#ooh! it doesn’t match!! that’s *unsettling* aND IM LIKE

[qrovidcore]

literally when will another game’s opening sequence ever fuck as hard as inscryption’s. “let’s see what’s on this thing”. the extremely old-school menu and title screen. you can’t start a new game, you can only continue. the complete dark. leshy’s eyes opening, slowly, and they are all you see. the game comes into focus and the graphics are far newer, more detailed, than they are supposed to be. they don’t match the menu or title screen at all. something is wrong with the game but you have no idea what yet. literally when will anything ever fuck that hard again.

#anna is the one who pointed that out with the graphics!!!!!!! aND SHE LITERALLY JUST STARTED SHE DOESNT EVEN KNOW SHE WAS LIKE #ooh! it doesn’t match!! that’s *unsettling* aND IM LIKE #WELL FUCK YOURE SO RIGHT #I AM KISSING DANIEL MULLENS ON THE MOUTH #GOD HEY THAT????? THAT WAS SO ON PURPOSE #WHAT A SUBTLE WAY TO TIP OFF ANYONE WHO GETS YOUR STYLISTIC REFERENCES #TO THAT THERE IS SOMETHING VERY WRONG HERE #G OD #AND THE WHOLE THING’S SO ATMOSPHERIC. WHAT A WAY TO SET THE TONE. #i WOULD tag anna to credit her contribution to this but she’s not far in enough yet shhh. #inscryption #the paranoid android speaks!

[hmm-bubba]

Anon Submission

Pelle x Reader

The day is unremarkable, and that's fine, really, you have nothing better to do than this. You sit slumped into the arm of your couch playing Mortal Kombat with a friend of a friend, a guy that while you don't know him too well this isn't your first time alone with him. You know well enough those angelic looks of his certainly betray how much he kicks ass at this game. You glance over at him just in time to see his tongue poke from his lips in concentration, a look that soon spreads to smug joy as his eyes flick over to you. You look back to the tv screen as he beats you, and all you can do is throw back the rest of your coffee and start again. You try to concentrate on the game, but you find yourself zoning out and getting lost in the floaty folk music that you let him put on. You consider him an enigma as he finishes you again, throwing his head back in a peal of victorious laughter, you laugh too as you flip him off on your way to the bathroom.

Crazy Swedish Enigma, you mentally conclude as you find him making himself a cup of tea in your kitchen. Your kitchen that you weren't even sure you kept tea in, must be your roommate's. You shift past him, popping in a coffee pod into the maker as he starts going on about some summer trip he's taking with his group of friends. You aren't totally listening one hundred percent, something about going home and festivities and then you hear your name and look up from the coffee maker to properly address him. “Say what?”

“You should come with, I said. It'd be a once in a lifetime experience, you won't find this anywhere else!” The smile he's giving you over his mug is just this side of creepy. You always thought him quite odd, heritage aside, he never quite seemed to belong here, in the group of friends he's made for himself, the hard heads and the pretentious types. He's closer now, leaning on the counter beside you as he presents his phone to you. He obviously belongs there, smiling on a backdrop of green grass and blue skies, alongside loved ones that share his face. You have a single photo of him and his group on your phone, taken one late fall eve, he's in the middle, backdrop of a misty night and a motel sign that seemed humorous at the time, you find that more appropriate somehow.

You ooh and ahh as he continues to swipe past countless photos, gushing about just how lovely it is and crooning his longing to be home again, you smile, nod and try not to yawn. “I'll think about it.” You try to say with your best "done with it" voice as you head back to the living room.

“It's a yes or no question,” He won't leave it be, following right behind, not taking any hints. You sink into the couch, really not wanting to be a part of this conversation, really wanting to zone out and lose yourself to the folk music that's less gentle acoustic guitar and more heavy drums and clashing cymbals than before matching just how forceful and passionate he's gotten over the subject. “You decide now. Stay or go. I'm sure you'll enjoy it, but if you don't you will not have to stay any longer than you wish to. We'd make sure of it.” He says, giving you that unsettling smile again and you can't look away, he's got a hold of your hands and is maintaining eye contact. You struggle to find something to say that doesn't betray how unnerved you are, try not to burst into a fit of nervous laughter and call the offer ominous.

You resist the urge to sigh and crumple under his steady, unwavering gaze. “Okay, okay, I'll come with.” You couldn't promise you wouldn't somehow come up with some sort of commitment twenty four hours beforehand though, but his insistence kind of tells you he wouldn't let you say no. 

The grin falls slightly, more friendly and less menacing. “I'm so happy you said that,” He mumbles, letting go of your hands in favor of wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “It means so much to me.” His voice is a whisper now and he presses his face into your neck, and you place your hands on his back and set your chin on his shoulder, so you can slyly grab a drink of your coffee. The music has slowed and calmed again, and you set your cup down, deciding to enjoy the moment as it is, no matter how odd it is.

(A.W.: not great im aware. more like heavily implied prose than actual fanfiction.)

#anon..... this is so good #like really good #i love your voice and writing style!! #please do more of anything #pelle #submission #text #midsommar

[andreaphobia]

knb fic: the cult of akashi

for this meme! @yorimei​ asked for "where's your god now", with Midorima and Akashi. I added Aomine and Kuroko to help frame the story; hope that’s OK!

also it turned out to be pure crack and i am so sorry

also i know overwatch doesn’t have split screen multiplayer but im making it so because its too good of a plot device

*

It turned out to be quite difficult convincing Aomine to go along with it. Certainly it was true that Akashi had mellowed a lot since he’d moved in with Midorima; in fact, by many measures one could practically consider him to be a normal person. It was also true that invitations from Midorima to ‘hang out’ were precious rarities, to be treasured with appropriate gravitas.

Still, though, when he casually brought up the idea of visiting them for an afternoon, all Aomine did was give him a look and deadpan, “I don’t wanna.”

“Don’t be like that,” said Kuroko, the epitome of patience. “You and I both know that Midorima-kun doesn’t have a lot of friends, and he just wants to play some sort of... video game with you. There’s nothing wrong with—”

“That’s not my problem.”

Kuroko sighed. If Aomine wouldn’t budge, perhaps it was time for the trump card. He clasped his hands together, and gave Aomine his most earnest look.

“If not for him, would you do this for me, Aomine-kun? Please?”

Aomine squinted at him rather severely.

“That’s cheating, and you know it.”

“If it works...” said Kuroko, with a small smile.

“Fine, then,” Aomine snapped, throwing his hands up in disgust. “Fine! But you owe me one.”

Kuroko only smiled wider. “Gladly.”

*

Of course, it wasn’t half as bad as Aomine seemed to be imagining, which was a point in Kuroko’s favor. There was some initial awkwardness, in the sense that it felt kind of unnatural for them to be hanging out off the court, without basketball in hand, but the controllers served as a decent-enough replacement, and soon enough that comfortably familiar atmosphere of competition had returned.

“I can’t believe you’re actually a Hanzo main,” Aomine grumbled, as they sat on the hero selection screen waiting for the timer to tick down.

Midorima raised his eyebrows. “Then you must not know me very well.”

Seeing the way that Aomine scowled before he opened his mouth to answer that, Kuroko instinctively felt that it was a good time to change the subject.

“So, when did you start playing, Midorima-kun?” he interjected hastily.

He didn’t miss the way that Midorima glanced towards the kitchen, where Akashi was, of all things, cooking. Baking? He didn’t know, and wasn’t sure that he wanted to know, either. For some reason the spectacle of Akashi in a teddy-bear-print apron had had no visible effect on Aomine, but Kuroko felt as though he had borne witness to a cursed image.

“Just last week. Akashi suggested we purchase it. He said that it would be a good medium for forging stronger connections with others.”

“Oh,” said Kuroko. “That’s...” he hesitated. Would it be rude to say ‘unusual’? He settled for a more neutral response. “That’s... neat.”

“Less talking, more shooting,” Aomine interrupted. “I’m gonna get gold elims this round, so get ready to eat shit!”

“In your dreams,” said Midorima, almost gleefully, and at this, Kuroko smiled. They were getting along, and even having fun together; cursed images or not, this was really all he had hoped for.

*

“HA!” Aomine crowed, pointing obnoxiously at the post-match screen, where the player ‘awesomine’ was enshrined with a GOLD MEDALS EARNED card. “Suck it, Midorima!”

“Oh, yes, very skillful,” said Midorima, unable to keep the scorn out of his voice. “Running into a bunch of heroes and pressing Q is so difficult, I don’t know how you managed it.”

“Ooh, so salty. Where is your god now, huh??”

“Oh, he’s in the kitchen,” said Midorima, at the same time that Akashi stuck his head out the kitchen door and asked, “You called?”

Kuroko choked on his drink.

“What?” said Aomine, blinking obliviously.

“Haha, what a good joke, Midorima-kun,” Kuroko said, once he’d located his voice from wherever it had fled in terror. “You’re so... er... funny.”

“I am?”

“Take a compliment gracefully, Shintarou,” said Akashi smoothly, emerging from the kitchen with oven mitts and holding a cookie tray. He smiled. The overall effect was unsettling. “Daiki, Tetsuya, would you like some cookies?”

“Wait, you just baked these? Sweet,” said Aomine, cheerfully grabbing one and stuffing it greedily into his open mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and then his eyes went wide. “Hey, these are great!”

“I know,” said Akashi, looking quite satisfied with himself. He turned to Kuroko. “Tetsuya, I must insist you try one.”

Kuroko opened his mouth, and then closed it again because he couldn’t think of anything he could possibly say. He accepted a cookie, making Akashi smile in that weird, untouchable way again before he disappeared back into the kitchen, taking the tray with him.

Once Akashi was gone, Aomine nudged him in the side, grinning.

“Video games and free cookies? Tetsu, you were right, we should come here all the time!”

Kuroko looked up at the ceiling, beseeching the heavens for sanity. All he wanted was for them to be sort-of friends off the court; he hadn’t come in here with the slightest intention of inducting Aomine into the cult of Akashi, and yet... 

What have I done? he asked himself in despair, as Aomine and Midorima entered another match.

In the meantime, he took a bite of the cookie. (It really was quite delicious.)

#knb #kurobasu #kuroko no basuke #akamido #aokuro #fic #yorimei #IDEK.... #idek.