I've now started Pikmin 3 and Olimar's side mission vlogs are so funny to me.
Like the Koppaite trio are already on the search for this man, and any savvy Pikmin player already knows this means something horrific has happened to Olimar because of how the universe treats Olimar as a person.
And then you unlock Olimar's video logs. All of which he starts with a Middle-Aged Dad Too Close To The Camera angle on him which he never fixes. His very first words are "Hocotate Freight is back in massive debt due to reasons that aren't the President's fault... I say only because this is a company video."
He spends every video making as many under-handed jabs at the President as he can get away with. He starts every video with "I'm Olimar and I never tire of hunting for treasure on this planet" with the ("I say only because this is a company video") implied under his breath. He roasts Louie's incompetence. He complains about the budget space suits they've switched to, which I think counts as inflicting genuine trauma on a man whose entire month of castaway survival on this planet had hinged on the non-failure of his space suit's life support system. He's cold. He's broke even after committing all the atrocities for his boss. His coworker sucks and his boss is a dick. He took a vacation once in the last 5 years and that vacation ended with him learning how to kill remorselessly. No one saves him but himself. No one helps him but himself. He's the world's most underappreciated salaryman. He spends all his logs talking about how much he misses his family and how much he wants to get the fuck out of here, in the civilest and politest and "because this is a company video"est way he can. He's interrupted in every single video by Louie getting Pikmin slaughtered on camera and Olimar just watches the gore and violence as if witnessing a mild inconvenience because he's dead inside.
And he finally makes it to the final vlog where he says "There's a big treasure haul in here, and once I get it I'm giving my boss three games' worth of pent-up middle fingers and then going on a year-long vacation with my family" only to then be cut off as he's torn from the ground by a nightmare creature whose only goal in life is to be a living Saw trap.
Why the fuck does Nintendo keep doing this man like this.
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hii! it’s me yet again. just resending the link. thank you!! 😊
https://www.tumblr.com/little-miss-dilf-lover/740301214616616960/hi-how-are-you-ive-been-reading-your-fics-for-a
hii angel!! really loved writing this!! link - but will summarise to save the search. thanks for requesting, hope like it💌 not back yet, this was in my drafts
MISSED CALLS.
tangerine x fem!reader
summary. tangerine doesn’t answer your calls when he’s away on work. one night you think you hear a someone breaking in
word count. 968
warnings. angst!! little bit of hitting (reader hitting tan) hurt comfort bc it heals my heart and wound cleaning
The severity and extreme conditions of Tangerine's job often left you feeling vulnerable - alone hundreds of miles away as you wallow in worry. Castaway with no way of keeping tabs on him, no way of confirming whether he was dead or alive.
This particular mission had you in all sorts of perpetual grief - in an everlasting spiral of dread as you await his calls. For the last week, you eagerly lingered by the phone, waiting for him to give you updates - anything to let you know he was okay. But you never once received a call - not even a quick, measly text.
It was late, the evening dark and quiet as you set up in the kitchen, wanting to distract yourself from the fear of him being gone by making a hearty dish - cooking your favourite meal to ease the ache in your heart.
Pulling out the ingredients from the fridge, you place them on the counter beside the board and knife, setting everything down on the surface. You pause, stopping still as you hear the sound of faint scuffling from behind the front door - the noise of heavy footsteps.
You grab the large knife from the chopping block, clutching it tightly in your fist as you back away from the window, shrinking in on yourself to minimise being seen. Without a second to think otherwise, you find yourself following the sound, territorial footsteps leading the way.
Standing beside the grand wood door, clasping the chef's knife with the blade pointing down - holding it in the angle Tangerine taught you. Stilling your erratic breath, you pause, hearing a familiar groan from behind the oak.
The jingling of keys confirms your theory, and you yank the door open, the immediate feeling of relief easing your shoulders when you see him on the other side.
"Oh my god," you gasp, dropping the knife to the floor - pulling him in for a hug. "Oh my god," you repeat, shock evident in your breathy tone.
Tangerine drops his duffle bag, gripping you tighter, hands clasping around your mid back - holding you like he didn't want to let go. "I'm so sorry," he mutters, his words full of sorrow. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, clutching you in a tight embrace.
"Why didn't you call? I was so worried," you whisper, squeezing him, relishing the feeling of his upper body. "You didn't even text... nothing," your tone subtly changes, the juxtaposing emotion of anger slowly creeping in. "You didn't text."
You back your head away from its spot in his neck, pulling away. "A whole week— nothing. How could you do that?" you remark, tone growing pointed.
"I know, love. I know—" he starts, his words soft and heartfelt though you were in no mood to hear it this second.
"That's so fucked up," you retort, trying to pull away from his tight hold. "So selfish," pushing and hitting at his chest, attempting to free yourself. "Let go— you're so selfish. You— how could you do—" you continue, words breaking when he doesn't release you - his hold still firm around you even with your hitting. "A whole week."
"Darlin'," he coos, pulling you back in. "I know," he adds, words faint as he mutters them into your forehead - clear regret in his voice.
He slips his hands from their hold on your back, moving to the sides of your face, cupping your cheeks as if to calm you - ground you. Making you look him in the eye, and only then do you really see his face, finally taking note of the cuts and scrapes and bruises marking his skin.
"You're hurt," you mumble, teary eyes darting over his face.
He hums, pressing a kiss into your forehead. "Bit of'a bosh," he weakly smiles, trying to lighten the mood.
You give him that all-too-knowing look, a faint grin lining your lips as you slip from his hold, weaving your hand into his. Leading him into the kitchen, you guide Tangerine to the table, making him sit.
You rummage the cupboard under the sink, collecting the medical kit and a glass of water - setting it all down on the table before washing your hands. You pull out a chair beside him, dragging it closer to take a seat.
You tear open an antiseptic wipe and carefully dap it around the gash above his eyebrow, cleaning the bloody skin. "Lucky it doesn't need stitches," you murmur, eyes focused on the wound.
Tangerine doesn't respond, not even a hum - appearing as though he was preoccupied, just intently gazing at you as you mend him.
You part focus from his eyebrow and sift through the first-aid box. "I'm sorry for hitting you," you whisper, keeping your gaze down. "That was..." you raggedly exhale as you squeeze antibacterial cream onto your index, reaching to smear it on his skin. "That was stupid of me— shouldn't have done it," you shake your head, brushing off the thought.
His head cocks to the side in disapproval. "Don't say that," he softly scolds, his tone still warm and loving. "You don't need to be sorry... for anything."
You slump back into your seat, finally looking Tangerine in the eyes - finally meeting his gaze. "I thought you were dead," you admit, fidgeting with your fingers.
He notices your uneasy hands and places his over yours - large palms engulfing yours, the sentiment immediately comforting you. "I'm okay, darlin', I promise," he says softly, squeezing your hands. "I ain't ever gonna let that happen, okay? Ya'hear me? I will never let that happen."
"But what if when—"
"No," he cuts you off, his single word firm and gentle. "I will never put you through that."
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