! He was going to -

Your thoughts still and die away as an electric rush of that strange energy jets up around Nanami's body, coating him in what looks like armour. One polished leather brogue slides back along the tiles, giving him enough momentum to propel himself forward at inhuman speed. Your eyes can barely follow his movements as he streaks across the atrium, right towards the spinning, shrieking monster.

Now that it had become accustomed to the body it inhabited, the creature was darting forward with swift, jagged motions, dealing terrible slashes and blows to any flesh it encountered. Nanami reaches it, dancing around its flailing arms with ease and grace. It takes note of him, the slide of its bulbous eyes sickening as they gather on either side of its skull, as if to pin down his location better. The remaining gang members take this opportunity to scramble to safety, kicking and clawing each other to the floor in their urgency to escape.

You shout a wordless warning to Nanami, but Nitta's grip on your shoulder gives you a measure of reassurance. They seem to have full faith that this deceptively understated salaryman can handle the reality-bending situation unfolding before your eyes.

And he does.

From the little snippets of the battle that you can follow with comprehension, Nanami's movements match the creature's every step of the way. When its limbs elongate with a sudden snap, he adjusts his distance. When it sends tendrils of smoky substance across the floor, he seems to coat his shoes in that luminous energy, skidding effortlessly across the top of it. When it tries to close in on him, limbs splitting and weaving in tendrils that catch and ensnare, he slices clean through them, that blunt blade doing far more damage than you would have ever thought possible.

The confidence and surety of his block and parry sends a sudden flare of hope through your chest.

Maybe he can beat it! Maybe he can -

The creature let's out a howl of fury, the force of it battering the walls and shattering the windows. You scream as shards of glass blow outwards from the booths where you and your fellow employees had been crouched just a short while before. Covering your face, you brace for the tearing pain, but nothing happens. Peering between your fingers, you see that Ijichi is muttering under his breath, creating another kind of barrier, this one of a smaller radius, around the three of you. The faint patter of glass reaches your ears as the flying shrapnel falls harmlessly off the surface.

But what about Nanami?

A sharp breath escapes your lips as you see him, still standing, facing the wrath of the creature. He remains unphased, but his sleeves have now been rolled up, the smooth shift of sinew and muscle visible beneath skin. You watch as he reaches up, loosening his tie and flicking his wrist out, the spotted red material wrapping around his fist. He begins a measured pace towards the creature, and for the first time, you see it take a step back.

Nanami's smooth, mellow voice sounds through the hall again.

"It's now three in the afternoon. I started work today at nine and I'm going to clock out at five. That leaves me exactly fifteen minutes to finish off with you, forty five minutes of travel time and one hour to complete my paperwork for today."

... what? 

He continues, striding forward as the creature staggers back even further, defensive spikes slowly sliding into place on its arms and knees. He doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by this.

"I would prefer not to incur overtime, so if you would please co-operate with me, I would highly appreciate it."

For all your years in retail and finance, you had never seen customer service handled quite like this.

Nanami flicked his blade straight out, those keen eyes sighting right along the upper edge. He seemed to have assessed something of the creature, because his subsequent lunge was precision itself. The dappled sword swung down, then up and away, severing along some vital line. The ghoulish scream that exited the monster spoke of the damage dealt. It collapsed, clawing at its body as Nanami approached with that predator's prowl; decisive, tranquil.

He crouched right before the recoiling mass of darkness, one arm bending back before his fist slammed with impossible strength right into where the midriff should be. The blast stripped away the last vestiges of whatever had possess the original 'host' in the first place. The slick darkness shivered in its death throes, snaking along the ground before Nanami's heel came down on it with crushing finality.

You let out a breath you'd been holding as the boy, whose body you'd felt would be beyond any kind of repair, slumped to the floor, unconscious. Nanami knelt beside him, fingers enclosing his wrist before glancing up at Ijichi and nodding.

He was alive!

Nitta rushed forward immediately, a cellphone appearing from within her coat, balanced between shoulder and ear as she patted the boy down, searching for further weapons or injuries. She appeared to be calling for some kind of assistance from the outside.

Beside you, Ijichi raised two fingers, and suddenly, a rush of noise reached you from outside; the blare of sirens, the snap and flash of cameras, the commotion of many voices. The barrier they had cast earlier had been lifted. You clamber slowly to your feet, with his assistance.

You have so many burning questions, but you feel that the answers will hold information that might take you some time to process. For now, you'll simply ask about -

"You can see the cursed energy."

Ijichi is watching you, following your movements with attention.

"Cursed ... energy?"

"That's what we call it. Some civilians, like you, can see it, although that's quite rare. It's the duty of those like us to protect humanity from the curses that roam this world. Curses that appear, much like this one."

"So ... you knew it was going to come here? That's why you ... "

"Suspected," he corrects you. "We traced it to this area, but could not pinpoint its location. Then we received a tip-off from law enforcement about a heist that was about to occur at this bank. We made an educated guess as to where the curse would manifest next."

"With ... law enforcement? So all of you are ..."

"Sorcerers, affiliated with Jujutsu Tech. Well, I'm no qualified sorcerer. Simply an assistant director. Nanami is the sorcerer. You'll ... have to come with us, of course. To sign a waiver. There's a lot of paperwork involved with civilian witnesses and victims."

You nod, turning to where the boy who had been ... possessed, for want of a better term, was now being loaded onto a stretcher.

"Was he a victim too, then?"

"Yes. He will have little to no memory of what occurred when he wakes up. Just the events leading up to his arrival here. Everything before that ... will have to be processed through regular law enforcement."

"I see."

You really didn't, but the matter-of-fact manner with which Ijichi was rattling off this information made this fever dream seem halfway believable, if the protocol was anything to go by. Ijichi gestured to you, and you saw that the other hostages were being led out of the safety of the lounge where Nanami had sequestered them earlier.

Speaking of Nanami, you saw his tall figure stride ahead of you. He'd looked over you and the rest of the captives and seemed satisfied that his work here was done. You called out to him as he approached the doors.

"Thank you!"

He paused and turned slightly, that cool, appraising glance taking you in.

"No need. I'm simply doing my job."

"Well then, allow me to thank you ... for letting me clock out on time."

You see the barely perceptible change in his expression, the slight lift of his eyebrows, the tilt at the corner of his mouth.

"Noted."

He turns away and Ijichi ushers you after him, out into the sunlight that strikes your skin like your new-found awareness of the unseen world.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

[meme-zone]

[puff-the-bunny]

If I started posting barely finished art of ancient characters, would anyone even notice..?

... Well, I'm gonna attempt, at least. Take my Very Large kitty. She's like a sphinx but instead of asking riddles she challenges you to a dance-off

[darkcostco]

I read this fanfiction where Molly was given the journal as a gift to preserve her memories but being ten she didn't see the point and found it hard.

Which leads to a grieving Edie writing that journal entry in Molly's journal.

Something that was based on 'Molly' saying 'I ate a lot of things that night' not 'tonight'.

I wanna reiterate that Edie did this out of grief like barely a year after Molly's death, not for some evil ulterior motive.

So I was wondering what you thought of this theory?

I feel like this tracks for Edie, and I firmly believe that very few discrepancies in this game can be written on as a writing mistake (despite there being some timeline issues such as, where were Sam and Calvin during Barbara's Final Scream, and allegedly I've read rumblings off Walter's death timeline being weird, but I can't quite find any certainties on that.).

Here is the thing, Molly's a pretty imaginative girl (as a fellow fantasy enjoyer.. I can relate), and based off the cute little drawings around her room and her love for her animals and nature I think there is space to say

I find it interesting that all the animals that Molly had become can be found in her room in some form. I know many people see this as Molly taking from her environment during a hallucination. I was led to believe this as well until now... I can totally see Edie, who probably at this point wanted to believe this wouldn't happen, wanting to 'honour' her firstborn by giving her final moments something that she would've loved. A fantastical tale where she gets to run wild as the animals found in her room. Who knows if Molly even wanted to be any of those things, it feels like a classic mom move to take like three things she knows her kid likes and just use those, similarly to how Gus is kind of just reduced to Kite Boy when he seemed to have his entire punk deal going on.

All this to say, yeah I think it's pretty neat, and I think it really adds onto the idea that Edie is doing this to preserve their legacy, especially if we go off of the idea that in her head, the curse is very real. I'd hate to feel like my family was insignificant just because of how little time they had...

I like to think that's a similar conclusion that Edith finds herself.

'I want you to be amazed that any of us ever had a chance to be here at all.'

[what-is-it-to-be-pk-esque]

My partner finally finished BG3 but has no idea that his ending was actually bad cause he was a pro-Vlaakith githyanki who rode off with Lae'zel but got NO EPILOGUE where Withers points out y'all died im 😭😭😭

they have no idea what happened with Gale or anyone else (who was still alive) after flying away 🙃🙃🙃

[mad-hunts]

AHH, it's almost midnight, so you all know what time it is... (don't worry i'm about to say what time it is, y'all LOL) it's cursed image time!! also, this grave is from the arrow TV show, tumblr, so please don't come at me —

but oh... look, it's barton at joker's funeral, you guys AHHH

[tailsthetheorist]

🔥 I RAN A WII ON A POTATO. YES, A REAL POTATO. 🥔 [VIDEO NOW OUT]

Not clickbait. Not a meme. I actually hooked up a Wii using a potato-powered setup… AND IT WORKED. It lagged, it glitched, it screamed, but it booted and ran Sonic like a champ (or a dying toaster, depends how you look at it).

💥 Wanna witness the madness? 🎥 Watch the full cursed science project here ➡️ https://youtu.be/_ksAwq0Mbkg

This is probably one of the dumbest and greatest things I’ve ever done. And yes… the potato did most of the work. 🙃

Comment what you want me to break next. Maybe a GameCube on lemons? A DS on a banana? I’m not stopping.