#also i need to stop trying to name robotic characters with acronyms that took like half an hour

[hellsite-detective]

Hellsite Detective in...

The Bad Banana

it was another cool day in Tumblr City. the breeze was blowin' through the streets and the rain was poundin' down hard against my window. the ceilin' fan that hung above me spun slowly and hypnotically as if blown by a wind that wasn't present. as i sat there in my chair, smokin' my cigar and watchin' that fan spin eternally, i grew hungry. thankfully i keep a small fruit bowl in the corner. gettin' up to go grab a bite, i picked a banana out of the bowl. it was a bright yellow, but you might not have known it from the monochromatic filter over the scene. as i began to unpeel it, a voice spoke from the back of my head sayin'...

...hold on...

...go ahead...

...what...

naturally confused, i spun around to see if someone had snuck in while my back was turned. but no, no one was there. however, the words continued to resound in my head. almost like they were callin' me to somethin'. i walked over to the window and took a look outside and the traffic lights at the intersection caught my eye. i looked at them, and looked back at the banana in my hand. that's when it hit me...

see, there was a post i've been lookin' for for ages. in fact, it was the post that inspired me to open my office up in the first place. it was a post comparin' the colors on bananas to the colors on traffic lights. back then, i couldn't find it. but now? i had the experience i needed. i decided to re-open this personal case of mine.

i tucked the banana into my coat and strolled through the rainy streets. i came across that hoppin' joint with jazz music always pourin' out the doors onto the street. the neon sign above the door read "The Search Bar." i headed inside, ready to do some business with my associate, but they were nowhere to be seen. they weren't sittin' at their normal booth. curious, i decided to ask the new robot bartender for help...

say, doll, you know where i can find the Boss?

[Oh! I do apologize. Don Google is upstairs in their office, but they are not seeing any visitors today.]

heh, well we'll see about that, won't we? say, what's your name?

[I am H.A.V.E.N. It stands for Hostess Attending to Virtual and Informational Needs. Essentially, my purpose is to keep track of Don Google's database so they do not have to. I also serve the drinks.]

Haven, huh? nice to meetcha, Haven. i gotta go see the Don though, whether they like it or not. i'll be seein' you later.

i tipped my hat to Haven and walked to the door leadin' to the stairwell. my mind lingered on the robotic hostess, wonderin' what an advanced artificial intelligence construct like her was doin' in this world that had it's basis in 1940's noir, but i wasn't gonna think about it too much. i headed up the stairs and into the Don's office. their goons whipped out their guns and almost took my head clean off, but the big fella themself stopped it.

the office was a far cry from the bustlin' night club on the first floor. where as the club had neon lights and kept things rather dark, probably for the best, the office was more well lit and elegant. it held a more warm atmosphere than the club, but somehow it was more oppressive in here. the walls appeared to be made of wood, bookshelves lined the walls, and a chandelier hung from the ceilin'. there was a carpet in the center of the room that had a kaleidoscope of colors rangin' from blue, red, yellow, and green. and directly across from the door was the desk. mahogany, it seemed, and real fancy too. a giant round window overlookin' the city streets was placed behind it with a large letter "G" formed in the window frames. the Don spun around in their large leather chair and puffed on their cigar.

"'Ey there, Miss Detective. What can I do ya for?"

i'm lookin' for a post involvin' bananas. specifically in relation to traffic lights. you got anythin' like that for me?"

i set the banana i had brought down on the desk and they chuckled at the sight.

"Yea, I think I got what your lookin' for."

with a wave of their hand, one of their goons fetched a file from off one of the shelves and brought it over to them. they thumbed it open with one hand, the other hand draggin' on the cigar. they slid it across the desk.

"This what your lookin' for?"

and there it was. the post that started it all. it had finally come full circle. i grabbed the file eagerly and began to leave the room, but the Don wasn't finished with me yet.

"'Ey, Miss Detective! Don't think I've forgotten about that little favor you owe me..."

i stopped dead in my tracks. preparin' myself for the worst, i stood there frozen. i couldn't even turn around to look at them. but shockingly, the conversation took a different turn.

"I'm not lookin' to cash that in just yet. Just be on the look out for a call, got it? I'm lookin' forward to our partnership."

i couldn't see them, but i knew their snide smile was bearing down on me at that moment. fear filling my body, i left the lion's den and went back to my humble office to file my prize away. as i did so, my stomach rumbled...

damn it. i left the banana with the Don...

Post Case: Closed

[yuna-dan]

Counting (On you) 2

I’m sorry for the hiatus I went into, whenever i was in the mood to write something happened and it just broke my spirit. However, I’m back at Tumblr, at writing and into the fandom. I’m sorry for how long y’all have to wait and I hope you enjoy this just as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

Sorry in advance

Summary: You owe me 5,000,000 kisses and apparetnly you take that seirously. Soulmate AU. Reincarnation AU. Also knowns as the fic where Logan and Roman reincarnated to meet each other.

Warning: Character death, since they have to reincarnate, nothing explicit. Violence. Terminal Illness. Magic

Part 1

7. ~~

Roman always knew there was something missing in his life, and yet he couldn’t quite place it. His life wasn’t horrible, and yet he felt disconnected.

His family always knew about this, and while his mother tried to be supportive, his dad was less… understanding, to put it in a way.

He remembered how his father practically forced him to take that trip into deer hunting, and Roman hated it. The simple idea of taking someone else’s life was horrible, even if it was just an animal.

“I promise you’ll love it, son.” His dad said, with his eyes still on the road.

Roman sighed, and looked out the window. “Whatever, dad.”

~~~

He took a different way that his father, with the excuse to cover up more territory which in reality wasn’t a lie but he just didn’t like the idea of being there.

He sighed, walking slowly, enjoying the clean air and clear sky. It wasn’t exactly a sunny day, but it wasn’t either a cloudy one. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice the presence until he almost crashed with it.

He gasped as the small deer stared at him, with curiosity. Roman attempted to grab the gun, but his intentions failed when the small animal took a step closer, making eye contact with the hunter.

“You’re so beautiful.” Roman wasn’t sure if he was going mad, but it seemed as if the deer smiled with pride. He moved his hand, trying to pet it and the deer nuzzle at his hand.

It was a weird kiss, considering one of them was an animal and the other should be shooting in the air. For some reason the deer didn’t run and the hunter never shoot.

Roman just laid his hand on the deer’s head, “Can I name you Logan?” the deer nuzzled again, licking his hand. Roman kissed his temple again and the deer run away.

Roman’s dad was incredibly angry that his son let the deer run away, but somehow Roman was so happy.

They only saw each other for 45 minutes 43 seconds, but that was all they needed.

~~~

4240 kissing and still counting

~~~ 8. ~~~

Logan didn’t understand how time and their lives where involved, maybe future or past never existed. He knew no one could ever know that he remembered his pasts (or future?) lives. He also knew he was different, and maybe that was the reason his parents abandoned him when he was four years old.

He remembered them, of course, and he missed them dearly, but somehow, he understood that maybe this was how it was supposed to happened.

He yearned to have a family, but he knew no one would adopt the weird-cold-stubborn kid.

Then Mrs. Saunders came, and Logan knew he maybe trust someone. Don’t get him wrong, Virgil was also a different person.

“Weird isn’t an insult, son,” his foster dad would say the day after they formalized the adoption, “It’s a quality we should be proud of.” ~~~

Logan was sixteen, and he grew around labs, weird substances and the necessity to learn learn learn. Virgil was a proud dad, and he hoped that maybe one day they could work together.

Virgil loved his son, and he while he may be a mad scientist he would never put his son in danger. ~~~

Logan was twenty when Virgil revealed his plan, creating a different way of living.

“Kind of a robot?” Logan asked, looking at the design, which resemble almost a human being.

Virgil nodded enthusiastically, “Almost, but with independent thinking and with the ability of having its own choices.”

Logan nodded, internally, he was vibrating with happiness.

~~~

Logan was the one who suggested the acronym of R.O.M.A.N which stand up for Regal Obvious Miracle Anthropological & Noticeable. Virgil never commented about the horrible acronym and Logan never mentioned he just wanted to name him Roman because he remembered. ~~~

When his father took him to the lab right after they were done, he gasped as soon as he saw the robotic form. “He’s quite cool, right?” He’s gorgeous

He continued his job with R.O.M.A.N, giving him the ability to speak, to walk, to think and more importantly to love. He was a creative robot, his creative robot.

He perfectioned R.O.M.A.N even when Virgil couldn’t walk anymore, never leaving behind his father, of course.

“Sir,” R.O.M.A.N’s metallic voice said, “I think you should be with your father.”

Logan cleaned his brow with his forearm, “Come with me, then.”

Virgil’s last months were with his son and his creation, and he couldn’t be happier.

~~~

“Are you going to hold this against me?” R.O.M.A.N asked in his monotone voice one night, in their shared bedroom.

Logan smirked, “I create you, you owe me something.” He said, pressing his lips against the metallic ones

“I only owe you kisses.” He said, pressing another peck to his mouth.

“Four thousand, two hundred and seventy.” Logan whispered with his eyes closed.

“You’re unbelievable, sir.”

~~~

Kisses were different, cold and electric, but, honestly, this was the best life so far. They were together all the time and kissed flied always.

4395, 4396, 4397, 4398, 4399, 4400...

~~~

Except it wasn’t really, because honestly, who falls in love with a robot? Or that was Logan heard when his coworker destroyed his love and burnt this house.

~ 9. ~

This life was sad the moment it started.

Roman diagnosis was when he was only seven years old, and he outlived the expectative doctors had on him. “It’s a miracle.” the nurse said on his fifteen birthdau

What a miracle, to be connected to tubes for the rest of your life.

In reality, Roman considered his life at the hospital a misery.

~~~

Cliché as it sounded, it wasn’t until Logan became his hospital room’s partner that life started to be different. They were both terminally ill, however they never asked each other what about exactly.

First it was friendship, playing card games at night, staying up watching TV or just chatting while listening to music. It wasn’t until their first kiss that both remembered.

“Hey, specs, I missed you.”

Logan smiled softly.

That night they slept together, holding each other and just kissing softly their faces.

This life they couldn’t share more than fifty kisses, but at least they could slightly test marriage life.

Logan used his “wish” to marry Roman, and even if they hide behind friendship they knew the reality. After all, they still would hold each other at night.

Roman passed first, and Logan a few months after him. At least, there wasn’t some dramatic experience.

~~~ 4995550 ~~~

10. ~

Logan was a wizard, a known one actually. He was a dark one. It wasn’t necessarily that he enjoyed putting misery upon people he just needed the money and apparently, people paid a lot of money to get revenge.

Turn my mother-in-law blind, cast a spell under my boss, made this person fall for me.

They were blinded with feelings Logan couldn’t understand at all.

~~~ He remembered the night he met (or again?) Roman. He was shivering, and Logan offered him to enter.

“I’ll pay you whatever you want, just make them stop.”

Logan stared at him, confused. “Who exactly.”

Roman the lifted his shirt, showing the bruises under it making Logan gasped in pain and anger, “My father.”

It was one death spell, the first and last one Logan ever casted.

~~~

The words slipped Roman’s tongue before he had even thought them, “Can I kiss you?”

Logan nodded, absentmindedly.

4451

“Hey.” They smiled at each other, and kissed again.

~~~

Dark magic always come with a price, a price Logan had to ended up paying with his life. He remembered Roman’s tears as he walked into the fire.

“I’m sorry my love.”

“See you soon.”

~~~

We’re 4995240 kisses away

Are you in a hurry, my love?

No, not anymore.

Some thing I need to say it was that both kisses in the hunter life was in the head because cmon. Also Deceit was Roman’s dad. Hope y’all like it.

Please reblog my work <3

If you wanna be tagged in future fics please INTERACT ONCE WITH THIS(Either like, reblog or comment)

[bnrobertson1]

EXCELLENCE IN PRODUCT PLACEMENT

Death Stranding* is a wowing mind-fuck of an experience, surreal and mundane and draining and invigorating. Unafraid to constantly show you Norman Reedus’ bare ass while pontificating on the nature of modern existence, the game is unlike any before it, a venerable nightmare for marketing people and gamers expecting something more tried-and-true. 

Choose a Caption!: “I intend to help all of humanity through these apocalyptic times. But first, a peek of me bottom for the ladies.” -OR- Reedus Rump: Kojima’s Metal Gear-esque Weapon to Appeal to Women. 

Death Stranding is also the host to the best piece of product placement in recent memory. The product? Monster mahfucking Energy** drink, a (demonic?) elixir that boosts main character Sam’s stamina when consumed- a life-giving tonic with only 160g of sugar. You don’t drink water in the game, you drink Monster. Hell yes. For a game about wandering the wreckage of a nuclear-ish event, it’s a masterful touch, eloquently capturing our need as humans to technologically improve everything (yes, even the liquid responsible for life), a destructive compulsion that is the vertebrae and driver of the game’s narrative. Many in the press find this shameless money-grab to be tasteless, but the fact Coca-Cola (a corporation!) undoubtedly paid millions to get it so prominently in the game only speaks to its preposterous-yet-probable presence. It’s probably too subtle to be a Kojima-nod to the futuristic satire of Idiocracy, but Monster Energy will undoubtedly go down as the real world’s Brawndo (just without the electrolytes).    

*More Thoughts on Death Stranding (BEWARE NON-SENSICAL SPOILERS): God Bless Hideo Kojima, the man goes for it. Arguably video game’s most beloved auteur and inarguably the one who most wants to be referred to as “Kubrikickian” and/or “enigmatic,” the mastermind behind the beloved Metal Gear games proves incapable of working small or with gloves with his Death Stranding, leaving both fingerprints all throughout and editors’ calls unreturned. Hours-long cut scenes waxing philosophical about technology’s dooming yet liberating role in our future? Check. 4th wall breaking, star-fucking pop culture references? Check. Singular gameplay whose laborious nature quite soundly proves larger points about things ranging from literary theory to the gig economy? Check. Check. Check.

But between the preposterous acronyms, convoluted packing systems, and Conan O’ Brien cameos, there glimmers dots of genius. Those willing to wade through the oft- incomprehensible industrial-military-complex babble are rewarded with “Holy Shit” moments, those boundary and/or sense exploding things of which Kojima is King. Death Stranding is no different, and although the game never reaches the heights of the Metal Gear games, there are specific parts that unleashed that goosebump wave of awesomeness. The bolo gun that wraps up your enemies instead of killing them, your ability to hog tie the unsuspecting with an elastic strand, the focus on oil and blood as the life force of all things- these are but some of the elements of the game that really work, dripping into the game at just the rate where you keep interested but not overwhelmed.

But the best moment in the game is in a cut-scene where your baby companion (did I mention Kojima is weird?) literally stops bullets with its mind to save you. Now, the prior sentence shouldn’t make sense, and probably doesn’t. But the real nonsensical thing is just how powerful it hit. In a game about loneliness and the brutal nature of existence, this self-less act is totally unexpected but gives you the real feeling that someone has got your back (even if it proves to be a futile gesture). It’s effect was reminiscent of similar film sequences. After about 15-months of Covid I would say the point was comforting in a way I was not anticipating whatsoever. 

Being the only one of my friends insane enough to finish the game’s deliberate but nonetheless grotesquely overlong runtime (60+ hours of fetch quests!), my fellow Metal Gear fans have asked: is it worth playing? To which I really don’t know the answer. It’s absolutely bold and tries to tell a tale that could only be told in the video game medium, but then again, video games aren’t particularly great ways of telling stories. At points it felt like its design was made to be played in the pandemic: it’s time-consuming, meditative, and at times utterly mind-numbing. At its peaks, the game is reminiscent of Grandaddy’s The Sophtware Slump, another generally somber post-technological tale, albeit with less alcoholic robots and more characters named things like Die-Hardman. It’s not nearly as *fun* as other AAA titles, but then again the diametrically different approach of Doom Eternal didn’t inspire a couple thousand words.    

**I can’t remember my first cigarette, beer, or kiss but I do remember the first time I had a Monster Energy drink. Due to some mental, emotional, and physical deficiencies, I was unable to fly for about 6 months- just the thought of driving to the airport turned my anxiety- and palm sweat- on like a firehose. But knowing this fear was simply incompatible with modern life, I gave myself a building block of a goal- make a flight from my then-home of Austin to somewhere close enough that I could rent a car and drive home. I chose Dallas because I had an incentive: to see obscure musical group Nine Inch Nails*** performing at one of the Metroplex’s many arenas.

Getting on the plane took some assistance- specifically in the form of about 2 grams of Alprazolam. The barbiturate calm pressed the right buttons beautifully, having me giggling about clouds as opposed to obsessing about how we were in a speeding steel cylinder 7 miles above the surface of the earth. But when we landed in Dallas about 30 minutes later, the ease evolved into a potent sleepiness. Which is fine if you’re headed to a hotel, or virtually anywhere else in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, but not so much when you’re about to see an Industrial concert with 8,000 other people not exactly known for their chill. Plodding along, I finally made it to the concert, hoping to order a Red Bull as big as its namesake to get me out of blah bliss and into banging. The venue only sold Coke products, so in my apathetic exhaustion, I decided to order a Monster, an energy drink to that point I identified with redneck culture and thus avoided. Finding the whole thing pretty funny- and strongly buzzing off the fact that I had somehow faced my fear and gotten on an airplane- I figured there was probably no better place on earth to try a tall boy Monster Energy Drink Zero Sugar than FUCKING DALLAS, ie, the Monster Energy Drink of America.

The flavor I ordered was in a white can and poured out looked like some sort of large sea mammal had just bricked into a cup. Disgusted but not discouraged, I grabbed the glowing goblet like it was the reins of a dragon and took it by its mighty wing, by which I mean swig. Surprisingly tasty, I thought. Not the Pepsi-fied version of Red Bull I was fearing. The house lights then were dimmed, indicating it was game time. I wisely bought another Monster and went into the show, thinking 32 oz of liquid electricity was exactly what I needed to match Reznor’s energy.

You’re goddamn right I took a picture of my first Monster! 

Whatever chemistry was going on in my body was probably bad, because it felt awesome. Even though Nine Inch Nails had performed a majority of my favorite stuff the night before (their first of two nights in Dallas), the concert was as engrossing as was hoped- the loudness and lights simultaneously pummeling and transcendent. While it goes without saying that it wasn’t for everyone, the entire 3-hour ride back to Austin I was laughing like a maniac, having won a small battle (flying) and getting a big reward for my efforts (NIN). So, when anybody asks me what the ludicrously huge can of white can of energy drink I’m proudly, obnoxiously enjoying tastes like I am genuine when I tell them: “Carbonated Capri-Sun. And Courage.”      

*** I had been scared of NIN growing up too, specifically the video for “Closer” which made my 10 year old guts squirm like worms with its hanging meat and imagery that was confusingly gory yet sexual. I also went to a conservative all-boys school where wearing NIN stuff was rarely allowed, and when it was you’d be shamed by one of the change-petrified cliques that ran the place. My position softened a bit after the landmark Johnny Cash cover of “Hurt,” but what confirmed my fandom was when I heard “The Hand that Feeds�� on a Chicago strip-club sound system- since then, they have soundtracked much of my life. Lesson: There lies wisdom in Strip Clubs.