#when you’re half way through a meal then there’s Louie

[sarohy]

Lunch break

[sirwow]

Having some WC gameplay shower thoughts today about how i would actually make 5 captains work so time for a bit of a ramble.

though before i do ramble i wanted to do some clarification of the different parts of WC. The tag #pikmin wratihs call refers to the entirety of it- the story. When it comes to the theoretical gameplay tho theres 2 (or kinda 3?) different parts. First part is just Olimar and Louie being rescue corps members and generally being pretty similar to Pik 4 gameplay outside no oatchi. Second part follows Olimar, Louie, Alph, Brittany, and Charlie all returning to 404 as corps members with their own ship and the gameplay is pretty original outside the general skeleton of Pikmin gameplay. in between those is a koppai focused story but that would only work if it was a pikmin graphic novel game as there literally is only actual pikmin for about 1 page lmao.

Now then on to how Iv been thinking about making 5 captains work in the 2nd half of WC:

Essentially at the start of every day it starts off in the main ship and you choose how many captains you’re bringing out into the field. More captains the merrier obviously but when you bring one out there’s a major caveat. Each of the 5 captains don’t just do nothing while left behind, they have their own upgrades they develop over the day that they’re left on the ship! Some projects might take them multiple days but regardless they’re always working towards something in their own given fields.

Said fields for each goes as following:

Louie: Food! Louie for once actually gets to subject the others to his meals he makes and each one will give a different benefit for the day, starting simple with simply moving faster or having more health, up to his more ambitious meals that can have more extreme changes to the day with their own extreme draw backs (such as a food that makes a day 50% longer but every enemy in the area respawns) He has to perfect and collect the ingredients for said meals though so he needs the off time to do so

Alph: Suit/Gear upgrades. No raw materials required but time and patience is. The suits are only just now custom made since the urgency of this mission was so high and so he’s up to the task of gradually upgrading them on the mission.

Brittany: Onion and even Pikmin improvements. Her botany might as well be used to help the little plants that help them and so she’ll work towards safe ways to biologically improve the state of your onion and the pikmin that come out of it (Such as making it passively grow pikmin or even at a higher level, flower a few of the pikmin inside at the start of a new day)

Charlie: Physical training of the captains, basically like puppy point training but it’s timed instead. Running, swimming, jumping and hell even pulling things. Dw he’ll make the captains who were out for the day pull an all nighter to learn them /j

Olimar iv yet to come up with a good one yet.,. I thought maybe the ship but it would be stupid to force people to wait to go to a new area, especially thinking about my speedrunning chums. Treasure is still all you need for power.

This whole system is basically to encourage people to play with all the characters and really plan out the day ahead. Also a way of making each play through a bit different then the last as you could prioritize upgrading one thing over another.

Now then lastly I just have a few gameplay changes; Spicy spray will still effect all pikmin in play but will not flower them. Instead nectar puddles can be picked up if you so wish and eventually used in one large burst to flower all pikmin out on the field. Ice pikmin are nerfed- they can only freeze an enemy if eaten and otherwise will just slow down an enemy while attacking and have the same pitiful damage as winged pikmin. Purples are technically not nerfed but due to the new mechanic of carrying pikmin around in the pack to go up ledges and stay together easier, they have one downside of being stupid heavy on the captains. 100 carry weight pack can only carry 10 purples due to their weight. Whites now get a buff that will passively poison enemies over time depending on how much were on them and how long.

That’s all my thoughts atm, always open to questions about mechanics or anything else really. Currently still can’t draw bc of my hand tho so no doodle for ur time <\3

[astrodances]

**SLIGHT SPOILERS for “The Fight for Castle McDuck!” ahead!**

Because writing Goldie and Louie texting is so much fun.

*****

Yet Another Secret of Clan McDuck!

Goldie both loves and hates room service.

She loves the anticipation of knowing that a nice, hot meal that she didn’t have to make herself can and will arrive at any minute, ready for her to dig into after a long day of going after her next mark. But at the same time...she hates the actual waiting.

Still, it gives her time to freshen up, relax a bit. Maybe get a movie started on the TV, or text a certain green...nephew.

Only a week ago now, Goldie found out from her sources (while heading down to the Underworld to get a certain fallen wreath) that Louie had been at The Spice-A-Torium in Instanbull the week before that, facing off against Rockerduck himself, with the help of yet another kid to add to the family list (how many did that make now?). Of course, Goldie had texted him right after hearing that to see how he fared (she knew things could get spicy at those dealings), but what she didn’t tell him is that her source had said that Louie had used her as a reference in a couple of side deals, calling her “Aunt Goldie,” and that now, people were identifying him as “O’Gilt’s nephew.”

She really should’ve reminded him not to throw out ties that casually, that people could use it against him, or even her, but...they both have reputations that protect them (and if not, well, they’d be messing with the wrong aunt then). And, if she’s being honest with herself...she likes the way “O’Gilt’s nephew” sounds.

Not that she’s going to tell him that anytime soon.

Goldie sinks into her room’s couch, her phone already out and opened to her texts, and wills her heart to ignore that increasingly-familiar familial warmth bubbling up once again. Scrooge and the kids are staying in Dismal Downs for a couple of days, and it’s bad enough that she’s planning on sneaking into McDuck Manor before they get back not to steal something, but to surprise Scrooge and Louie when they get there.

But that doesn’t mean her heart has to make a big deal out of it.

Goldie: How’s the castle, kid?

It’s getting close to midnight in Scotland, so Goldie won’t be surprised if she doesn’t hear from Louie until tomorrow on the half-chance he’s already asleep. She drops her phone to her side and picks up her water bottle from the end table, taking sip after sip.

After a minute, her phone buzzes with a message, then another, making her smile more than she has any right to.

Sharpie: Cold as ever. And y’know, we found some magical bagpipes, saved them from some bad guys, and had some statues of our ancestors come to life. Typical day. 😝

Sharpie: Also we met our Aunt Matilda.

Goldie smiles again, this time though over Scrooge’s sister. She’s met her exactly twice, both times by circumstance (her past self would never have let her get close enough to Scrooge to willingly want to meet his family), but each time ended up being a riot as Matilda would tease Scrooge for having a girlfriend, thus helping her give him hell (yet another trait of her past self). Looking back between those meetings and the first night she met the triplets, Goldie now knows exactly where the boys get their teasing gene from.

Goldie: I like her. Give her my regards.

Goldie looks up and finally takes stock of what’s on TV. Whatever channel she put it on has delved into a new movie, some comedy from the forties. She can live with it, so she turns her attention to the time on her phone just as a new message comes in.

Any minute now. Food.

But for now, she’s looking at a selfie of Louie with Matilda leaning over his shoulder, waving at the camera. They’re surrounded by bits of concrete and other debris, with their sleeves rolled up and their clothes covered in dust, and Goldie can just make out the back of Scrooge’s broadcloth coat in the background as he lifts something onto a pedestal of some sort.

Sharpie: She’s right here. She says hi!

Goldie grins and nods silently at her phone, happy to see both of them looking well, but surprised at how...awake everyone seems to be in the castle at their hour.

Goldie: Hi Matilda!

Goldie: Also: did a twister take a wrong turn in Glasgow?

Sharpie: Right. The statues? They kinda made a mess of things, so we have to fix them. There was...a lot of fighting here tonight.

She doesn’t press it, not now. She’s about to eat, and everyone there seems to be happy for now. Luckily for her, Louie saves her from having to think of something to say in response.

Sharpie: Wait, oh man, hang on.

Goldie does as told, watching with renewed interest as a few seconds pass before those three little typing bubbles pop up. Briefly, she considers that the statues have come back to life.

After more than a minute of on-again/off-again bubbles, she finds herself getting interested in the movie and drinking her water again. Just as she takes a long sip, a new text chimes in.

Sharpie: Aunt Matilda wants me to ask you, how are things in Goldieburg?

Goldie does a spit take, her water spraying out into the room and all over her phone screen. Whatever brain cells she has left are used to automatically wipe her screen across her sleeve to dry it, because she’s otherwise occupied with her face heating up and Louie’s last word echoing through her head.

Goldieburg???

Matilda’s teasing. It must be her teasing, though...Goldieburg...is definitely a new one. One she can’t even begin to imagine the origins of, though she suspects that Scrooge’s face is probably just as red as hers right now. She also suspects that another fight is starting up, and judging by the fact that Louie was able to send his last text, she’d wager that Matilda is winning.

A knock on her door draws Goldie’s attention away from her phone, but does little to calm the growing turmoil within her. Of course her food would arrive at this moment. She spares a final gawk at her phone before getting up and throwing it to the couch cushions.

It takes all remaining ounces of her self-control for Goldie to ignore the bellboy’s questioning stares at her frenzied appearance as he pushes her room service table into the room, pops open the wine for her, and tells her that she can call the front desk at anytime for them to come get the table when she’s done. She doesn’t know how much she actually tips him, but judging by the wide, bubbly grin that replaces his stare as he rushes out, her mind was far from her wallet when she opened it.

Food. Also far from her mind, for now.

Goldie snatches up her phone as soon as the door is locked again, hoping that there’ll be some explanation waiting for her.

It’s not that she’s embarrassed by the teasing - heaven knows that she’ll be the first to tease Scrooge, for any number of reasons - but this one seems so...personal. So specific. She supposed she should be flattered to affect Scrooge so much that he came up with this, whatever the circumstances. And perhaps that’s it - maybe it’s not the shock of the...uniqueness of “Goldieburg,” but rather it’s that stupid schoolgirl-crush-like warmth creeping through her veins at the idea of Scrooge getting flustered about her around his family, of him telling them about her - however involuntarily or distractedly, it seems - in a way other than a cautionary warning.

That, and Louie knows about it. Somehow, she has the feeling that this is going to be so much worse than him - any of the kids, really - calling her “aunt.”

There are notifications for seven new texts and a photo.

Sharpie: Uncle Scrooge says for you to totally read that last text and to definitely bring it up next time you see him

Sharpie: And that Goldieburg is his favorite place in the whole wide world

Sharpie: and that I should stop texting if I wanna stay in the will

Sharpie: wait what??

Goldie notices a time jump between the last text and the next.

Sharpie: Good news, I’m still in the will, thanks to Aunt Matilda.

A picture follows, of Matilda holding Scrooge back with one arm looped under his shoulder and the other holding him in a headlock. There’s a dead-seriousness in Matilda’s eyes but otherwise she looks like she just won the sibling battle to end all sibling battles. Scrooge, meanwhile, is redder than his coat, missing his hat, and looks ready to break Louie’s phone, even though there’s no way in hell he’s getting out of his current predicament, especially considering that an emu is holding one of his legs in its beak. Still, the photo seems to have been taken from a safe distance away.

(Goldie will have to ask about the emu later, when things aren’t so....chaotic.)

Sharpie: Sooooo...does this make you the mayor of Goldieburg? Or is Scrooge the mayor and you’re the leading citizen? 😂

Sharpie: Oh! Apparently there’s a Goldiesota, too!

Goldie is now very certain that she is on fire, especially with that penultimate text. It seems that she and Scrooge are both definite victims of teasing here now. She buries her head into her free hand and rubs it down her face, pausing to type out the only response she can manage right now.

Goldie: I no longer like Matilda.

Louie’s response is immediate.

Sharpie: Awww

Sharpie: But she likes you! In fact, she says she would *love* to live in Goldieburg.

Sharpie: I would, too! I can just imagine it - cons and schemes widespread, with no laws getting in the way. Infinite gold that holds its value. It’d be paradise!

Sharpie: Though I’m sure Uncle Scrooge has something different in mind.

Sharpie: Wait ew. No. Nevermind.

Sharpie: But you know what I mean.

Sharpie: 💛💛💛💛💛

Goldie rolls her eyes, and takes a deep breath. Suddenly her appetite is back, and the movie seems very captivating. She needs a distraction right now, anything to quell the butterflies. She may be warming up to the idea of family, but right now, she feels like she’s being pulled straight into the heart of the castle across the ocean, and that’s a little too much.

So she throws her phone on silent and wanders over to the room service table, taking a swig of wine straight from the bottle before lifting the tray cover on the center plate to see the juiciest-looking steak one could ever hope for, still steaming.

Culinary bliss.

By the time she finishes eating, Goldie is certain that all of Castle McDuck is asleep, or that they should be. She saw enough debris in those pictures, they’ll need the rest to finish cleaning up tomorrow. So she dares to turn her phone face-up again and take it off silent mode.

Handfuls of texts from multiple people, and several missed calls.

She delves into those from Scrooge first. As much as she doesn’t want to talk to him yet about all this - and she’s sure he feels the same way - if he tried to reach out to her, then she knows he’s going to at least provide the basic facts, without any teasing. An anchor point for her to refer to in her other texts.

Sourdough: Don’t listen to any of them, the hellions! I swear it’s not what you think. Whatever it is you’re thinking.

Sourdough: We can talk this over if you want, dear. Whenever you want.

Sourdough: Or not talk it over. I personally would like to forget Matilda ever opened her big dumb mouth.

Sourdough: Correction. Matilda does “not have a big dumb mouth and tell her that I am the best sister you could ever hope for, or I’ll serve Emu-tilda her breakfast in your hat.”

That text earns a particularly amused snicker from Goldie. She can just imagine the giant bird she saw in the picture earlier staring Scrooge down as he typed that.

Sourdough: Look, can I call you?

Goldie surmises the missed calls from Scrooge happened here.

Sourdough: Never mind. We’ll catch up after this trip. When I’m *not* surrounded by these...troublemakers. Good night, love.

The butterflies have moved from Goldie’s stomach to her heart, and an entirely new anticipation fills her with excitement. If she was a schoolgirl in this situation, she imagines this would be like having to wait over the weekend to talk to her crush on the playground on Monday. Never mind the fact that she’s not even trying to figure out how to get out of this, at least not yet, she realizes belatedly.

There’s one more text from Scrooge, sent after a time jump.

Sourdough: Do NOT believe anything you hear about Clan McScrooge!

Goldie has to stifle a laugh at that, and guesses that she’ll definitely be seeing more of “Clan McScrooge” in her other text messages. But first...

Goldie: Good night, Scroogey. 😘

She’s so tempted to send “Scroogey McScroogey,” but between that and “Goldieburg,” she really shouldn’t tempt fate when they’re all each other has in a boat surrounded by teasing family.

It takes all of five seconds for Scrooge to send back a response, one that’s so simple but enough to tune out the night’s noise for a few moments.

Sourdough: ❤️

She imagines him fumbling to put his phone back on his nightstand next to some big ornate medieval-style bed, his mind already luring him back to a deep sleep. Never mind the whole “Goldieburg” thing, it sounds like he already had an exhausting night between the fighting and the statues and the bagpipes. And the emu.

As she swipes back to see her conversations, Goldie immediately notices an unknown number with a few texts waiting for her. After reading the first one, she makes a contact for it.

Emu-tilda: Goldie! This is Matilda, Scrooge’s favorite sister.

Emu-tilda: Louie gave me your phone number to help make sure you’re okay.

Okay? Goldie pauses, a wave of uninvited guilt washing over her, and she fights every instinct to immediately switch to Louie’s texts. Instead, she wills herself to read through Matilda’s, if at a faster speed.

Emu-tilda: I’m sorry about Goldieburg and all. When I saw that it was you that Louie was talking to, I wanted to get under Scroogey’s skin a bit, so I told the bairns a tale from ages ago.

Emu-tilda: I’m sure Scrooge will fill you in, and if not, I’ll be more than happy to.

Goldie makes a mental note of the offer, and of the ensuing picture of a smiling, somewhat frazzled-looking Matilda with her arm wrapped around her emu, posing for the camera. She’ll respond to her texts later, but for now, she switches to her conversation with Louie, having to scroll back up to where he left off.

Sharpie: An update: Uncle Scrooge got out of the headlock, and is now chasing Aunt Matilda on her emu around the room.

Sharpie: Matilda’s on the emu, that is. Scrooge can’t catch his breath.

Sharpie: Oh! Now they’re in the hallways!

Sharpie: And Scrooge has a sword from the wall.

Sharpie: He’s totally defending your honor.

A blurry picture follows of Scrooge from behind, wielding a sword as he runs after his sister, a scowl clear on the visible side of his face. Goldie saves the photo - she can definitely use this later.

Sharpie: Wait no, now the emu has the sword!

Another picture, this one much more stable, follows again. Indeed, the emu has  somehow gotten ahold of Scrooge’s sword and is now chasing him through some sort of dining hall. Matilda herself even looks surprised and worried as she clutches at the feathers on the bird’s back.

Another keeper for the camera roll, if only for the sheer hilarity of it all.

Sharpie: Ok, Great-Grandma Downy is awesome. She totally just yanked the sword right out of the emu’s mouth while she was still running. Emu’s confined to Matilda’s room for the rest of the night. We’re all having some hot chocolate around a fire.

Sharpie: So, all’s well that end’s well.

There’s another time jump before the last batch of texts.

Sharpie: Right...?

Sharpie: Aunt Goldie?

Sharpie: You’re not mad about all this, are you? We’re all sorry for teasing you and Uncle Scrooge, and I know he didn’t mean anything bad by Goldieburg.

Sharpie: Are you ok?

Judging from the next few texts, Goldie guesses that this is when the missed calls from Louie came in.

Sharpie: I’m guessing you’re busy. At least, I hope so.

Sharpie: Again, it was all just some family teasing. Y’know how it is.

Sharpie: If it makes you feel any better, you can bring up Clan McScrooge the next time you talk to him.

Sharpie: Goldie?

Goldie blinks up from her phone, overwhelmed by the growing panic radiating from the texts and the guilt rekindled in herself. The idea of Louie, let alone anyone in Scrooge’s family, being this worried about her, even if there’s no actual cause for it, makes it hard to swallow and she finds herself quickly reaching for her water, chugging down the last third of it.

Y’know how it is.

She can’t say that she does. Her own family was never this close, never bounced back this easily after fights. They never...cared like this.

Maybe her heart’s right in making a big deal out of this.

After a few deep breaths, Goldie finally answers Louie.

Goldie: I’m ok, Sharpie. Was just eating dinner, had my phone on silent. Didn’t mean to scare you.

She’s very much surprised and totally-not-touched when he immediately texts back. He should definitely be asleep at this point.

Sharpie: Oh good. So, you’re not mad?

Goldie: Mad? No. Curious about the emu? Most definitely.

Sharpie: 😂😂 Understandable.

Goldie: You should be in bed though.

Sharpie: Oh I am! Couldn’t sleep yet though.

Goldie: Uh-huh. Love you too. Now go to sleep.

Sharpie: 🥰😴💛

Goldie: 💚

Not even half an hour ago, Goldie would have sworn off her impending trip to McDuck Manor in the name of not wanting to face Scrooge after the revelation of Goldieburg. But now the trip is back on, and she can’t deny to herself that she’s eager to see the ones she cares about.

That, and pay a visit to Scrooge McScrooge, mayor of Goldieburg.

[picklesmin]

Outside A Galaxy Of My Own

(How many misadventures can one have on one planet? How many days trekked, relationships forged? How many hopeful smiles and bitter tears? How many lives lost and altered forever? (My very first fic here and Pikmin fic in general, inspired by the great @pikfic!)

-

Chapter 1: Dew, Spark, and Cinder

-

The familiar screech of horrific and yet entrancing beasts was the first thing Olimar heard as he entered the cool air of the early dawn. Even from the damp ground he stood on Olimar could see the monsters in the distance. He stretched and was actually quite certain he heard something crack. He was way too old for this.

“Another day in the grime, huh Louie? ...Louie? Louie!” Glancing over his shoulder, he was barely surprised to see his underling still there behind the glass window of the ship, crumbs on his face. “Get out here!”

Sighing as the younger Hocotation apathetically trudged out, Olimar turned the dials on the Onion and summoned pikmin from the ship’s hull. Their little comrades slid down the legs, eager to help as always.

“Morning, everyone. Sleep well?” Olimar gave the pikmin and Louie a friendly smile. “We’ve still yet to explore a certain part of the woods that I have on my map.” Pressing a button, a small pixelated map appeared on one of the many screens adorning his suit. “But luckily it’s at least close by.”

Louie bobbed his head dully, clearly oh so excited. “So I take purples and smash the creeping chrysanthemum while you harvest? Lost almost twenty yesterday.”

“Right…” Olimar’s optimism faded for a moment, a more somber one overtaking, as it did for the pikmin. The snagret had leaped out of nowhere, leaving only masacre behind and tortured screams. Just more sounds to add to Olimar’s nightmares and eternal guilt.

“That sounds good Louie.” He tried for a teasing smile. “I thought I was the Captain here.” It wasn’t quite returned, leaving the Hocotation sighing and wondering why he even bothered.

The trek wasn’t long, and the group passed the corpse of a bulborb that they ran out of time to displace before sunset. Or rather, one Olimar had to all but physically drag Louie away from cooking—and subsequently becoming a meal himself.

Hammering the hostile plant beast was easy enough, and routine even by this point. Still, Olimar found himself standing by cautiously, always waiting to see if he needed to step in. He was never sure if his concerns over his younger charge were that of being a Captain, or even of being a father.

Whistling his group away before the corpse flattened them, Olimar began to order his pikmin to the pellet posies. And...he immediately stopped.

Half their usual size and appearing frail and almost hunched over, the flowers were a baffling sight and even Louie blinked in surprise.

“Are they sick?”

Olimar felt his fear spike. Was that possible? There were so many uncharted dangers on this planet, so was there one that could poison entire gardens? Botanical threats were so many, and he already knew pikmin could become sickly and hostile. Was this only the start of a catastrophic wipe out?

Before his thoughts could terrify him further, his pikmin were already trying to destroy the flower. With just a kick the stem snapped like a stale green bean, and Olimar was too grimly fascinated to stop them.

The first clue that something was definitely different about the offspring was how each pellet only produced a single sprout, despite the colors corresponding with their onion. Olimar was nervous to make his way over, and all the more nervous to pick what appeared to be only half formed leaves.

Three baby, legitimately baby pikmin popped out.

“Captain Olimar, I sense something off about these pikmin. Some sort of deficiency is causing their suboptimal height.”

It was difficult to really focus individually on pikmin when you always had a large group, but sure enough the baby leaves really did seem to be that...babies.

“Not only that, but their leaves appear damaged or maybe even underdeveloped. Do you think the state of them has anything to do with the state their posies were found in?”

The Hocotation cast another look over his shoulder to the slightly withered looking stems. Or...what remained of them at least. They did appear so weak he was surprised they could manage to hold themselves upright.

“Peculiar,” Olimar mused with a stunned blink. “I’ve never seen such a thing...but then again, those pellet posies were incredibly small. I thought perhaps they were merely buried deep but...maybe the flowers really were stunted.”

Olimar bent down to the baby pikmin’s level and he tentatively reached towards one of their stems. With the utmost gentleness he ran a hand along the smooth leaf. It didn’t appear rough or stiff as a dry leaf would be and invoked a pleasant chitter from the pikmin. It didn’t seem to be in any pain.

But what did this mean for the pikmin then? Were they unable to ever mature? Did they not even have the same abilities their brethren did? He knew the only way to be sure of such a thing was to test that theory, but the leafs may not be able to survive the results!

“My hypothesis is that they will be generally slower than leaf pikmin as well. And leafs are already so slow! What will you use them for, Captain Olimar?”

“I…” The man blinked, at a loss. “I don’t know, actually.” It was already clear these babies wouldn’t be able to hold their own in battle. Would he, for the first time, have pet pikmin?

“Well...it’s clear that I won’t be able to have you three in combat,” he told the baby leafs. “Unless…” Perhaps he could test something.

Olimar turned back to the colony of normal sized pikmin. At the very least they didn’t appear to be viewing their new siblings with contempt. They seemed, thankfully, as accepting with the children as any.

Language barriers were always so difficult, leading to so many frustrating situations, and, unfortunately...many deaths in the field. Tapping his cheeks enough times and gesturing seemed to clue a yellow pikmin on what it was supposed to do. Although the creature certainly seemed hesitant.

“It’s alright,” Olimar assured the pikmin. “I’ll be fine, I just want to test something.”

After a moment the pikmin pressed its cheek against the other’s glove, and Olimar hissed as a powerful shock had him withdraw quickly. His pikmin shrugged apologetically.

Olimar shook his hand for a moment and then he bent down to the newly harvested yellow leaf. The tiny pikmin pressed its head against their leader’s hand as well, but Olimar was concerned when he barely felt the slightest spark. It was as weak as a static shock from a mere bedsheet.

“Hmm, quite concerning. It would appear these tiny pikmin indeed are far less stronger than the others!” the ship buzzed. “I’m unsure of what use they may be, Captain Olimar!” The machine didn’t want to say the little things were useless, but Olimar knew it was thinking it.

“I’ll...figure something out.” The Hocotation looked over to where the tiny critters were attempting to climb a berry stem. The poor little things could barely manage with their stubby legs.

Olimar looked over to Louie, who seemed to be watching the miniature pikmin as well.

“They’re small. Too small, aren’t they?”

Olimar cast Louie a wayward grin. “Oh they’ll find their place.” Hopefully not in a monster's belly.

-

That evening secure in his ship Olimar pulled back from an email with a fond laugh as he shook his head. His family had been quite excited by the thought of him having permanent pikmin...at least for the time being. And oh, trust his children to come up with the cutest names! The baby pikmin had crept curiously over, tilting their heads at the glowing monitor.

“Well, you three, what do you think about having your own names? Hm?” They continued looking inquisitively at him. “Dew, Spark, and Cinder.” Saying each individual name, he pointed to the corresponding pikmin. Spark of course being the yellow, Cinder the red, and Dew the blue.

Olimar gestured over to where he saw his young cohort heating up a bisque. “Dewy, and Louie!” he exclaimed, snickering at the rhyme the pikmin didn’t understand and that Louie seemed to roll his eyes at.

“You’re naming them now?” Louie asked, a brow raising. “You said that’s a bad idea. Can’t get attached.” Not that Louie had the inclination to adore the little aliens as his Captain did. He respected them and led them as Olimar did, but it was harder for the younger man to feel strong bonds so easily.

“Not all of them,” Olimar said, smile falling. He didn’t seem sure of it himself. “Just, er, these three. My children named them actually. I believe we have our first pygmy pikmin, Louie! They’re a lot more underdeveloped than the others and don’t seem like they might grow. Even their leaves are only half formed. I was thinking in time, they can help out through the ship. Or stay close to our campsite. I’ll find...something.”

He did want to find use for them, not just because it was routine for Olimar by this point, but he didn’t know what emotional depth pikmin had, let alone these three. He didn’t want them to think that he thought they were less capable. Which...was sort of true.

“Like I said, they’ll find their place.”

Louie watched the pygmies climb into his boss’s lap. “Like in your lap?” He sounded far more cautious about the situation. This planet was hostile and unforgiving and he knew at any second their new little friends could go from Olimar’s arms to a Bulbear’s stomach. And he also knew the...emotional repercussions that could have on Olimar.

The captain’s eyes were captured by the wide ones gazing up at his, and piercing into his heart. He knew what Louie was thinking, and he was thinking the same thing. Naming the pygmies...it was a very dangerous idea, but his children came up with the idea. And he couldn't just not do it.

“They’ll stay in the ship.”

Louie watched as Cinder clambered her way over to him and shook his leg as she tried to hug it. “Okay,” he shrugged.

-

The wide array of space at their window, Olimar peered into the black canvas littered with stars. It had been an interesting day, one he was eager to record if his exhaust allowed it. And also, if he could find time between dashing back and forth from trying to keep the pygmies from getting into mischief. It seemed that them being as different as they were made them far less inclined to listen to him. It felt like when Oliver and Lily were toddlers!

“Good night, Louie.” The captain yawned, and also pat the interior of the ship as a silent good night. He couldn’t resist a grin over at his charge resting in the other bunk. “Don’t let the bed pikmin bite.”

“Nnn….bite back,” was the only half asleep mumble he received as Louie buried deeper under his blankets.

Dew, Spark and Cinder were still at Olimar’s feet and he gestured to the cargo where the leaf children could sleep. They scurried passed him into his bunk.

“There’s barely enough room for me, you know!” he told the leaf babies as he discarded his suit in favor of some furry pajamas. He didn’t seem to have any objection to the idea however.

As Olimar tiredly lay on the bed he pushed himself up as the pygmies settled on him. They merely sat there, their cute little stems bobbing around as they looked at him with adoring eyes. Olimar felt his heart threatening to melt on him.

“You really need to stop with that before you make me adore you,” he told them, but he knew it was too late for that. “You probably can't even understand me...can you?” The three leafs tilted their heads and Olimar chuckled. “Probably not…It’s very late. You should go to sleep now,” he told the young pikmin. They curled into him like kittens and Olimar sighed. He couldn’t deny it was nice to hold someone after so many nights cold and alone.

-

(Hope I didn’t do too badly, still getting the world down despite my endless researching haha. We started on a cute note...but it probably won’t stay cute for long ;)

Although each chapter is a story on its own many will still have linking elements, such as Dew, Spark, and Cinder. Longer ones will also be specified in parts in the chapter title.

There will be no romance, most likely (besides Olimar’s wife), and everything will be more platonic, especially considering Louie and Olimar and Charlie and Alph, as those take on more parental dynamics here! We’ll range from super cute to super sad and everything in between. Forgive me if the formatting is off, this is my very first attempt!)

[mariephillipswriter]

Square Eyes

Do they still say that if you watch too much television you'll get square eyes? Or is that an expression that went out of fashion when kids started spending all their time in front of the internet? Putting aside the obvious riposte (televisions aren't square, they're rectangular) I can report that I have been doing extensive research in this area and have come to the scientific conclusion: no, you won't. I have been watching so much television. SO MUCH TELEVISION. I never believed that I could watch such an immense quantity of television. On the whole I don't watch it during the day except for sometimes when I am having my breakfast and also when having my lunch, but in the evenings, when I have finished pretending to work, I might start watching television at about 6pm, or 5pm, or 4pm on a bad day, and keep going until, say, 11pm or midnight. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE. HOW CAN A PERSON LIVE THIS WAY. Well it's easy enough, it turns out, if you're under lockdown in London in December and it's dark from 4pm and raining most of the time and you have the emotional resources of a gnat and reading is too demanding and talking on the phone is too exhausting and the light in the living room is not good enough for doing a puzzle in evening hours and you quit social media a month or so ago because it was driving you out of your mind with anxiety. I don't watch six or seven or eight hours of television every night. Don't be ridiculous. Some nights I only watch about three hours of television because I have a Zoom call or I'm cooking dinner or I've got stuck into a good cryptic crossword, maybe the Saturday Times Jumbo one because the Guardian ones are too gimmicky, or at last I've found a book gripping yet easy enough that I can't put it down (thank you Robert Galbraith, thank you Marian Keyes), but I would say that three hours is the minimum and my god that is a LOT. EVERY DAY. THREE HOURS. MINIMUM. But you don't need to me to explain that to you because you are all watching three four five six seven hours of television every day and when you are not watching television you are phoning your friends and first of all talking about the specific way that your own personal lockdown is terrible but then eventually saying 'what are you watching on television' because what else is there even to talk about? At the start of lockdown there was quite a small pool of television that everyone was watching (that thing about the Tiger King, which I didn't watch because by the time I got back from my early lockdown in Costa Rica you'd all seen it, and Normal People which I didn't watch because I was too embarassed to sit through all the sex scenes with my flatmates, and I May Destroy You, which I didn't watch because about five minutes of it was enough to send me into a massive panic spiral, but I hear was very good), but once we had all (other than me) got through that and Covid dragged on for months, our conversations began taking on the tenor of Vikings crowding around one another as a boat returns from a foray, WHAT IS OUT THERE, WHAT DID YOU FIND OUT THERE, IS THERE SOMETHING OUT THERE THAT I MIGHT DESIRE? And the Viking says yes, there is this thing called Schitts Creek but you really have to push on through the first season because I promise you it gets better and better and you will start to love that obnoxious family. And then we all watched Schitts Creek. (Including me, it's wonderful, you have to push on through the first series you will start to love that obnoxious family, Dan Levy is a divinity in human form and if you want more of him you could do worse than checking out the lesbian Christmas-themed romcom Happiest Season, which you can rent from Amazon Prime.) And now we are beyond even that and all our lives resonate with the screeching sound of a televisual barrel being scraped and now this is when things get really interesting (or put another way, VERY VERY BORING) because everyone has fractured and we are all watching different kinds of random stuff found in the dusty corners and unloved algorithms of our streaming services. There's the friend who has got into watching obscure French crime series on Netflix (The Chalet! La Mante!) and the friend who is watching every episode of Poirot on Britbox (thirteen series, 70 episodes) (though that pales in comparison with the friend who did a total rewatch of Friends from beginning to end (236 episodes) and finished it ages ago and is starving for more) and the friend who calls me up seemingly every week with a new old show nobody else has ever heard of (such as the early 1990s Nigel Havers and Warren Clarke comedy spy drama Sleepers, which he is watching old-school-style on DVD, and which apparently is like The Americans only with Nigel Havers and funny, and also, you should watch The Americans.) When I look back on the amount of television I have watched this year it defies comprehension. There were the things I would have watched anyway like the whole of Strictly Come Dancing and His Dark Materials, and the things that took me by surprise, like the stealthily hilarious Danny Dyer gameshow The Wall that was on straight after Strictly and drove me into a total obsession with the way that Danny Dyer says "Drop 'Em" (he's talking about the balls that are dropped down the wall, it's hard to explain, you can find it on iPlayer, but meanwhile if you only click on one link in this whole newsletter PLEASE click on that one), there were the things that were created especially to get me through lockdown (the wonderful David Tennant and Michael Sheen Zoom comedy Staged, which is not only extremely funny but allows you to see inside David Tennant's house which I'm not sure I am technically allowed to watch because of the restraining order? Anyway, new series coming on Monday, fellow DT fans) and the familiar things I watched to soothe me when it all got too much (Doctor Who, starting before Tennant even gets in on the action, right at the begining of the New Who seasons with Christopher Eccleston, because armchair space travel is the only kind of travel we are going to be getting for a while) and the exciting things I watched when I could no longer bear the tedious repetition of every identical day (Line of Duty, in which the famous-for-the-far-inferior Bodyguard writer Jed Mercurio delivers ludicrously compelling twisty-turny stories about police corruption that cannot be predicted for even a nanosecond) and the things that I watched just because I loved them (Fosse/Verdon, the Bob Fosse and Gwen Verdon bio-series starring the breathtakingly charismatic Sam Rockwell and Michelle Williams, which is one of the best-made pieces of television I've ever seen, Love Life, the Anna Kendrick romantic comedy series which was surprisingly touching and truthful about the relationships that make up a life and which didn't make me want to open a vein as a single person the way that many looking-for-love shows do, and Better Things, a sort-of-comedy sort-of-drama written, directed by and starring Pamela Adlon, which began as a collaboration with Louis CK and initially reflected the sensibility of his show Louie, but became far more experimental and interesting once, after CK's disgrace, Adlon took over completely - the fourth series is maybe the closest thing I've seen on TV to a representation of the rhythms of real life, with long scenes of Adlon just cooking a meal on her own, or contemplating the rain, of having arguments with her children that explode from nowhere and end just as suddenly with tears or laughter or nothing at all.) And this entire paragraph is just things that I have watched on the BBC. Not even everything that I have watched on the BBC. The BBC is INCREDIBLE and my license fee has been serious value for money, before you even count all that time spent watching the news [Munch Scream emoji]. But overall, it doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of television that I have watched this year. Though while we're here, have you noticed that sometimes it's more relaxing to watch something bad than something good? Have you noticed that a vapid, cliched show like Virgin River (heartbroken city nurse with a secret moves to small town and falls in love with battle-wounded bartender with a secret), a show that makes This Is Us look like Succession, has the same effect on your brain that taking off your work shoes and putting on your slippers has for your feet? You can rest now, it says, there is nothing more for you to do. Have you noticed how easy it is to chug down, say, four episodes in a row of Designated Survivor - a show designed by a committee charged with taking elements of The West Wing, Homeland and 24, and making something similar but, crucially, much more ridiculous - without your mind even noticing that anything has happened at all? And if you're really ready for something utterly idiotic, might I suggest The Bold Type, in which three twentysomething girls in bonkers designer outfits "work" at an aspirationally "feminist" glossy magazine, and by "work" I mean constantly leave the office in the middle of the day to take care of personal business, and by "feminist" I mean "empowering women by for example having them post selfies of themselves looking perfect but without makeup on social media", a feminism so very feminist that they called the magazine's parent company Steinem in the first series and then had to change it to Safford, I can only presume because Gloria Steinem threatened to sue them. A couple of episodes of that is the televisual equivalent of having a nice relaxing full frontal lobotomy. Don't get me wrong: I love these shows. I owe them more gratitude than I can say. I would be unable to survive without them. I've managed to watch five hours of television just since starting this post24 hours ago (three episodes of Doctor Who, half a really cheap and very bad Sky Arts documentary about the musical Hamilton, and a travelogue in which Torvill and Dean go in search of a frozen lake in Alaska on which to dance Bolero but can't find one for almost the entire show because of global warming, which made me simultaneously and conflictingly want to give up air travel, fly to Alaska immediately, become obsessed with Torvill and Dean AND wonder how they managed to skate together all these decades without killing each other especially Torvill but also especially Dean). Five hours of TV, sounds like a lot, but with eight hours of sleep, that still left me eleven hours to fill in this boring boring boring boring BORING BORING BORING boring boring BORING boring BORING BORING lockdown. I think I am being incredibly restrained, all things considered. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some time to kill, having finished writing this post, and with at least five hours to fill before bed. I wonder what's on TV?

***

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[ghost-chance]

Fanfiction Recommendation: “Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous” by MoofyKitten

Title: Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous Author: MoofyKitten on AO3/FFN/Wattpad Fandom: BNHA/My Hero Academia Rating: M/MA for a reason. (Detailed sex in over half the posted chapters. Perv away only if you’re of age!) Pairing(s): Fat Gum [Toyomitsu Taishirou] / OFC Found on: AO3

Deets Expect some light spoilers and a mini-rant.

I am an unrepentant fanfiction addict; this is no secret. There are fics I read to wind down after a rough day, fics I read to put myself to sleep in hopes of pleasant dreams, and fics I read to tear my hear into teeny tiny fragments then build it back again better than before. THEN there are fics that don’t fit the mold – the kind that I become so invested in that I physically cannot put off reading that update. THIS, my lovelies, is one of THOSE fics, and it’s earned that place from the early chapters. This story has almost everything I need from a fanfiction, and I have a feeling the rest is just around the corner.

Let’s get the basics out of the way.

The Spelling, grammar, and punctuation are all excellent – I have yet to notice a single error, so either the author and her betas are a force to be reckoned with or I’m just getting so sucked into the story an elephant could sit on me and I’d never notice. The formatting is effective and easy to follow, and the chapters have all been of a nice meaty length, perfect for plowing through in a single sitting only to realize you missed a meal and it’s time for bed and your brain is hopelessly lost in ship-land daydreaming about what’s up next. ...wait, that’s just me? My bad.

Syntax – This one requires an entire section of its own. The fact that I’m having to actually think about how well the author’s varying their syntax says they’re effing nailing it. If a story’s syntax is at all static or the sentence even the slightest bit predictable, it’s easy enough for me to recall it because I’m mentally rearranging the bits that irk or don’t impress me as I read. I can’t even get through a bleepin’ news article or an online recipe without itching to push what I’m reading up to the standards my professors held. It sounds harsh, I know, but please take  my word for it when I say I’m not criticizing anyone. Suffice it to say, if my classes did anything, they made editing so instinctive I can’t turn it off. Confession: I have never found myself rearranging a single phrase in this masterpiece. Arguing with the characters? Encouraging the characters? Begging, pleading, and berating the characters for breaking my heart time and time again by stopping just short of the sugary fluff I can just smell right around the corner? Oh, Hell yes. I’ve done all of that and more, but I’ve never found myself with the urge to grab my red pen and strike out or scooch even a single word.

Something that strikes me about this story above others I’ve given the same rating (Spoiler: there are VERY FEW!) is the sheer variety of the scenes and environments. Sounds silly? Probably, but romances often develop a certain amount of location stagnation, and I know from personal experience how difficult it can be to bust through those patterns. (I mean, the majority of “A New Lease on Life” takes place in the Lair in some room, most commonly a bedroom, the lab, or the kitchen.) This story takes the couple off of familiar and ‘safe’ turf like homes and offices and drags them through countless other places without regard for their sense of comfort. Each scene feels real and multi-dimensional and directly or indirectly influences the characters’ behavior and reactions. It’s awesome. That’s a sign the author has done her people-watching!

Now, about that OC. I’ll readily admit, in the first chapter, I had my reservations. At first glance she seemed shallow, obsessed with appearances and her own view of the world, and – strange as it may sound – too skinny and too attractive. Yes, there’s some personal bias involved there, but the majority was practical rather than emotional. BUT! Because the writer of this story is the same who unleashed the beautiful Kacchako torment Hot-Headed upon me without a single breath of remorse, I gave Aiko a chance. Sure enough, my first impressions were entirely incorrect. The things that bothered me about Aiko? They all had explanation or purpose, and she’s turned out to be a pretty well-fleshed out character...pun intended. As the story progresses we’re seeing sides of her that I hoped for but didn’t expect and each chapter leaves me wondering what we’ll learn next.

Romantic connection. First word: “OOFTA.” The second word, I’d spell out, but it’s a shrill, wordless, begging whine that I cannot translate into English for the life of me. This pairing starts without any sort of romantic connection; it skips straight to the shenanigans and leaves hope that the snugglebunnies will follow eventually. Friends…if you’ve read any of my writing before, you’ll know that I. LIVE. For. The. FLUFF. The awkward mush, the sweaty palms, the am-I-gonna-barf-or-do-I-have-a-crush, the absolutely tooth-rotting sweetness capable of sending a reader headlong into diabetes with a dopey grin and heart eyes - they’re my crack and I love them. This story started with no fluff but it’s been slowly developing in the background. It’s an entirely new situation for me! I feel like I’ve gotten used to eating my dessert first then digging into an equally sweet dinner without a moment to cleanse my palate. This story? It’s like gorging on smoky, meaty St. Louie barbecue for weeks on end with literally just a smear of something sweet as an afterthought. Mind. Frackin’. BLOWN. It turns out I’m more masochistic as a reader than I ever suspected.

Another relationship I want to cover is the building friendship between Aiko and Fat Gum – because nope, she has not managed to mentally connect the half-starved Taishiro she’s climbing like a tree with the big-and-beautiful Fat Gum who owns the agency. Yep. She thinks she’s boning Fat’s beefy little brother. It’d be funny if my heart wasn’t whining for fluff. While frustrating to fluff-starved readers, Aiko not knowing the beefcake and the brother are one and the same provides an intriguing and natural way for her to build an actual relationship with him. This means none of the fetishistic bullarkey rampant in other stories pairing plus-sized male characters with OCs.

What sort of fetishistic bullarkey am I talking about? To name a handful: I love you so lose weight. I love you because you’re big. I’m fat too so it’s okay if we’re together. Blatant fat-fetish disguised as romance. Fat character’s life absolutely revolves around food and it’s gross/nvm it’s okay. Lastly, OC’s only chance at being loved by fat character is feeding them. Maybe to thin folks those don’t sound negative but to those of us who fit the description? NOPE. These don’t make healthy relationships. Using these can turn a well-meaning pairing toxic and frankly, it tends to piss off those of us who – GASP! - accept ourselves no matter our size. These...tropes, let’s call them, have made me hesitant to even try fiction involving plus sized male characters because I’ve been let down so many times. Finding plus sized female characters is easy, especially OCs, but appreciation for the chonky bois isn’t nearly as common. They need love too, dammit!

Ahem. Rant over.

As mentioned before, I ain’t seen any of that crap in this story. This author is treating Fat Gum like she would any other character instead of focusing on the fat. I wish with all my heart that more authors were capable of (and willing to) do the same with Fat Gum, and with other plus sized male characters. I can’t even put into words how much it means to me that she’s doing such a fantastic job portraying a character type that so many writers bungle without ever realizing it. I’ve needed this story my entire life and never realized it wasn’t there; I shudder to think of how long I might have been waiting for it if this author never found the inspiration to do so.

If I don’t shut up now, I fear I never will. I love this story that much. Moving on.

Warnings

Explicit sexual content – do NOT read this around your family unless you have a stronger will than I and can do so without creeping them out. (According to my husband, when I read smut I “look like a demented vulture staring down at a half-flattened ‘possum waiting for it to take its last breath,” complete with hunched shoulders and heavy breathing. Flattering, I know.) The smut scenes, while not my usual cuppa tea, wreck. My brain? Broke. Chapter four’s budding romance? It’s goin’ on my headstone ‘cuz I’m dead.

There are mentions of human trafficking and the future may include more about it. Slut-shaming comes up a few times because men are assholes and asshole exes are the ultimate assholes. Situational fat-shaming and lack of body confidence come up as Aiko comes to recognize Fat Gum for who he is instead of what he is; on the other end of the tag, Fat is also doing a lot of it to himself even when it isn’t spelled out. You can see it behind some of his reasoning in his POV chapters and since the writer is kickass at portraying thoughts and feelings without ever breaking out of restricted POV, you can also see hints in other chapters. That said, if the shaming was really bad without any redeeming purpose, I’d have noped my way right out’a that fic and never looked back. It has a purpose, and it’s not that bad. Give it a chance.

Recommendation level

This story lacks purple prose and excessive fluff, and I haven’t seen any signs of the pop culture, literary, and music references I love so dearly, but the rating remains the same:

Ten. Out. of. Farking. TEN!

YES! I’ve finally found another 10/10!!! A quick reminder for anyone who’s managed to not see my other reading recc posts, I don’t even need both hands to count off all the 10/10s I’ve read. Congratulations, Ms. MoofyKitten – your story rocks my world and I have an addiction I do not care to shake!

[cecilspeaks]

156 - The Trouble with Time

‘tis better to have loved and lost Than to be slowly eaten whilst still alive. There are, on the whole, Many things worse than having loved and lost. Welcome to Night Vale.

Well, listeners, we have all been grappling with the same problem. Time has become normal in Night Vale, or as normal as time ever is. Time is pretty weird everywhere. As a result of this shift in our experience of time, none of us are remaining the same age for centuries anymore. We are aging one year per year, one month per month, one second per precious second. Every moment that passes our skin is less supple. Our mind is less pliant. Our joints ache just a little more.

The entire town is in an uproar, as we are all coming to terms with the idea of getting older. Gym memberships have soared. Everyone is talking at the same time and they’re all recommending green juice diets to each other. The City Council has tried to make ageing illegal, but it turns out this would be unconstitutional as the Supreme Court decided that slow deterioration of the mind and body is an American right.

I myself am not immune to these worries. When I think about what my life would be like after Carlos or, what his life would be like after me… These are the kinds of fears that can’t be shaken off by the light of day. That linger, even after all the shadows of evening have faded. Is love a gift in a finite world? I’d like to think so, but oh, my stomach is in knots. I’m sure your sis too.

And now a word from our sponsors. Afraid of ageing? Terrified of the tides of time? Spooked by the sequential nature of existence? Stop looking at the calendar and moaning. Sure, it may be cathartic to start every morning by picking up your alarm clock and shouting: “You are a murderer! Your numbers are murder weapons! I am the murder victim!” But it’s not helping you out. Instead, try lotion. Just lotion those limbs. Lotion that face. Got any other parts? Lotion them too. Rubbing lotion on yourself won’t stop time. It won’t end the inevitability of death. But when you die, you will be silky smooth, and folks will whispers: “Why, it doesn’t look like they’ve aged a single day.” Buy lotion now and we will send you a box of other things that will not stop you from dying, but will make you feel a little better on your way out the door. Such as fish oil pills, a pair of running shoes, and books with titles like “Get Happy Now, or Else”. Lotion – you can’t stop ageing, so settle on mitigating the surface appearance of ageing. And this has been ma word from our sponsors.

In a new press release, Night Vale resident Leah Shapiro announces the Mariam McDonald memoriam fund. This fund, in honor of the recently deceased Mariam, will be used to finally fulfil Mariam’s lifelong dream, a dream she did not live long enough to see come to fruition: the removal of all sand from the Sand Wastes.  Mariam hated the sand, thought it looked frightfully untidy, and that it made a bad first impression for folks just coming to town. She could often be seen when she was alive out with her broom, dutifully sweeping the dunes into her dustpan, and depositing the result into a black trashbag. Obviously, this was slow going, but Leah has vowed to continue Mariam’s quest. “It’s a stupid wish, a real dumb one,” said Leah. “I hate it! I hate it so much, but I don’t know, it’s what Mariam wanted. And so I feel obligated for some reason to keep after it. God, this sucks!” Leah concluded. According to the press release, the Mariam McDonald Memorial Fund currently contains 3 dollars, and is not taking donations. Well, isn’t that the feelgood story of the year? Good luck, Leah. I do hope you get rid of all that sand. Mariam was right, sand is very untidy.

And now for the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner. So today, we will be discussing how to tell whether something is a person. Here are simple tests that can be done at home with whatever you find in your parents’ cabinets when they don’t know you’re looking. Does it grow? It’s a person. Does it bend? It’s a person. Is it square or similar to a square? That’s a person. Nodes or nodules? Person. A frank and enticing laugh? Person. Can it hold liquid? Person. Is it a dog? Yup, that’s a person too. That ooze at the back of your closet? Not a person. We don’t know what hat is, best not to touch it, best not to think on it. Perhaps it is the thinking that gives it its power. This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

In response to the current “time is normal” crisis, many companies are moving in to offer services to alleviate ageing. Arby’s is suggesting that a regular diet of roast beef has been shown to extend life expectancy by up to 20 years. When they were asked who showed that and how they did so, Arby’s kind of mumbled and sad that they would have those sources for us soon, but in the meantime, come on down and buy yourself a meal. 

A number of new gyms have opened up in town, promising advanced workouts that will keep the body and mind tiptop. There is an LA Fitness, also a 26 Hour Fitness, which promises workouts at any time day or night, plus two bonus hours every day that are only experienced by members. And local legend Louie Blasko has started what he calls a Crossfit gym, but it appears to be just the burned out remains of his old music store, untouched since the night of the fire. “Oh yeah,” Louie said. “You can really get a good workout in here, believe me.” His eyes flicked back and forth nervously.

A different angle is being taken by newcomer to town, Casper Rhodes. Casper says that he has conquered the ultimate obstacle: death itself. He does this by freezing the brain upon death until it can be resuscitated by advanced technologies of the future. “Cryogenics means never having to say ‘I’m dead’,” Casper declared, whirling around the red cape he wears and wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh yes, this is a completely real technology. Once you die, we simply and safely remove your bran and freeze it in here.” He indicated the disused grain silo on the edge of town. “That thing is full of brains,” he said. “And each of those brains will be reanimated to a bright and beautiful future hundreds of years from now, and you can too, for a mere 10,000 dollars. Payable upfront, no refunds offered.”

Suspicious journalists asked if they could take a peek in the grain silo and see if it was actually full of brains. But Mr. Rhodes blocked the door with his body. “Uh oh uh,” he said. “Opening the door would mess up the, uh, freezing process. Uh, wouldn’t want that to happen. You just have to trust us.” Hmmmmm.

And now traffic. It’s looking pretty clear on the roads right now. There isn’t a single car to be seen. The parking lots are barren, the highways are mere doodles of the gods without the roaring machines that give them purpose. Where did every car disappear to? We wonder this as we walk to work. Walk to school. Learning the limits and the capacity of our own legs, magnificent machines attached to our own bodies that we had long ago discounted, but now can only propel ourselves by the length of them. And then again and again, one after another. The hours pass and we gradually pass through them, and where are the cars? Did they ever exist? The factories where cars once were built are now full of robots with no purpose, arms ending in specialized tools and drills, all designed to construct a thing that no longer is there to be constructed. And so they bob and weave for nothing. In this way, perhaps, it could be said that they are dancing. To take purpose from a movement is to suggest the possibility of art within it, that perhaps the movement could have meaning merely for itself, but I ask again: where are the cars? Where did they go? Every other form of transportation still exists. Planes still claw their way into the stratosphere, while boats wobble on churning seas. Motorcycles even, given the compete freedom of the highway, tearing into the turns and straightaways at dangerous speeds, but no cars. Was it something we did? Is this our fault? At least there’s no traffic, I guess, and we’re all getting a little more time outdoors which is nice and, oh – Nevermind. The cars are back, all of them. Aaaall at once, driverless and speeding. Well, it’s nice to have them back. This has been traffic.

And now for corrections. In a previous editorial aired on this station, a reporter indicated his belief that peanut butter is a type of rock. That reporter sincerely believed, based on a half remembered lesson from elementary school that he now realizes might have actually been a cartoon he watched, that peanut butter along with sedimentary, metamorphic, and ignius was in fact one of the main types of rock. This reported harbored no ill intent when he lectured for what may or may not have been two hours about his belief that peanut butter was a type of rock. This well meaning reporter may have ignored several calls from his scientist husband, who was trying to get through to correct this completely understandable mistake. But the reporter was on such a roll that he didn’t even notice the calls coming in. Which could happen to anyone. The reporter may have even printed up posters for local schools showing the types of rock, with peanut butter prominently included. If that is the case, these schools should feel free to return the erroneous posters, or keep them, if they feel it might be in some way educational. In any case, the reporter in question regrets the error and now amidst that maybe, peanut butter isn’t a type of rock. Maybe that’s true. Decide for yourself. This has been corrections.

Casper Rhodes and his Quality Cryogenics Corporation continue to advertise their dubious service all over town. He has bought a billboard next to the Waterfront Recreation Area declaring: “A new life awaits you in the future”, with a picture of a disembodied brain that is somehow both smiling an giving a thumbs up, despite its lack of hands and mouth. The Quality Cryogenics Corporation strung a banner along the top of the disused grain silo on the edge of town saying the name of the company. Except the word “quality” has been misspelled, as has “corporation”. Listeners, I am not one to editorialize, not after the recent peanut butter debacle we’ve heard so much about. But it does not seem to me that this Mr. Rhodes is on the up and up. Nothing about this strikes me as a scientific operation, and trust me, I know from scientific operations. Despite these warning signs, a few people have in fact taken them up on their offer, including weekday shift managers at the Ralphs, Charlie Bear, whose lifetime ambition of becoming a ghost has recently curdled into a frantic fear of death. “I thought we had eternity. Now every minute spent is a minute lost,” Charlie said to me when I asked him if they had any more cilantro. So that was a bummer on my afternoon. I must warn everyone not to buy into this Casper charlatan’s lies. Cryogenically freezing brains is not going to save you. In fact, it is time for me to bust this scam wide open. I will sneak into the disused grain silo, and I will tel you what is inside. Then all of us will know the truth.

As I head over there, Let’s all head over To the weather.

[“Revolution Lover” by Left At London http://leftatlondon.com]

OK, listeners I’m.. hold on. This portable recording rig is just a little heavy. Whoo! I have got to get back to my weight training. I was deadlifting as much as 15 pounds, and now look at me.

OK, I am looking up at the towering disused grain silo on the edge of town. The silo that one Casper Rhodes would claim contains cryogenically frozen brains, destined to be reawakened in the future. Well, I’m sure Mr. Rhodes, but allow me to just check in on it myself. The door to the silo is locked with a padlock and heavy chain. Fortunately, I don’t go anywhere without my Special Reporter’s welding torch. It comes in handy more than you’d think. [welding noises] And off it goes. Another win for the first amendment. Listeners, I am opening the heavy metal doors [creaking], and inside it is dark even in this late afternoon sun. I am stepping in. [voice echoing] My eyes are adjusting and oh my god! Listeners, oh my god! The tanks are full, frozen intact human brains, attached to various support equipment, it is all completely clean and seemingly running well, this – this isn’t a scam! The great Casper Rhodes is telling the truth! Death is now voluntary, aging is meaningless! We will all see the future! We will ALL see the future!

Listeners, I must go, I must talk to my husband. We could be together forever, don’t you see? A new world awaits us in the future! I must talk to Carlos, I must! [equipment drops]

Today’s proverb: On one hand, you have skin. On the other hand, you don’t- oh man, what happened to that hand?!!

[raavenreyes]

aeternum.

Bellamy x Raven: reincarnation / immortal au

Word count: 2,487 words.

Description: Bellamy Blake has been alive for longer than he’d care to admit. When he refused to side with a God in a petty disagreement, the God decided to curse him with immortality. When the war resulting from the petty disagreement reaches Bellamy’s front step, the immortality benefits him but kills the love of his life. Now, thousands of years later, he’s doing his best to blend. That is, until the love of his life finds him once more. But that’s impossible, right?

[ rating: R for language. chapter description: bellamy blake tells everyone but raven reyes how feels about raven reyes. its basically canon verse without ppl dying]

Chapter 6.

Booming music filled Bellamy’s ears, and it felt like for a moment, his brain was shaking in his skull as he made his way through the crowd on the dance floor. There was a time in his life where he went out to the bars, or a couple of clubs every weekend, but now he was in a period of rest. Every once in a while he enjoyed going out, it usually meant good drinks and on occasion, when he was feeling it, a one-night boyfriend or girlfriend. But now, his presence in the nightclub was on business rather than pleasure.

“Nate!” He shouted from the other end of the bar as the man manipulated two chrome shakers in his hand. “Miller!” It was his last name that caught his attention, and Miller slid over, giving Bellamy a smile.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Raven said you needed some dinner, I was on my way home, offered to drop some stuff off.” He held up a bag and Nate grinned from ear to ear. “It’s Louie’s on 5th and Beret.”

“Hoagies?”

“Damn right.”

“Hey, Asher! I’m takin’ my lunch.” His co-worker gave him a thumb’s up and Bellamy followed Nate out into the back of the club, sitting on empty wine crates next to each other. A beat of silence settled between them as they opened up their meals. “You mind sittin’ with me, or is Raven waitin’ for you?”

“Ah, no she’s not. She and Lexa are having a girl’s night. I don’t know, I told them I’d be home late to give ‘em some space.” Bellamy replied. “I think it’s good for her, y’know?”

Nate nodded, taking a large bite out of the sandwich and wiping the corners of his mouth as he chewed. “Did she tell you about Anya?”

“Mentioned her. That’s her ex, right?”

He cleared his throat. “After Anya left she uh, kind of sank in on herself I guess.” Miller shrugged. “We wanted her to go out with us, meet people, but she just…I dunno, it hurt her.” Bellamy stayed silent, staring into the darkness of the alleyway. “Sorry, does it upset you to talk about it?”

“No, no,” He replied immediately. “I just…I wish she would talk to me about it because I wanna help her heal, but she doesn’t—she won’t. I try to bring it up, I tell her about my wife and—”

“Wait dude, you’re married?”                                    

It had slipped so suddenly, Bellamy didn’t even notice. “No, I’m—widowed.” He lied, leaning back against the brick wall. “I was married, but I lost her.”

“Shit, I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, she knows. She told me about Finn.”

“Yeah, Raven told me she told you—you know, I don’t like speakin’ ill of the dead but that dude was jackass sometimes. Treated Raven like shit, but he had his good moments.” Miller took another bite, but continued talking through his full mouth. “Crazy though, how life can just rip people away from you.”

Nate crumbled up the wrapping paper his sandwich had come in, tossing it into a nearby trash bin. “Nate,”

“’Sup?”

“I think I love her.”

“Good, you deserve it.” He smiled. “Don’t tell her yet, though. You need to have a conversation about Anya.”

Bellamy nodded. “I’ll let you get back to work. Gotta get home to my girl.” He patted Miller’s back before heading back into the club. Bellamy lit up a cigarette once outside, deciding to enjoy a smoke before he hopped onto his bike and went home to Raven.

“Mind if I borrow your light?”

Bellamy turned, holding out the lighter until he recognized the face. He dropped the device and slammed the other man’s body into the wall of the club. “You son of a bitch,”

“Nice to see you again, my son.”

“Fuck you.” He hissed. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I’ve never seen you so angry.”

“You cursed me with this shit and then abandoned me—me and Lexa,”

“Lexa, unfortunately was not my handiwork. That…was someone else. Ontari the dreadful. She gets jealous, and she does so often.”

“Yeah? What name d’ya go by now?”

“Jaha.”

“Jaha? That means dignity, right? That’s somethin’ you don’t got.”

“I understand you’re upset.”

“Get rid of it. Now. I want to live a human life.”

“Why, because you fell in love? I told you, Bellamy. Life repeats itself eventually. You have your wife back, you should be happy.”

Bellamy took out another cigarette, cursing himself for dropping the half finished one in his hurry to assault the god in human form. “What, I get another…seventy years with her and then another two thousand without her? Yeah, sounds fucking great.”

“You’d like me to lift your curse so you can die with her?”

“Yes.” He breathed out.

“And what if she dies before you? An accident, a sickness, a bad piece of tuna?” He asked. “Then you’re alone for those seventy years.”

“I don’t care. I’m sick of this, I don’t even know how old I am. Can’t remember where or when I was born, and until a couple months ago I was losing the memory of Raven’s face. I don’t want that to happen again.”

Jaha shrugged. “I can’t help you. The curse is permanent. You are to live until the world itself dies. At least you’ll have Lexa.” Bellamy let out a growl of frustration. “Accept it, Bellamy.”

“Why me, huh? Why me?”

“You displeased me.”

“Great answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

He shook his head, “Leave me alone. If you’re not gonna help me, leave me alone.” His eyes closed, and the air around him dropped in temperature. When he opened his eyes again, the man was gone.

Home was a welcomed sight, and a smile lifted his cheeks at the vision before him: Raven and Lexa sharing a blanket, at the bottom end of a bottle of red wine with a platter of cheese and crackers between them. “Hi baby,” Raven greeted him warmly, a slight slur in her tone.

“Did you get my girlfriend drunk, Lexa?”

“I might have, she’s adorable when she’s drunk.”  She teased, and Raven’s face got even redder. “Well, Dad’s home so I should go.”

“Oh no, Lexy, come on. Stay.”

“I would love to, birdie but Clarke just got off work.”

“Starbucks?” Bellamy asked as he shed his outer wear.

“No, she got a second job as a cocktail waitress at that piano bar.” Lexa explained, pulling on her leather jacket. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Bellamy followed her out into the hall and closed the front door behind him, causing Lexa to raise a brow at him. “That fucking bastard showed himself to me.”

Her eyes widened, “You mean—”

“He goes by Jaha now. He also told me he wasn’t the one that cursed you. It was Ontari.”

She groaned. “Ugh, that fucking bitch. She was tied up with him, I should have known.” Lexa ran her hands through her hair, tugging slightly at the roots. “Well, what are we gonna do, Bell?”

“Something. I’ll figure it out.” He wanted to tell her the curse was permanent, get her to stop trying so hard but…he couldn’t. The words were there, wanting to spill over the edge, but something was holding them back. “Get some sleep, I’ll call you in the morning.”

“I’m sorry, Bellamy.”

“Stop being sorry for this, it’s not your fault, Lex. You carry too much sometimes. I worry about you.” He pulled her into a hug and pressed a kiss to her hairline. “I’ll see ya later.”

When he entered the apartment again, Raven hadn’t even noticed he had left, eyes still glued to the muted television. He settled in next to her, and that pulled her attention. She gave him a lazy smile and he pulled her leg into his lap, massaging around her knee. “Hi, handsome.” She cooed.

“Hey.”

“You smell like hoagies.”

“I had dinner with Miller behind the club.”

“Thank you for doing that. Sometimes he gets so into his job he forgets to eat.” She explained. “You okay? You look stressed.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, baby.”

“I worry about you all the time. You got so much in that head, I think you’re too old for your body.”

You had no idea, he thought to himself. “Let’s get you into bed, Rae.”

“Wait, wait,” She whispered, slender fingers digging into his skin on his arm. She slid her hand up into his shirt and sought out warmth. “Wait, don’t go. I have to—” She hiccupped. “I have to tell you something.”

“I’m sure it can wait until morning when you’re sober and able to form a cohesive thought.”

“No, it can’t wait—I was talking to Lexa and she told me—she told me everything, Bell.” His heart began pounding in his chest. How could she? That wasn’t her secret to tell.

“Rae, lemme explain.”

“No, I get it. I should have seen it because sometimes you say or do things that…I can’t explain, and I—it scares me, but I get it now. I get it.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but—”

“No, it doesn’t sound crazy.” She shook her head. “Bell, you loved her. You were lucky to find someone you loved that much.”

“…What?”

“Lexa, she explained your relationship you had with your wife, why you’re—why you’re you…the way you are and,” She sniffed. “I don’t wanna replace her, I don’t want you to feel obligated to love me as devotedly as you did her. I don’t…” He sighed in relief, closing his eyes for a moment. “Bell, I…”

“I miss her,” He said, but it was a struggle through bubbling emotion in his chest. “I miss her so god damn much but I feel like I foun—I find her, I find her in the little things. It helps. Some days, it feels like she’s right in front of me.” Bellamy made eye contact with Raven, fingertips tracing a small tattoo of a heart on her wrist bone. “Right there. Like I can, smell her, hear her voice. I was forgetting what her voice sounded like.” A tear fell from his cheek and turned into a darkened spot on his jeans. She ran her hands into his hair, and he turned his head to the side to kiss along her wrist. “When I lost her it ripped a hole in me, baby. I can’t—”

“I love you.” She whispered, and he looked up at her in time to catch a tear sliding down the outside curve of her cheek. He caught it with his thumb and kissed the trail. “You don’t have to say it back, just—I wanted you to know. I needed—I love you, and you don’t have to feel like you have to keep that from me because of…I want you to be able to talk to me about her, y’know? She’s…she’s a part of you.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Raven.”

“I’m someone who cares, Bellamy. If that’s all you want to think of me right now, that’s fine. Love me when you’re ready to love me. Tell me when you’re ready to tell me. Just know you’re safe with me.”

“You’re so drunk,” He mentioned, and they both began to laugh through their tears. Bellamy deposited a kiss onto her lips.

“I’m getting a tattoo on Friday, do you wanna come?” She said suddenly.

“Where are you gonna put it, do you even have room?”

“I’m getting Rambo’s machine gun from the first movie on my hip.”

“Why?”

“It’s fucking Rambo, Bellamy, I’m honestly offended you even asked me that question. Now, come help me to bed because I can’t remember where it is.”

“Anything for you, Reyes.”

[judieasley57]

Disclaimer: I acquired Book #1 from Amazon via BookBub at a reduced price. All other books in this series were purchased at full price. This is my honest review for which I am not being compensated in any way. All opinions are fully my own. ~ Judi E. Easley for Blue Cat Review My Review: "Oh, hi Matthew". Is that how you greet the love of your life when he suddenly pops up at a murder investigation when you're the prime suspect and he's the lead detective and you haven't seen him since he left you in Vegas with an annulment of your very brief marriage and you haven't seen him in several years? Well, Raina Sun has a lot of nerve. There's not much that intimidates her or keeps her quiet when she has something to say. You've heard the saying about "those who rush in where angels fear to tread"? That seems to fit Raina and PoPo pretty well. The author introduced us to this main character and all her bad habits quite thoroughly, I thought. She loves to eat, which she does often whether it's out to eat a meal, stop for coffee and a pastry, eating at a friend's place, cooking for someone at her apartment, or a spoon or two in the Ben and Jerry's. Her molehills, I leave you to discover on your own. And she can't resist eavesdropping. Listening in on other's conversations is half of how she finds out what's going on in the case! It's sneaky, but it seems to work for her. Then there's her secret weapon. PoPo is a Chinese word of respect meaning grandmother or an older woman. It can be used alone or with the woman's family name. Raina's PoPo is quite the character, and I don't mean that she's just another character in the book. She's a character with a capital C! Everyone should have a PoPo like Raina's! The mystery developed quite slowly and I sometimes lost track of it in all the people stuff. Raina and PoPo are into people. They care about them and try to take care of the ones they love especially. They try to do the right thing, especially Raina. She's a good person who doesn't always seem to understand that bad things happen in this world. She's smart, too, and she seems to have the edge over the local constabulary, including Inspector Matthew Louie. They all seem to stumble through this murder and solve it by following one step behind Raina as she figures it out by listening to gossip and peeking into peoples' desk drawers and kitchens. I suggest you try this first book in the series out. Who knows, it may lead you all the way to book #5, as it did me! Book #2 My Review: Again, this mystery seems to ramble among the people stuff and molehills, especially since this one has a baby involved. The police don't seem to be very involved in this one, but they show up when they're really needed. Of course, they would be more involved if someone had called them. There's no sex in these books, just some kissing once in a while. Violence? Yes, there is violence. Quite a bit of it, but it's not graphic. As for Raina, a lot of her injuries seem to be self-imposed. Graceful and Raina don't belong in the same sentence. Family secrets get out and hurt people this time. This is one that needs solving since the mystery behind it needs to be answered before anyone can put the pain behind them. But the answers may be buried in China. Book #3 My Review: Sometimes, family secrets are meant to be kept as secrets. Not this one. Raina and PoPo both know this one needs to be answered, even if people get hurt along the way. It seems that Raina will be the one to get hurt this time. It's amazing that Raina ever has anything to wear. We hear all about her eating and the molehills, but she never seems to do laundry. She's always tripping, falling, spilling, spraying, or in some way ruining any outfit she puts on. She can go through half a dozen outfits in a day it seems. She's even borrowed a clean outfit of sorts from PoPo when she's gotten dirty on the go! Her life is chaotic and important things go wrong because of it, or because of her crazy family. And now she's having strange dreams. Must be the pain meds from getting mugged. Keep going, this is only book #3... Book #4 My Review: In this one, Raina jumps from one outrageous accident to another collecting bruises and scrapes along the way. But she's supposed to be a caretaker. Matthew's helping out with the family secret and Raina's supposed to be keeping a watchful eye on his grandmother. Landing Louie PoPo in the hospital wasn't quite what he had in mind. She loses her job. Loses her BFF. Is Raina losing her grip? Help comes from surprising places sometimes, but then there's always a payback to come. And these Chinese always keep a very good accounting of paybacks. But that's a worry for the future. And so we come to book #5, which was my favorite in the series... Book #5 My Review: Well, this time she's playing with the big boys. The Triads don't take captives, they just kill people and step over the bodies. But remember there are paybacks and it's time to pay up. And it's time to get all the answers to the family secret. Two birds with one stone. How hard could it be to spend a weekend pretending to be engaged to the head of the Triad? One body, an explosion, secret passages, what else can happen? Well, PoPo can show up and charm the guy's grandfather because they were kids together. And you know that PoPo's a loose cannon... Well, as usual, Raina gets to the bottom of the mystery, but the explosion has destroyed all evidence of the answers to the family secret. But might her weekend fiance have read the answers before the explosion tore them away? When all is said and done, there's a sparkling ring on her finger at the end of the weekend, but who's the lucky guy? So that brings you up-to-date. Now, we just have to be patient. Book #6 isn't due out until September 3, 2017, Murky Passions and Scandals Ms. Tan says she has ideas to go all the way to #12, but only immediate plans to go up to #7. How far she goes depends on reader interest. So, get to the store whether your feet or your fingers and pick up your copies of all of Raina's adventures with PoPo and find out whose sparkly ring is on her finger! Pre-Order right now on #6 is only $2.99