#something about them having only the other who understands a fraction of what they've gone through to be here

[petrichormeraki]

i am thinking about the estimated 2-3 years after botw before totk. do you think link took a while to stop following zelda wherever she went, never letting her completely out of sight? do you think when zelda cut her hair she cried because her father wasn't there to tell her off for it? do you think zelda spent nights without sleeping, pouring over the history that had happened over the 100 years she was fighting? do you think link had some nights where he woke up in a cold sweat, hand already on his sword to fight the nightmare he already beat? do you think zelda spent the first week free constantly in link's arms, desperate for any kind of touch that wasn't hostile? do you think zelda took that long to explore the tunnels under hyrule castle because even looking at it filled her with so much grief it would swallow her whole? do you think they ever got used to the looks that came their way, as the fabled long-dead princess and her swordsman, back from the dead after 100 years? do you think they ever had to fight to be listened to, even after the century they spent dying and fighting for this world they saved, because they still looked like kids?

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ buddie + "a romantic kiss". inspired by the pride & prejudice quote / this @userdiaz edit <3

read on AO3 (~900wd)

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I cannot fix upon the hour.

Buck frowns at the tattoo scribed in a loop around the victim's upper arm. The script is beautiful. The words feel familiar.

The victim smiles up from the gurney, like he knows that look in Buck's eyes. There are tears in his own and he'd had to be strapped down to stop him trying to climb out of here on broken legs the first few times. His fiancee is in the other ambulance with Hen and Chim, speeding ahead of them with sirens blaring, and Buck thinks he could hardly bear to be stuck these few feet apart if the person he loved that much was that far from him. Not like this. They'd known each other since high school, he's gathered so far. They'd left, moved, had other relationships, he'd even served overseas for a while and they'd only just come back. Put their lives together. Got his act together, he'd said, and proposed. She still hasn't woken up. Buck wonders if the man knows.

“Pride and Prejudice,” the man explains, and then he closes his eyes and recites it, like a prayer to keep her heart beating. “I cannot fix upon the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words which laid the foundation.”

“I was in the middle,” Eddie finishes the quote, “before I knew I had begun.”

There's something about the way Eddie's looking at him, in that moment, that lodges in Buck's chest. Something that explains, maybe, why that quote – that whole sentiment - from a piece of media he's never in his life come anywhere close to consuming makes his heart ache so much. Because it's true, isn't it? Because he's known it for a long time.

“Eddie,” he says, as they're both sitting, exhausted and hopeful, with their elbows on their knees facing each other in the back of the empty ambulance. The fiancees have gone through the hospital doors. It's out of their hands now.

“Buck,” Eddie says back. And he lifts his head from prayer position, and he has that look in his eyes again, and his face is mere inches from Buck. Now that he thinks about it, Buck swears he's seen that face before. More times than he can count. Fondness, he used to think of it, but as his eyes trace over every crease of Eddie, every slightest fraction of tension that screams only to someone who knows him so well, that there's something he's dying to say -

Buck's never been more jealous of a novelist. Of a Capital-R-Romantic, who was born to put words to exactly this sort of feeling. These many feelings. Who could explain far better than he can that he understands all of a sudden, that what he'd felt when they met wasn't just insecurity. What he'd felt when they'd nearly blown up together, when they'd run down the street holding up Christopher together, when he'd tasted Eddie's blood and when they'd sat in the hospital afterwards... When they'd sat on his porch and talked about love, when they'd fought, when Eddie'd left and he'd missed so desperately the familiar shape and voice beside him... When he'd held his shoulder as his son, his heart, walked away and when he'd hugged him so fiercely his feet lifted off the ground when he heard he was coming back...

He's not even sure what he's thinking anymore, he's just overwhelmed by feeling. By realisation.

Someone knocks on the ambulance doors, and there's another realisation that the ambulance has stopped, the engine has turned off.

(And one more: that Eddie hasn't looked away until this moment either.)

“Grub's up!” Bobby announces.

“I-”

“Yep.”

For a moment, they fumble, like they've both forgotten how seatbelts work and that neither of them are actually wearing one. They manage to stand without falling over or bashing into each other and it's a miracle. They step out onto the familiar floor of the 118, and it feels like anything but.

Are they really going to let this go? To walk away from what this could be?

Again?

Buck takes a deep breath.

“Eddie, wait.”

Buck reaches out and grabs his wrist, and he's not sure why. Why tonight. Why here. But he's never been more sure in his life of what to do when Eddie turns back to him, into the pressure. He's never been more sure that he doesn't need to put words to it right now. That Eddie, in all his uncertainty, isn't ready to be the one to start things but that – maybe for the first time in his life - he is. And that starting things is very much the wrong word.

He's already in the middle.

Buck's lips lock against Eddie's like there's no other place they'd rather be. Eddie kisses back, chasing his lips like in this moment it's them and not oxygen that he needs. Heat, electricity, rush through Buck's body; the floodgates drop and he's awash in the feelings. Eddie's hand finds his shoulder, then his neck, then his cheek, and when they finally pull apart and need to breathe he leans into it like an anchor.

Eddie is breathless, smiling, fond. And so much more than fond.

“Buck,” he sighs, “I love you too.”

[monkberries]

au where george doesn’t come back to the band during the get back sessions and one of them (dealers choice) sees him for the first time “around the clubs” is that anything?

February 6, 1969

George knows he shouldn't have gone out tonight. It was that pull he almost always listened to, the pull telling him to go a certain way or say no to a certain thing, but tonight he'd decided that he'd cancelled on his friends one too many times and he'd promised to meet them at the club, only they are nowhere to be found and who accosts him the moment he walks in but Paul fucking McCartney. He immediately suspects a set-up and says as much out loud; Paul's guilty face all but confirms it.

"Fuck this," George mutters, and turns to go.

"Wait," Paul says sharply, latching onto his arm with bony dry fingers like bird talons. "I've said I'd talk to ye and I'm gonna do it, so let me do it."

"Said to who? Why?" George pulls his arm free with a jerk, accidentally elbowing some poor girl in the rib.

"To the others. Can we just talk a bit?"

George raises an eyebrow. "Clapton not working out for you, then?"

Paul's nose flares angrily and he spits, "You know we'd never--" He stops himself mid-sentence and turns away to breathe slow and deep. George takes the moment of reprieve to gather the pieces of himself back up again; he hadn't known they would never, is the thing. Something like hope slithers its way into his heart and he tries desperately to beat it back again.

When Paul faces him again, he looks a little calmer, but his hands give him away; they rake through his black, greasy hair, the finest tremor running through them, which you could only see if you knew how to look for it, and George does. Against his will George softens a fraction. "I'll find us a table if you get drinks," he relents, and Paul nods gratefully.

George locates a table, and Paul gets the drinks in record time and sets George's down in front of him with a gentle, uncertain hand. George wishes the bartender had taken his time so he could prepare himself for this. Paul sits down in the booth next to George so they can hear each other over the music. For a moment, George watches him, just for the fun of torturing him, just to see him fidget under the awkwardness of silence. Paul could never handle a silence. Maybe that's why they've gotten so far away from each other, George thinks.

"How's the special coming along?" he asks. The beer tastes terrible, like rancid water with foam on top.

"It's over," Paul says, dejected. "Bollocksed. We couldn't get it together and Michael scrapped it the week after you left. It was just dreadful, you know. Bad acoustics, we couldn't work out a schedule or where to do it, or how to explain..." 'your absence,' he leaves unsaid, but George hears it anyway. "You were right about the ship, and the cost. We're trying to work on making an album out of what we have instead, at EMI, but..." He spreads his hands open, helpless. "The others... We think you should come back," he finally says.

"Great pitch," George says dryly. "You alone in a bar telling me what's best for me."

Paul's hands go to his hair again, grabbing and raking and scratching. "Tell me how to not annoy you," he says, weary. "Tell me and I'll say that. Whatever you want." His shoulders slump and it reminds George of being a teenager, of sitting on Paul's bed while his friend's shoulders bent under the weight of a grief George couldn't begin to understand. He feels the same pull he felt then: to reassure, to comfort, and doesn't for the same reason he didn't then - he's certain it wouldn't be allowed. Not from him.

Switching tacks, he leans back into the corner of the booth and asks, "What does John say, then?" Trying to remain casual, trying not to think of Yoko.

"He wants you back too, you know," Paul says, the same exhaustion still seeping through his words like water through cheesecloth. "He was gonna come see you, only he's taking care of Mimi. She's been ill. He's worried himself sick over her. So you get me."

"Lucky me," George says, quirking the corning of his mouth up, but Paul doesn't smile. "And did he say that, or did she say it for him?"

"Yoko's not so bad, really," Paul recites for the hundredth time, and George cuts him off with a swipe of one hand. He can already see the argument, which way it'll go and who will say what and when; it's happened a dozen times already and he's tired of doing it.

Paul starts to talk again. "Listen--"

"Okay."

Cut off mid-word, Paul looks at George, uncomprehending. "'Okay'?"

"Okay, I'll come back."

"Really?"

George sighs, already regretting the decision a little. "Don't make me regret it, but. Sure. I've got bored without you all to annoy." Paul looks near to tears, whole body sagging with relief, and this time George does hug him. It's an awkward angle; Paul wasn't ready for it and he ends up hugging one of George's arms, their cheeks pressed against each other, but it feels nice. He's probably a terrible person for it, but thinking of the rest of them falling to pieces without him gives George a bit of a thrill. It's not respect, which is what he really wants, but it is need, real desperate need, and that's close enough for now.

[theangrypokemaniac]

@nyarthsis

If Team Rocket 'always had a heart for unpopular Pokémon', that's an admission their Alola catches aren't particular loveable creatures, so I'm not thinking anything too controversial.

You're saying they take pity on the animals no one wants, as in it's normal for me not to find them adorable.

Some Pokémon, such as Lucario, become fan favourites without the advertisement of a regular role the anime. With Wobbuffet, Bewear, Stufful, Mareanie and Mimikyu, do people like them for themselves, or because of their association with Team Rocket?

I think its the latter. I can't imagine there would be such interest in them were they to be owned by a Twerp or appear as a one-off. Really then, it's not what or who they are, it's to whom they belong that matters.

Alola has really devalued catching. Rather than be true to the source material, so battering a Pokémon into submission, as Ash did with Bulbasaur, Primeape, Muk, and many others, now you have to ask their permission!

Bewear didn't even get that. She hung around for no reason, and her 'friend' Stufful was belatedly tacked on. I see why those two were left behind, as Team Rocket had no right to take them elsewhere.

In terms of welfare, Mimikyu and Mareanie are better off staying with them, free and safe, rather than locked in the insalubrious depths of H.Q., but then it never bothered the writers sending previous Pokémon into an uncertain future, so what difference does it make now?

It can only be that, like their predecessors, there is no intention to ever bring them back, but unlike the rest, the fans can't even be allowed the vain hope of a return, not with this rather awkward disposal.

It's feasible that Jessie and James could call their base and request old monsters to join them, but it's difficult to imagine they'd fly across the world to Alola, wander through the woods, pick 'em up and go all the way back again. Why make parting so final and irreversible?

It does imply that Game Freak don't like them, so why should I?

I keep noticing this fickle attitude. A new era starts, we're expected to fall instantaneously in love with every element, beg for more and yet more. Then, once the next region arrives, this adoration asked of us is meant to evaporate and immediately transfer to the next batch.

Well why start to like them, if eventually the makers don't care, to the extent you wouldn't even know previous Pokémon had ever been alive?

Have you heard one mention of Seviper, Yanmega, Dustox, Cacnea, Carnivine, and Mime Junior since they left?

Why were they happy to chuck Wobbuffet after Sinnoh, yet fetched for Kalos?

How could Team Rocket live without it for an entire generation but suddenly it's indispensable again? What do you imagine the rest of their Pokémon felt about that?

Have Jessie and James wondered allowed how Arbok, Weezing, Lickitung and Victreebel are doing?

What of the last two generations?

What is this nonsense where every character is so detached from the past?

Supposing I was to force myself to appreciate them: since they've gone, never to return, I'd be dissatisfied with the show, thus no better off than I am now.

My feelings don't run on a switch. I can't find myself besotted one minute then dump the object of affection without a second thought, just because Nintendo want it from me.

Even if I had a more positive opinion of the current interpretation, there's no benefit to becoming involved when it's all so fleeting.

Mareanie is ugly, with three teeth. I think he's a sea anenome, so ought to be more attractive, but it's covered in nipples instead!

It looks like a bonsai tree growing breasts, reminiscent of the hideous content lurking within an Hieronymous Bosch painting.

The idea that all Mimikyu copy Pikachu, the most famous Pokémon, when in their world it's nothing special, is too stupid for me to accept. How could that be coincidence?

It's referencing reality, acknowledging the real world's view of Pikachu as the star, so if it's breaking the fourth wall, it invites disbelief.

Wobbuffet does sod all. It's a complete dead weight and has no attacks. Yet it's the one to survive generation after generation. Where's the logic in that?

I suspect his popularity rests on being there so long he's considered part of the furniture, the sole catch in which you can invest an emotional connection whilst fairly certain he'll remain around.

By now it ought to have developed some semblance of a personality, but it's as faceless as ever. Other Pokémon that have been and gone had a bit more about them, but Wobba's so bland no one can summon the energy to write him out.

If he went, what would you miss? Breaking out of his ball and hissing 'WAAAAAHBUHFEH'? Is that so integral?

I have several objections:

What is it meant to be?

Why does its tail have eyes?

Why is that never mentioned?

Is it a sort of quadruped, or has it only one foot with four toes, arranged like the bottom of a medical walking stick?

A lot of my reactions to Pokémon are influenced by encountering them in the games. With Wobbuffet, I remember first coming across it in the cave near Blackthorn City, and just as you're winning the fight, it pulls out Destiny Bond and suddenly you're both down.

When you finally get one, it's tricky to train. You have no choice but to guess whether the opposition will launch a physical or special move, and mostly you get it wrong. He never learns anything else and doesn't evolve, so it's that forever.

Persevering with Magikarp is worthwhile, but what's to be gained from taking any time out to fight with Wobbuffet?

The anime eliminates this problem. You're aware of the nature of the approaching onslaught because you can see it coming, and the opponent said it aloud.

In this context Wobbuffet should be the most powerful Pokémon in the universe. Come on, it can deflect every attack!

Is it? No. It has a successful defence about once a generation, and still loses the battle. I can't say if it's worse to be utterly pointless, or to not fulfil one's potential.

I resent it muscling in on the motto, as if it's considers itself of equal rank to Meowth. No it's not!

When I was young, there was a tendency for magazines to refer to Team Rocket as a duo. Meowth was judged to be in the same position as Pikachu: a main character yes, and valuable enough to be accorded the privilege of liberty, but still very much owned by people.

You would see references to Jessie and James as his Trainers, though how they assumed this worked went unexplained. Even if shared, one had to have to caught him, thus be his proper owner.

Later on this developed into them being three equal members, and the term 'TRio' emerged, but now, although perhaps not officially recognised, there's an attitude of treating them as a quartet.

It's just wrong! Wobbuffet's not been around since day one. He didn't join Team Rocket voluntarily because he had nowhere else to go. It was a choice made for him by his original Trainer, so out of his hands, or rather his flippers.

If he was an independent Pokémon who just tagged along one day, that would be different, but it belongs to Jessie. Promoting one of hers means James is lesser, and no longer equal.

In each generation Team Rocket catch at least one local Pokémon, but as Wobbuffet's there, it ends up with Jessie having more on her side than James, and I dislike the imbalance. Plus the one he does get is violent.

It can't be solved by giving him another new one, as then he's captured two in the region, and she has only one, so again it's skewed.

Whilst Wobbuffet does count in numbers, he's not on the level of the rest, who fight regularly. He's both there and not simultaneously.

I'm still irked the way Lickitung was ejected to make room.

It was the best Pokémon they ever had! It took out Pikachu, Vulpix and Bulbasaur with one move! It would've won those Princess Dolls for Jessie if the writers hadn't changed the rules so that Lick only affects those of sound mind!

It was as if they realised their mistake too late, and so Lickitung was featured less and less to avoid it dominating a fight, then hurriedly traded away for something reliably feeble.

The following analogy you may not understand, but I think it fits rather aptly:

There's a game called Final Fantasy VIII. One of the side quests involves you racing through a castle under a time limit. If successful, you are rewarded with Odin as a Guardian Force, which is a deity that will provide a defence.

Unlike others, he is out of your control, but every so often, as you enter battle, he turns up and annihilates your opponents. It's very welcome.

Unfortunately this game was programmed by bunyips, who clearly didn't want the last section of the game to be accidently easier for you. Oh no. If you're progressing, it ain't gonna be through luck, or turning the console on and off until he arises.

Therefore, towards the close, you come up against ex-friend Seifer. Odin is fixed to rush to your aid, but when he does, bloody Seifer slices him in half, horse and all!

He killed Odin, the ancient King of the North! The Lord of Valhallah! The Father of the Vikings!

It's not normal fighting death, it's irreversible. He's gone for good.

After this Gilgamesh introduces himself as a replacement. He too will randomly appear and set about the enemy.

The problem is that whilst Odin destroyed monsters unfailingly, with Gilgamesh it's a rarity.

He uses four swords, and which you get is also a lottery.

One is the same as Odin's, two deal average damage, but not death, and the worst one depletes 1 HP, so it might as well not have bothered.

Not only does it arrive but a fraction of the time, but it's in a fraction of those times that it's of any assistance, which is something of a comedown.

Lickitung is Odin: didn't see it often, but it tore the place apart!

Wobbuffet is Gilgamesh: once in a blue moon it provides rescue, but it's on a lot lower percentage than it's predecessor.

It's difficult not to be disappointed.