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aitarose · 4 years ago

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A HUNDRED LIVES (H. IWAIZUMI) pairing: iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

synopsis: only real relationships stand the test of time, some fair better than others—but in the end, all that truly matters is telling them you love them. all that mattered was how hajime would finally confess.

word count: 2.2k

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, mutual pining

warnings: mentions of death

notes: i hated the way this was and i’ve had it finished for like a week and a half but now it’s in second person because i rewrote the whole thing ok aha enjoy! reblogs are very much appreciated like pls tell me what you think about this i kind of love it?? or do i? idk

↳ DIRECTORY

You knew that congratulations were in order, one for not only you, but the entire third year class of Aoba Johsai. The third year class that you’d grown up with, the people that’d graduated together from their high school duties. The very people that you’d grown up with, known for years on years, were moving on from Miyagi and saying their goodbyes.

It was saddening, knowing that you’d all have to leave your past behind, grow up and move on as an individual. You, yourself, hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that you’d be moving to Tokyo—the city of stars and big dreams. There was something solemn about the thought—beginning a life on your own, away from the friends and family you’d grown used to seeing every day.

Which was why today was all the more important, why it mattered so much in the hole of your mind. It was one final hurrah, one final farewell to all of the fleeting people you’d come to love. All of the classmates from first period, advisors who’d suggested career paths, family friends and relatives that’d seen you grow up—and him.

Iwaizumi Hajime.

As children, you and Iwa had been as close as you could possibly be—spending nearly every day with one another as you were next-door neighbors, only separated by a thin wooden fence. One that was commonly crossed, as it was impossible to stay away from his energy—he’d been your first friend, first crush, the very first boy you’d ever daydreamed about while the sun was awake.

Perhaps it’d been his smile, the joy on his face as he’d swing you back and forth on the playground. How he’d try his best to teach you how to set and spike, lecturing Oikawa as he’d complain about how you were never going to be good at the sport, and ignoring his best friend’s claims of a secret little crush on his favorite girl.

And though those times had been fun and all, the moments in which you’d meet each other between the dividing fences of your backyards during the evening hours, Oikawa long gone—and run off to the countryside to play in the old and sturdy tree house that your father had built the two of you, had always been amongst your favorite memories.

They were the memories that were always on the back of your mind, itching to be recalled, reenacted—the longing you had for him never truly going away even as you grew apart as time went on. That part of your brain, the part that might’ve loved him only taunted you—taunted you with the brokenness of the bond you thought would always last.

Your greatest wish was that you would’ve been able to keep in close contact throughout the late middle and high school years—but life had come in the way, life had ruptured your attachment to him—the responsibility of upholding your family after the death of your father had surpassed your need for Iwa, creating an abyss with no bridge to cross.

No bridge except a tiny, frail wooden beam that would only be stepped on in the times where Iwaizumi and his boasting best friend would stop at his house to hang out when after-school practice had ended. While it was rare that his path would cross yours, there were some sparing moments in which you’d miraculously be outside to greet them.

It wasn’t like you and Iwa weren’t friends anymore, it was just that you’d each let the void amass for so long that there was nothing you really had in common—nothing except the bright pink flush on the both of your faces as Oikawa would poke fun at his ace’s face, causing Iwa to drag him into his house with a stoney and angered expression.

And that was it. That was the only interaction you’d ever have, the only time you’d speak to the boy you thought you loved.

Which was why you weren’t all that surprised when he hadn’t decided to show up to your graduation party despite the handwritten letter you’d dropped off on his doorstep. His absence was deafening, making it all the more difficult to say your goodbyes as the person you wanted to see most, didn’t care enough to bid a farewell.

So, you’d decided to take matters into your own hands and somehow move on from the lost dreams that you’d once shared with Iwaizumi. The only reasonable way being to let go of that broken connection, the connection that had started with your little hideaway—the hideaway amongst the trees that you’d found yourself climbing up now.

The calloused wood of the ladder splintered beneath your hands, scratching the taut skin, sanding its softness—no doubt blistering it to oblivion. You winced, curses flowing under your breath as you hesitantly reached the top, not exactly knowing what to expect as the treehouse had seemingly been abandoned for years.

Pushing your nerves aside, you crawled into the tiny space, forgetting how much younger and smaller you’d been the last time you’d sat in the little alcove. Looking up, your eyes grazed over the clean walls of the hideout, free from overgrown plants and cobwebs and dusted to near perfection—there wasn’t a single thing out of place.

It was surprising, the sight of your childhood playhouse having been taken care of after you’d assumed it had been forgotten—after you’d forgotten. Someone had to have been maintaining its structure, keeping it tidy and homey—that someone being the boy sitting directly across from you, scaring you half to death as his irises grew wide in shock.

“What the—” You started, tripping over your own feet as you fell backwards towards the opening of the doorway. A small scream grew on your lips as you began to free fall, nearly out into the open air before Iwaizumi reached out—catching your wrist in his, reminding you of the times when this was a common occurrence—when he’d never fail to keep you on your feet.

“You alright?” He breathed out, large hand gripping your wrist, continuing to hold on even though you were standing between his arms. It was comforting, the feeling of being so close to him, back in the presence of the boy who’d you’d lost oh-so-long ago—the boy you’d been hoping to see at some point before you had to leave for university. “I see you’re still a bit clumsy.”

Rolling your eyes and stepping away from his familiarity, you crossed your arms, one resting over the other, clear confusion in your eyes. “And I see that you’re still attached to this little shack.” There was a hint of humor in your tone, laughter being vocalized, but pain within its context. “It looks amazing, though—for how long it’s been.”

Iwa scoffed, shaking his head as he bit his lip—mouth itching to say something, then refusing to do so. Perhaps it’d been a snarky remark, or maybe one of sadness, whatever it’d been was lost, now a mystery to your ears. Instead, he patted the stray couch cushion next to him, offering you a seat—the seat that had used to be yours.

You sat in silence, together yet apart as the sun was setting over the far away fields. With every second, every sun ray splitting off and being reborn in moonlight, you could feel your adolescence slipping away—the thought of being dependent and a child losing meaning, losing importance, losing validity and need.

Thoughts running wild, chaos in your mind, the only constant being fear and anxiety in retrospect to the unknown that was your future—your future miles and miles away from everything that you’d come to love. Noticing the stress in your stature, Iwaizumi took a deep breath—wanting to hold your hand, but stopping himself before he could try.

“It hasn’t been that long, you know.” He said softly, glancing over at you. A little smile grew on his face at the furrow in your eyebrows, the slight upturn of your lips, and scrunched nose. If there was any beauty in the world, any beauty at all—Iwa believed that you were gifted with all of it. “I used to come here every night.”

“Yeah, Hajime—I know.” You responded, scoffing as you called him by his first name, the only name you’d ever known him by. “We both did, I was here too—” In the midst of your smart-assed response, he shook his head. There was something about his posture, energy, that made you stop in your tracks—it was one of his little ticks, one of the things that you’d never failed to remember.

“But that’s just the thing—you weren’t here.” He mumbled, tapping the top of his knee with a finger as he leant back against the wooden walls, a reminiscent look in his eyes. “I’ve always been here, Y/N—always kept this place perfect for you, on the off chance that you’d come back. On the off chance that we’d keep our promises and not forget about each other.”

There was a sense of solemnness to the words spouting from his mouth, the truth that she had in fact left him behind—all with reason that he undoubtedly understood—but that didn’t make up for the lost years and memories that they could’ve had had she not been so distracted with the troubles of life and reliability.

“This is going to sound ridiculous since you’re leaving soon—” Iwa mumbled under his breath, internally cursing at himself at the horrible placement of his timing. “—but I’m not going to lie, Y/N. I really did think we’d end up together, somehow. When I proposed to you in that corner over there with that grass ring, I meant it. I meant every word.”

“Even if that ring had fallen apart two seconds after I tried to slip it on you.” A laugh bubbled from your throat, recalling the memory from when you were children—how he’d given you a kiss on the cheek along with getting down on one knee. The two of you had had a makeshift wedding after that, gathering all of your stuffed animals and placing plastic chairs beneath the tree—saying your vows with your parents in attendance, watching fondly at the pure sight.

Biting your lip, you turned to face him and his gaze that had already been intent on seeing you. There was a ghost of a grin on his features, wistful wonder in his irises, his hair messy and sticking in every direction due to the static—yet he was still the most handsome boy you’d ever seen. “I’m sorry.” You placed a hand on his, stopping the fidgeting nerves in his lap, and calming the rushing blood in his veins.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting for so long.” Wincing at the thought of your carelessness, the complete disregard you’d kept for his feelings along with your own. You’d had no intent on leaving Iwa behind, you’d just been so caught up with your own problems that he’d gotten lost in the mix of it all. “I must be a pretty shitty wife.”

Iwa laughed loudly, head dropping back at your remark. The moment was filled with deja vu, reigniting all of the feelings and love you’d buried under the hauntings of your mind. He always seemed to manage to make that broken part of you feel whole again, with his directed remarks and little jokes. “You’re not wrong, left me all alone after the altar—that doesn’t exactly scream ‘perfect wife’ material.”

Those words seemed to trigger something in him, a feeling that he hadn’t yet overcome as his expression turned stoney. Placing his empty palm above yours, hands stacked atop one another in a tower, Iwa grimaced, choosing his next set of sentences very wisely—knowing full well that they could make or break whatever chances he had with you.

“It’s alright though.” He whispered, his warmth heating the radiating coldness that was you. “Since I’d rather live a hundred lives of loneliness, then see you suffer even a minute of sadness.”

With his emotions bare, confessions out on the table, the things he said were more meaningful than those three little words themselves—you couldn’t help but feel your heart grow. The love you held for him overcompensating for every mistake and pain that you must’ve caused him—the only goal listed in your head being to make the rest of your time count, make the rest of your lives worth something together.

Leaning forward, ignoring the look of surprise on Iwa’s face as your nose touched his, you smiled through the outflowing sentences—outflowing thoughts that were spouting out like raindrops in a thunderstorm. “Sounds like you might be living a pretty lonely life, then.”

He chuckled, calloused hands cupping your cheeks as he pulled you in, pressing a soft and long-overdue kiss to your awaiting lips. It was euphoria, the absolute bliss that was being with him, the boy of your dreams. It was a kiss that you’d spent countless nights thinking over, countless fleeting wishes of him holding you exactly as he was now.

While your future had always been uncertain, there was at least one constant—a constant that would hopefully always be right within your grasp, right within your arms to hold on to, listen to, love wholeheartedly. Iwaizumi Hajime was it for you, he was the endgame that you’d always been searching for.

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kendrixtermina · 5 years ago

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One thing that felt uncomfortable to go along with in the CF route for me was when Edelgard lies about what happened at Arianrhod to her closest allies (Black Eagle Strike Force) and blames it on the church. Can you give some insight as to why she does this? Especially when Edelgard criticizes the church for lying to the people of Fodlan, but isn’t she doing it here?

That’s certainly a moment that is genuinely ambiguous / a valid point of criticism and something I’d laud a whistleblower for exposing if it were a RL politician, but also the sort of realpolitik / appearance management that has taken place in most RL wars.

Once you’re the leader of anything, allowing panic, division, etc. at bad moments comes with its costs. Of course this is hardly a carte blanche (see: Beating down legit protesters for superficial “order”), but neither is it a factor that can be ignored completely.

At the point of the Arianrhod attack Edelgard was one month away from seizing control of the landmass and ending the large-scale fighting, having one enemy taken out (the Church) and being able to turn all her resources on the other (the Agarthans)

The agarthans at this point know they’re losing control of Edelgard and they’re not stupid enough to have any illusions about her loyalty. So they fire a warning shot to demonstrate their superior weaponry. Arundel makes a thinly veiled threat to fire it on Enbarr.

Of course at this point he basically gave away his location and allowed Edelgard & Hubert to come up with countermeasures, but they don’t want him to know that yet, their strategy involves that they keep being underestimated, let the Agarthans keep thinking that the “beasts” have no counter for the nukes pointed at their heads.

But they still destroyed half a fortress killing the ppl inside. If she reveals that she’s got a rogue faction infiltrating her ranks that’s firing frightening superweapons nilly willy, there will be chaos outrage and disunity right before the final battle. If she doesn’t make a statement at all and declares it a mystery, no one will believe it and her own faction will get the blame throughout the country. So what does she do? Pin it on the enemy she is currently fighting anyways. The purpose here is not to reveal the Agarthan situation too early so they can focus on the church for now.

It’s unclear if this was ever revealed to the public (probably not, I don’t think she’d cause a stir on principle alone) but the ending cards make it quite clear that the Strike Force was let in on the Agarthan situation later and helped her mop them up.

Yeah, it’s defamation, an indisputable textbook government cover up and maybe even technically a kind of propaganda, but her casus belli existed before it’s not like she’s basing it on the lie, and in most wars throughout history the factions have hidden or made a spin of failures & mishaps and made the enemy look bad.

There are certainly many historical examples of such actions creating problems, such as fueling lingering resentments or creating general mistrust that can led to real information not being believed etc. so it’s by no means a safe action that is no big deal and I can see how it could be a legit dealbreaker for some, you certainly weren’t supposed to be 100% comfortable with it, or anything on the CF route, everyone involves is well aware that they’re doing ugly, costly things because (or so they see it) the alternatives are all worse. In that sense it’s the most self-aware one. It’s about actually looking at the bottom line of consequences, not what makes you feel like a hero.

At the same time, doing things like that that squander her moral credibility genuinely IS a flaw in Edelgard’s leadership style - it’s probably why more ppl didn’t believe her manifesto, “she already lied to us cooperating with these shady guys”, making it look like a ‘he said she said’ situation to the wider public that can’t go & confirm the evidence for themselves. This is why Claude thinks he has a better shot at winning& implementing reforms in VW (”too shady for the ppl to get behind”) - just like Dimitri has no plans and Claude’s secrecy creating mistrust even when his secret plan is utterly benevolent. Doesn’t matter how altruistic you are if you look suspicious it will have consequences I mean that’s how she loses on the other rouses, everyone ganks up on her cause she antagonized them all with suspicious actions. I’m not saying she’s any more perfect than the other 2.

but putting that on the same scale as what Rhea did is comparing a candle to the sun.

And maybe the Kantians in the audience will disagree with me but it can be a bit unhelpful to classify different actions of vastly different consequence and magnitude as “Lies”. There is a common principle (telling things that aren’t exactly true) but different magnitude. Clearly “The Confederacy was all great and glorious” and “I totally didn’t eat my little sister’s share of toffees” aren’t on the same level of immorality.

Neither is below the “everythings fine and dandy” line but one is a lie about one incident for one clear purpose, and the other is creating a whole fake world view for the express purpose of control, maintaining harmful systems, suppressing any advancement of science & technology... for 1000 years.

Scale, purpose and consequences are totally different. The arianrhod coverup coming to light would spark controversy & discussion on wether she should have done it under those circumstances; Some might change their opinion about her but overall everyone already knew that she’s not above dirty methods. If you told the average citizen of Fodland about all of Rhea’s lies, everything they know would be wrong. They would go from Adoring & worshipping her to being very confused about what’s true.

It’s the difference between your average modern-day politician doing backroom deals with diverse industry lobbies to accomplish their other goals, and a place like Saudi Arabia.

To get perspective here, let’s look at another example: Claude’s deceptions.

He, too, ultimately wants what’s best for everyone and a lot of the time he decides to fool people to avoid fighting them, I don’t mean to bash him at all, but let’s look at his actions in and of themselves:

Look at the sequence where he, Hilda & Byleth rope the church into helping them - that’s even more outright with the slimy politician tactics: He tries to downplay alliance involvement though he is totally in control, he says that “getting the church on our side will make fighting the empire look like a moral cause” implying that he doesn’t think it is one but wants to portray it as one to get ppl’s support, we’re told he made lots of promises to the merchants to get them on his side (so like that’s literal lobbyists), he installs Byleth as a figurehead, he tells the church ppl he wants to help them get back their old power when he really wants it to diminish and to drastically reorder the society.

He tells everyone he’ll help them save Rhea but while he still has basic human empathy for her & what happened to her he makes it clear he doesn’t want her to go back to being archbishop... at all. He even does this with Byleth: “Yeah, sure, teach we’re totally gonna save her” though in their case he tries to hint that she’s not to be trusted for their own good. Despite his dishonesty, he’s actually a very good friend to them imho. (#broTP)

In the end the power struggle between Claude and Edelgard isn’t personal nor a righteous struggle - he’s just taking advantage of the chaos she caused and he needs the seat of power to reach his own goal. He thinks he can do it better and she’s in the way (and to be fair, she thinks the same about him)

It’s your classic slimy politician: “he’s pretending to be for family values etc thing but really he wants power & is in cahoots with economic interests and he won’t do what he promised” etc. ... except with the plot twist that he’s deeply good and not actually all that ruthless. In a sense he’s as much a total subverted trope as Edelgard.

So doesn’t he have the right to criticise Rhea either? Or do you see how, while not per perfect, he’s miles better and not remotely the same?

Edelgard isn’t 100% truthful, but by and large, she made her intentions very clear with the pamphlets and stuff (even if it meant antagonizing ppl who were against that) and all her soldiers generally know what they’re fighting for and are going to get out of it if they support her, or what the consequences will be if they fail, even if she kept some of the “how” to herself.

Which isn’t to say that Claude ever makes ppl act against their interests even if it’s sometimes what he sees as their interests.

Under Rhea’s rule no one knew what the government’s doing, why it’s doing it, or to some degree, even that she IS the government... for 1000 years. There’s some cult of personality going on. She probably genuinely believes that it does benefit the sheeple to be “guided” by her, but she hasn’t even told Seteth about all she’s doing, she’s pretty much accountable to no one.

In terms of honesty, we could probably rank the lords like this:

Dimitri (a few omissions at worst)

Seteth (lies mostly out of self-preservation)

Edelgard (some convenient secrecy here & there)

Yuri (about the same as El but I’d put him slightly higher for the fake betrayal)

Claude (no one rly knows what he’s up to, but he gets ppl what he promised them and doesn’t outright betray them)

(very)

(big)

(gap)

Rhea (fake history, isolationist bubble, abuse of power left & right, manipulation, will smile in your face while planning to make you a meat puppet for her mom)

#fe3h #fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem three houses #three houses #edelgard von hresvelg #edelgard

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mobius-prime · 5 years ago

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147. Sonic the Hedgehog #82

Night of Chaos!

Writer: Bollers Pencils: Ribeiro Colors: Gagliardo

Those of you who've played the first Sonic Adventure will know exactly what's coming up and how it plays out. Sonic is hopping from rooftop to rooftop at night in Station Square when he spots police cars zooming around a corner and decides to follow them to see what's up. Of course, it's Chaos, against whom the cops' weapons are useless, as they so helpfully shout at us. The dialogue here is almost word for word taken from the English translation of the game, with the occasional thought bubble to expand Sonic's mental take on things. Luckily, the extraordinarily cheesy dialogue from the game fits in perfectly with Archie Sonic's already incredibly-cheesy-to-begin-with personality.

The fight plays out much like how the boss fight in the game does, with Chaos hopping from light pole to light pole and eventually melting back into a puddle of water and going down the drain, with Robotnik laughing at Sonic's efforts from above to defeat "Chaos, the god of destruction." Good thing the Freedom Fighters were here in the city to defend it from this thing, huh? Since it's so isolated, if they'd had no help, Station Square would have kind of been screwed against Chaos from the start.

Door to the Past

Writer: Bollers Pencils: Ribeiro Colors: Gagliardo

This story is where the adaption takes a sharp departure from the game. Knuckles, still wandering the ruins, suddenly finds a ball of light approaching him, and as it touches his forehead, he is swept into a vision by an echidna who introduces herself as Tikal, but definitely does not look like the Tikal we know (for some reason, throughout the arc, her appearance and even the spelling of her name is wildly inconsistent). Unlike in the game, where it takes the entire cast multiple days to coordinate with one another and decipher the strange visions they've all been receiving, Tikal just lays it all out on the table to Knuckles immediately.

Of course, the Mysterious Cat Country was named as such because, well, there were cats already living there, cats who weren't inclined to share their space. The Knuckles clan, the warrior caste for whom Knuckles is named (it has nothing to do with his pointy mutant knuckles, no, not at all) chose to stay and fight, while the scientists departed back for Albion. Tikal, the young daughter of their warchief "Pachamac" (a misspelling, they corrected it to Pachacamac in future issues), chanced upon the Mystic Ruins , meeting the peaceful chao who protected the "seven emeralds" (it's not elaborated on what kind of emeralds these were, since in this universe, the Master Emerald didn't exist yet, and there are more than seven Chaos Emeralds in the world), along with the mutated chao made of water called… Chao. Yeah, I guess he started being called Chaos later or something? Tikal quickly befriended the chao, understanding that they were peaceful and didn’t want to be disturbed by conflict, but in the midst of their war with the native cats, the members of her clan tried to invade the chao's land to seize the power of the seven emeralds for themselves, despite Tikal's pleas.

While Knuckles chases after the ball of light, we move over to Eggman, whose robots have all returned with various frogs for inspection. At first, like in the game, he's pissed that none of them have the right frog, but then gets to Gamma and becomes pleased as he sees the correct frog (though, again, how he knew that the piece of Chaos got into that one specific frog completely eludes me). After extracting the missing piece from Froggy…

…Chaos is whole once more, which means that this story took place before the first one. Man, why do all these issues have the various stories out of order like this? I mean, I guess they wanted to keep the general order of Sonic story first, then Knuckles, then the backup at the end, but still. While Eggman sends Chaos off to wreak some havoc, we head back to the Mysterious Cat Country, where the cat queen continues to try to interrogate her captives, certain they're planning an attack on her people. Instead of reassuring her that they are not, in fact, trying to invade her land, Vector decides to just start mouthing off for no reason.

First of all, "crap" is not a swear word. Second of all, that's cannibalism. And third of all, Locke has arrived to demand the release of the Chaotix and Julie-Su, or else he's willing to restart the war that he claims the cats started all those years ago! Wait, Locke, what the hell? The cats hardly started the war - if anything, it was the echidnas arriving and trying to colonize an already-inhabited land that started the war. But then again, we already knew the echidnas were pompous colonialists who only care about themselves.

Double-Crossed Circuits

Writer: Bollers Pencils: Ribeiro Colors: Gagliardo

In keeping with the theme of not putting these stories in any logical order, this story takes place both before, during, and after the previous one. It's also narrated very bizarrely, with most dialogue avoided and replaced instead with textboxes that simply inform us, in second person no less, what's going on at any given time. This isn't the first time Karl has opted for this style of storytelling, but I maintain that it just doesn't work as well as simply showing what's happening, and clashes especially hard with comics as a form of media, given that they're all about showing instead of telling.

Anyway, it's time to properly meet E-102 Gamma! It was built by Eggman along with several other similar robots also named after Greek letters, and trained for battle against robotic copies of Eggman's various enemies, including, of course, Sonic. Gamma completes the obstacle course with ease, and is then sent out with its fellows on the quest to get! that! frog!

Of course, we know it returned with the correct one, and Eggman, angry at the rest of the robots for failing, disintegrates them all before Gamma's eyes. He then orders Gamma, who is feeling the beginnings of emotion at witnessing its fellow robots' "deaths," to go to the prison block and get the bird from Amy, who's been imprisoned there since her capture last issue.

You see what I mean about this weird style of narration? I mean, I guess you could say Karl is trying to avoid just lifting all the dialogue wholesale from the game, but this is objectively worse, as well as being weirdly confusing to anyone who isn't already familiar with the original scene. Anyway, Gamma straight up rips the door off its hinges to allow Amy and the bird to escape, and then walks away, with the narration informing us that Gamma is now sentient due to this decision. Uh… okay then, I guess? Next up we have a Super Special, which contains the bulk of the adaption, so strap in for that.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 82 #writer: karl bollers #pencils: nelson ribeiro #colors: frank gagliardo

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ladystylestores · 5 years ago

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England has one of the worst Covid death rates in the world. Now many fear it’s about to drink itself into chaos

(CNN) — The thought of a pint of beer in a proper pub is a dream that has sustained many people in the UK through the tough months of coronavirus lockdown, but as the doors to drinking establishments in England finally reopen after four months on Saturday, a potential nightmare looms.

Just a week after thousands of British people flouted social-distancing rules to crowd beaches in a heatwave, it’s feared the heady mix of alcohol and a sense of liberation from restrictions, at a time when daily infections are still in the hundreds, could prove disastrous.

Extra police have been put on standby, warnings have been issued by the government and numerous guidelines put in place. But concerns still remain that, no matter how committed people are to keeping coronavirus at bay, after a few drinks that will all go out of the window.

In the days before July 4, thirsty Brits could be forgiven for looking ahead to a day of carefree celebration. Amid announcements of several new freedoms, newspapers called it “Independence Day” or “Super Saturday” while Prime Minister Boris Johnson said it was a “patriotic duty” to go to the pub.

Of course, going to the pub isn’t going to be the same breezy experience as it was before the pandemic. As with everything in this brave new world, there are rules. Forty-six pages of them, to be precise. Those inevitably mean confusion, and potential for further chaos.

A quiet place

Social distancing markers are laid in front of the bar at the Chandos Arms pub in London.

Frank Augstein/AP

For the most part, drinkers will need to pre-book. Table service is in while the tradition of propping up the bar and waving bank notes at overrun staff to get their attention is out.

In larger chain pubs, such as those run by the Wetherspoons company, drinks will have to be ordered via an app. Contactless card payments, instead of cash, are set to become the norm.

There’ll be no more crowding into spaces the size of living rooms to cheer on soccer teams in their final few matches of the Premier League season. Sport can be screened, but quietly. Music too must only be played at low volume. Speaking loudly and shouting can spread the virus, so punters are also being asked to keep the noise down.

“For the customer, with screens separating the bar and pay points, servers needing to wear PPE such as masks and visors, one-way systems, and the need to stay outside as much as possible — not only will the pub look physically different, but the experience itself will feel very different too,” says James Lintern, co-founder of RotaCloud, which provides staff management software to pubs.

“We will be introducing several changes,” says Keith McAvoy, CEO of Se7en Brothers Brewing Co and owner of two beer houses in Manchester. These include table service, dividing screens to split up large tables, full PPE for staff and reducing customer numbers from 150 to between 50 and 70.

“The biggest will be the number of customers allowed in the bars, we will have to remove all drinking at the bar and standing,” he adds.

Pods and bubbles

Dining pods created for the White Hart of Wytham pub.

Courtesy White Hart of Wytham

July 4 also sees England reduce social-distancing guidelines from two meters to one, a move lobbied for by many in the hospitality industry who say that the original advice would make it impossible to accommodate enough customers to turn a profit. Even at one meter, it will be a struggle.

McAvoy says his pubs will be sticking to two meters. He says this is because of the lack of proper rules put down by government and local authorities. Like others, he views that 46-page document as more of a guide than a rulebook.

Every pub owner seems to be taking a different approach. At The White Hart of Wytham, in a village on the outskirts of the city of Oxford, staff have taken a more extreme line, creating new outdoor dining pods.

“We made an early reckoning that the pandemic was going to hit the hospitality industry hard and that we’d have to think on our feet to ride it out,” says owner Baz Butcher. “We had someone in the village create 10 of these dining pods. Made from mostly recycled materials, they can also be put together for larger bubbles.”

While some pubs will ask drinkers to pre-book, others are saying they will follow the approach taken by retail outlets, with socially distanced queues and a one-in, one-out system.

“The government guidance is thorough, but just that — guidance,” says James Lintern. “The onus is on pubs to decide how to implement it, and there is a lot of room for interpretation.”

It’s a view echoed by Stuart Langley, owner of The Dartmouth Arms in north London. “The government guidelines are open to widely different interpretations, reader to reader,” he says. “I think you will see businesses cover themselves in hazard tape and safety signage — and wonder why nobody is coming through the door. I think you will see businesses that open with minimal changes to their operation — and be accused of neglect, despite working well within the guidance.”

‘Knife edge’

Crowds swarmed beaches during the UK’s recent heatwave.

Andrew Matthews/AP

Langley says he hopes the new rules don’t result in a massive booze-up, echoing concerns of leading experts who question the wisdom of reopening on Saturday, particularly in light of the recent heatwave beach invasion during which many Brits drank themselves into oblivion.

The UK’s former chief scientific adviser, David King, who heads up an independent advisory group on coronavirus, called the plans “extraordinarily risky.” Jeremy Farrar, who sits on SAGE (Scientific Advisory Group), the UK government’s sometimes secretive body of experts, says the country is on a “knife edge.”

“We’re keen to avoid a big reopening celebration,” says Langley. “It’s all about getting the place open and ensuring our local community can be confident that Dartmouth Arms is a safe and enjoyable environment for them to be.”

Amid mounting concerns, Prime Minister Johnson has also rolled back his earlier bullishness. He told the LBC radio station: “I hope people will do this safely and sensibly. My message is let’s not blow it now, folks.”

Others, too, have urged everyone to take it easy. A joint statement by the National Police Chiefs’ Council and several hospitality organizations asked pub-goers to be supportive of staff. “It’s important everyone respects the new measures in place to ensure everyone can enjoy the return of our pubs safely.”

The consequences of unruly or risky behavior could be a second wave of coronavirus cases, just as the UK appears to be bringing the virus under control. Beyond the pandemic, it could have consequences for the future of pubs themselves and the community lifelines they offer. Many wouldn’t survive a second lockdown.

The UK’s pub industry was already in a dire state before coronavirus took hold. Research by the Campaign For Real Ale in 2019 found that pubs were closing at a rate of 14 a week, with the availability of cheap superstore alcohol and rising business overheads blamed.

“The fair and responsible thing is to reopen things slowly,” says Jen Left, who runs The Hand in Hand brew pub in Brighton’s Kemptown neighborhood.

This tiny drinking hole dates back 200 years and is a community hub as much as a pub. During lockdown, it’s been serving beers through a newly built hatch. It has offered free drinks to weary workers at the nearby hospital, with regulars keeping a keen eye out for those among them who are still isolating.

“One thing that we’ve learned in the lockdown is so much more about the community,” says Left. “People have been helping each other out a lot. There are a lot of vulnerable people around here. We’re conscious of the fact that people have worked so hard to protect people. We don’t want to be irresponsible and start up again just to make money. We’re OK with the beer hatch being open and we think we’ll survive for the summer.”

Get outdoors

Jen and Clark Left at the Hand in Hand pub in Brighton.

Courtesy Hand In Hand

Like many pubs, The Hand in Hand will be looking to move its operation outdoors completely for the summer. Left has rented a small car parking space opposite the pub to accommodate drinkers.

The government has said it will relax planning laws to allow for easy access permits for outdoor drinking, with applications costing just £100 (about $125). There’s wider talk of local authorities closing roads and allowing pubs to spill out further into streets, especially in areas with narrow streets such as London’s Soho.

But what happens once the summer ends and the weather turns? With coronavirus known to spread more quickly indoors than out, pubs are going to have to find safe ways to ensure social distancing and maintain confidence among customers that they will not become infected.

Some pub chains are looking into coating surfaces in copper, which is said to reduce coronavirus “dwell time.” Others, like the Hand in Hand, are focusing on isolating customers from each other.

Government guidance asks that pubs will need to keep a record of all drinkers for 21 days, in order to help with its track and trace system, but stresses that it is not compulsory for guests to supply their personal details.

It’s clear that going out for a drink in the near future could be a complicated exercise, but there’s no doubt the urge is still there.

“Since Boris announced he was ready to reopen pubs and restaurants we have been swamped by calls, emails and social media requests for tables,” says Lawrence Santi.

“For me it’s mainly trying to normalize being in the pub ASAP,” says Colette Doyle, who works in The Crown in Harlow, northeast of London, and will be going there on Saturday as a rest stop on a bike ride. She works in the kitchen and says she needs to get used to being in that environment when it reopens later in the month.

‘Sheer bliss’

Rolling out the barrel: Pubs have been shut for four months.

Danny Lawson/PA Wire via AP

“Having a proper pint from a pump and a bit of banter with my mates is what it’s all about,” says Dan Harris, who plans to go for a pint in the nearby Chequers pub after spending his first day back at work at his Harris Barber Lounge on Saturday. Hairdressers are also reopening this weekend in England.

“There’s something I’ve just missed about pubs, way more than shops or cafes or clubs,” says Andy De Vries, creative director at Mighty Elk Animation, who lives in Leyton. “Pubs are designed specifically with socializing in mind. It just takes organizing out of the equation. And even though it’s been nice to save a bit of money, who doesn’t miss a nice cold pint straight from the tap. And then there’s the people-watching; it can’t be beat.”

For Suzanna, who didn’t want to give her last name, going to her local, The Old Posting House in Deanscales, Cumbria is all about supporting a business that had become a cornerstone of the village.

“I’m not a big drinker, it’s an occasional treat for me after a long walk or swim,” she says. “I certainly won’t be heading out on a bender. But to know I can walk to the end of my village and enjoy a pint of Guinness? Sheer bliss.”

While there will be plenty of drinkers behaving responsibly, undoubtedly it’s the ones who don’t that will be grabbing the headlines.

James Lintern sums it up best. “How stringently people will follow social distancing guidelines when they’ve had a few remains to be seen.”

Going for a swift pint has never been so fraught with risk.

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greyias · 7 years ago

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FIC: Dance with the Devil (2/7)

Title: Dance with the Devil Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Genre: Angst, H/C, Action Synopsis: The cavalry arrives just in the nick of time. Warnings: See Part 1

Part 1 | Crossposted to AO3

The Sith pulled the saber back and then cleaved it down in a violent arc. Instinctively Theron shut his eyes, but instead of the searing pain of the fatal blow, the saber’s angry hum sputtered out into an unruly crash. He cracked open an eye and watched as Dirai tried to swing the blade again, but red sparks bounced off of a wall of blue light mere inches from Theron’s face.

For a moment, both of their anger and adrenaline were dulled with confusion, each staring at the other with a puzzled look as if they knew what was happening. Then Dirai’s confusion melted away as he narrowed his eyes and suspiciously looked up at the ceiling in one sharp movement. Theron frowned, following his gaze just as the dirty skylight exploded into a thousand pieces.

He ducked his head, clamping his eyes shut as a million shards of permaglass rained down them. The tiny shards bounced off the invisible barrier around him, but Dirai had to use his hands to shield himself from the raining debris. A small blonde figure landed in the midst of the chaos, gracefully landing on one knee and balancing herself with one hand, while the other was held up in Theron’s direction as if she were holding up something just in front of him.

She stood, cape billowing behind her as the wind blew in through the now open gap in the ceiling. The Jedi’s face was set in a grim expression, but he could see a few beads of sweat on her forehead as she fought to maintain the Force barrier she had erected to protect Theron from Dirai’s lightsaber. Her eyes were on her opponent, free hand appearing to hang loosely at her side, but Theron could see from the firm set of her jaw that she was resisting grabbing one of the lightsabers clipped to her belt.

Dirai staggered back from his captive with a snarl, sending the shards of glass flying in every direction like a kath hound shaking water from his fur. A few tiny sharp pieces bounced off the barrier, and despite the still ever-present danger of disembowelment via lightsaber, a flare of warmth lit inside of Theron’s gut as he realized that she was here for just one reason — him.

Dirai seemingly forgot about the captured spy, turning towards the newcomer, still-ignited lightsaber swinging carelessly at his side. “Ah, and here I was thinking you would never come.”

The flare of warmth was quickly doused by a cold sensation as Theron watched the Sith stalk his new prey, wondering exactly how much truth there was to his earlier ramblings if he could recognize her so immediately. He swallowed, glancing past the large man to the diminutive woman assessing the situation with a seeming calm. A slight twitch to her fingers betrayed that thin veneer, revealing the emotions she was trying to keep from bubbling to the surface.

“This man is a member of the Alliance,” she said calmly, eyes not straying from Dirai, “and as its commander, I do not take kindly to my people being detained in such a manner.”

That was such a polite way of phrasing the past few days, but leave it to Greyias Highwind to understate the situation so thoroughly while still cutting a figure of authority. Her cape fluttered behind her, wind teasing the loose bangs that hung into her eyes as she stared down the Sith looming over her.

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“Step away from him. Now.” The steel in her voice brooked no argument.

“I’ve been looking so forward to meeting you,” Dirai practically purred, “Commander is it?”

“If you put your lightsaber away, we can speak more freely.”

A cold prickle of dread worked its way down Theron’s spine. The cultist had never said exactly what he wanted with the Alliance commander, just his maddened quest to meet with her. Or rather, with the Force ghost taking up residence in her head. Theron tried to catch her eye in some vain hope of communicating this, but her attention was divided between maintaining the protective shield around Theron and sizing up her opponent. Another bead of sweat had joined the others on her brow, trickling down her temple in a thin line.

“Commander, he’s—“

“Quiet, worm,” Dirai snarled, pointing his saber back in the direction of his captive, “your betters are speaking.”

The moment his saber had moved, she was already in motion. The hand hanging at her side drew the saber and ignited it in one swift motion. In the blink of an eye she had crossed the gap between herself and the two men, dark purple blade clashing with Dirai’s and deflecting it away from his captive. The blue shimmer surrounding Theron disappeared, and he felt a few of the shards of glass that hadn’t bounced away land in his hair gently.

“You will not lay another hand on him,” she said firmly, an undercurrent of emotion threading through her tone that Theron had only heard once before.

That time he had heard it over a sliced comm channel on Rishi, as she had stared down his ancestor that had been holding him captive and threatened to literally tear the Revanite base apart to find him. It was an anger brought on by panic—or maybe more accurately fear—for losing someone you cared about. For a person who had invested so much of herself into the identity of a model Jedi, it hadn’t been her proudest moment as she had later admitted to him.

After they’d found each other again on Odessen, he’d heard her nearly lose her temper a few times, suppress annoyance at senior staff bickering, the sting of betrayal from an ally as Scorpio’s machinations brought the Eternal Fleet to Odessen — but the barely suppressed protective fury was not something she allowed herself to feel. Or at least, he hadn’t thought it was.

Perhaps he had been too distracted over the past few months by his own fear at losing her again to see the other side of the coin. Watching as her shoulders stooped from the weight of the galaxy pressing down on her had been maddening, but it was the pinched look of masked dread whenever Valkorion appeared that awakened something deeply irrational inside of Theron. Even all these years later, the memory of her clinging to him outside the Coalition Camp on Yavin still stung like a fresh wound, with her broken confession of what the ghost trapped in her head had done to her on their first encounter playing on a constant loop. The need for him to stand between her and that monster was almost as primal as it was implausible, an instinctual holdover from less civilized times.

He had just forgotten that those protective instincts cut both ways.

“He was just a means to an end, and he’s served that purpose now.”

She was almost turned completely away from Theron, so that he could only just see a slim profile of her face, but the even so, he could see her brow tighten a fraction. “Purpose? What purpose does this serve?”

Ah, it probably was too much for him to hope that she hadn’t noticed the… less than prime condition that he was in. His embarrassment at needing to be rescued aside, the fact that she was barely holding on to her normally strong and sound composure was worrying in itself. Whether it was rooted in her worry for him, or due to a slow erosion by the ghost in her head, it still meant that she wasn’t focused like she normally was. And that could prove to be deadly.

“You are here, are you not?”

“I am,” she said slowly, “but if you wanted to talk, there are other ways to get my attention.”

“Oh, you misunderstand me, Commander, it’s not you I wish to speak to.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then why—?”

“Vitiate,” he practically purred the name, “you can stop hiding, I can see you as plain as day.”

She stiffened then, jaw tightening as her eyes flicked over her shoulder, as if listening to an unheard conversation. When Theron realized that the parasite in question had just made an appearance, he felt his own blood start to boil, Dirai’s words about the dead Emperor hollowing out his host echoing endlessly. It was only interrupted by an angry cry of rage.

“Why do you refuse to speak to me?” Dirai snarled.

Grey started, looking confused. “But I am—“

“Not you, you simpering idiot!”

She had the grace to look offended, even as she continued to hold her protective stance, lightsaber not wavering in the slightest.

“My Emperor, I am a much more worthy host—“

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Theron muttered.

“You can not be serious,” she echoed the sentiment flatly. “The man you called Emperor was a monster—“

“I will not stand here and be lectured by some Jedi,” this time Dirai did spit, as if the word left a foul taste in his mouth, “who squanders the gift of true power.”

“He does not make a good point,” she muttered darkly, and it took Theron a moment to realize that the comment wasn’t directed at him or Dirai.

“Even now you refuse to reveal yourself to me,” Dirai seethed. “What must I do to get your attention?”

“Um,” Theron said quietly, “maybe now isn’t the best time for a side-bar with your unwanted guest.”

“If I could make him go away, I would,” she muttered.

Okay, point taken. That was the purpose of this whole, now obviously useless, escapade.

“Perhaps you need me to prove my worthiness?” Dirai continued to mutter to himself. “Yes, a show of power, a proper… sacrifice.” The Sith slid his gaze to the Jedi across from him, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “Yes.”

Before there was any time to react, a bolt of lightning shot out in their direction, which Grey immediately intercepted with her lightsaber. The purple lightning crackled off the blade, and the Sith gave out an angry cry as he lunged towards her. She drew her second saber in a flash, intercepted his blade before it had a chance to land the killing blow. Their blades were locked together in a quiet tense moment as they stared each other down, before they burst apart, sparks and lightning nearly blinding. By the time the black spots disappeared from Theron’s vision they were already crossing blades again, trading blows faster than the eye could see.

Theron tried to keep track of what was going on, but it was akin to trying to watch an individual spark in a sputter of flames. The light show of the clashing sabers danced around the room, the echoes of the crashing blades almost drowned out by the rumbles of distant explosions. Whoever else as here was making quite a show of things as well.

The duel continued to migrate around the room, sparks flying on each clash of the blade. Dirai was a master of the Juyo form, a pure expression of power as he tried to force the entirety of his will into every swing of his blade and beat his opponent into submission as he wielded his saber in a tight-two handed grip. Occasionally he would switch to one-hand, trying to blast his opponent off her feet with his lightning and attempting to sneak in a killing blow at the same time. On the other end, Grey preferred speed to pure force, twin blades whirling in an unending flurry, feet constantly in motion as she twirled to and fro. She made the Ataru form look almost as natural as breathing, her blades seemingly an extension of herself.

It was a dance that Theron had become intimately familiar with, as when they were fighting side-by-side she seemed to move in rhythm with him, filling in the blank spaces and openings each other left, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together. There was something comforting about feeling her at his back, knowing that nothing would slip past those defenses. Without ever speaking a word, they could predict each others moves, almost moving as one person rather than two. It was a familiarity brought on by trust and intimacy. It should have been a constrictive style of fighting, having to move and compensate for the other person, but somehow it was freeing, allowing him to just exist in the moment.

Still trapped against the table, he could only watch the furious duel from the sidelines — absently feeling like he was missing a limb. Occasionally when the two Force users slowed enough to be seen by the naked eye, he would see a slip in her defenses that he would normally fill, and desperately hoped that her opponent didn’t notice.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dirai let out one angry cry of rage, bringing down his saber in a powerful arc that would cleave durasteel in two. She caught the strike, barely, between her two crossed blades, the power of the blow nearly forcing her to her knees. Even from the distance, Theron could see her muscles twitch and twinge as she struggled to stay upright. He unconsciously jerked forward to her aid, but had gotten so focused on the duel he had neglected to finish his own daring escape. The cuffs held him securely in place, and he could only watch helplessly as a familiar cruel smile quirked at Dirai’s cracked lips.

“Now you see,” his arrogant chuckle practically echoed across the walls of the expansive room, “how your pathetic upbringing has failed you. It’s a pity, with that passion you might have made a fine Sith.”

And like he had flipped a switch, suddenly it wasn’t such a struggle for her to maintain her stance. Shards of permaglass and cracked pieces of duracrete began to float in the air, as if carried by an invisible wave emanating from the small Jedi. A bright, almost blinding light nearly obscured her figure as she stood to her full height, forcing the crossed twin blades towards Dirai.

“I am no Sith.” There was an edge of steel beneath that seemingly calm tone, a clear warning to her opponent. “And none will ever hold any power over me.”

“You Jedi and your stupid platitudes—”

With another burst of light, Dirai was thrown across the room back towards Theron, saber tossed from his hand and rolling across the floor. She advanced forward calmly, the bright halo of light limning her figure like an avenging angel. The Sith looked up at the approaching Jedi, and for a moment, an actual flash of fear stole across his face.

“You are done here, my lord.” There was such a heavy amount of sarcasm laced into those two words, Theron almost didn’t recognize that it had come from her. He had never been prouder in is life. “My companion and I will be leaving now.”

The Sith pushed himself up to his knees, an angry sneer twisting his features into a grotesque visage, as the purple sparks of lightning danced across his fingertips. “I think not.”

Without any further warning, his hand shot up, but not at his dueling opponent, but back towards his captive still strapped to the table. Theron saw the lightning rush towards him, but could only twist helplessly in his bonds, unable to get out of the way. The soft cry of dismay had barely reached his ears before a feminine figure had leapt in front of him just in time to take the full force of the blast.

She dropped to her knees, muscles twitching as the lightning crackled around her. Her sabers dropped from her hands as Dirai cackled triumphantly, apparently channeling all of his rage into the long, continuous blast. Theron’s vision descended into a crimson haze, heart hammering in his ears as he jerked uselessly against the shackles.

“As I said, your Jedi failings betray you. Compassion will always be your undoing.” The discarded saber flew back into Dirai’s hand, red blade hissing to life as he stalked towards his downed prey, holding her in place with the lightning shooting from his fingertips. “Now my Emperor will be freed from his pathetic bonds, and will take up a more worthy vessel.”

Grey could hardly raise her head under the onslaught of lightning, the muscles in her cheeks twitching as the electricity arced across her entire body. He raised the blade of his saber high for a final, powerful strike. So preoccupied with preemptively savoring his victory, Dirai had forgotten just one thing.

“Toxicity ten.”

Theron practically snarled the command to his bracers, his free arm aimed straight at the Sith’s exposed neck. The poison dart shot out from its hidden compartment with a quiet snick and buried itself into Dirai’s trachea. The unrelenting lightning ceased with a sputter of sparks as Dirai staggered back, hand clawing at the dart embedded into his neck. The distinctive thrum was the only warning the cultist had before a dark purple blade speared through his chest, quickly ending his threat before the fast acting poison even had a chance to enter his bloodstream.

He dropped to the ground with a loud thud, eyes staring vacantly up at the ceiling. Grey slowly rose to her feet, not deactivating her lightsaber until she had approached the body on the floor and ensured that he was dead. When she finally turned back to face Theron, there was a practiced mask of calm in place that almost perfectly hid the storm of emotions brewing behind her eyes. The red haze of adrenaline had only started to fade from his own vision, and he was incapable of processing much beyond the mad thumping of his own heart.

She swallowed as she gingerly walked back towards Theron, although be it due to the strain of the duel, or an internal battle she was struggling with was unclear. She glanced at the metal cuffs briefly, as if sizing them up. A dark blond brow narrowed in contemplation, before she shot him a stern look. “Don’t move.”

Her saber reignited in a flash as it glanced across his bindings, and was deactivated and stowed before he could even blink. The cuffs had been the only thing keeping him upright, and he would have crumpled to the ground in a ungraceful heap if two strong hands had not been waiting to catch him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as she was forced to bear all of his weight as he tried to find his feet after three days of confinement.

Her arms encircled him in an embrace that was meant to both keep him upright, and also convey the relief that was pouring off both of them. He wanted to return the gesture in kind, but his limbs weren’t cooperating at the moment. Everything felt heavy, like was trying to lift an entire starship rather than just stand on his own two feet.

“Are you—?” His vision swam for a moment, probably from being fully upright for the first time in days.

“I’m all right,” she murmured, pulling him a little closer. “Let’s focus on you.”

“Just need a moment.” His tongue felt a little thick, like whatever had effected his limbs had spread everywhere. “Then I’ll be good to go.”

She didn’t seem to be listening as she pulled her hand away and stared at it, unable to see anything but the red smear that had come from the ragged, unhealed wound on his side. When she did speak, her voice shook with unrepressed emotion. “What have they done to you?”

“…it’s just a scratch.”

She peered into his eyes a little too closely for it to be a romantic gesture. “They drugged you too?”

Theron shrugged helplessly. If he needed to list everything that had happened during his three days of captivity, they were going to be here for far too long. Her examination was cut short by the ground rocking as another explosion shook the building, and it was only her firm grip under his shoulders that kept Theron on his feet.

“What the hell was that?”

“My backup.”

“Backup’s loud,” he muttered.

“He’s more of a distraction,” she said. “I had intended to free you with minimal violence. Your host’s arrival was unexpected.”

He snorted derisively. “You’re the Jedi master of the understatement.”

She frowned at him worriedly. “We should get you out of here.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, summoning his strength and attempting to push away from her hold so he could walk on his own two feet. “This way.”

She easily kept her grip on him. “Maybe I should lead?”

“S’okay, I got it—”

“No, I really think you don’t—”

Before the argument could descend further, the twin doors leading out from the warehouse to the rest of the building swung open dramatically, the echoes of more explosions triggering off in the distance as one excitable Mon Calmari burst into the room with a triumphant cry of victory.

“Commander, as exciting as this training exercise has been — maybe we should go?”

Theron swung around almost drunkenly, piercing Grey with an incredulous look. “Guss is your backup?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“He’s… he’s…” Theron gestured inarticulately as the Force user in question nervously danced on the balls of his feet. “Guss.”

“I’ll have you know, Guss is an excellent student—”

“Commander, as much as I appreciate you defending my honor,” Guss cut in, “maybe you can extoll my virtues to this tactless spy as we make a hasty retreat? There are some very angry cultists on my tail!”

She gave him a tight nod, and looped Theron’s arm over her shoulders as she started towards the barricaded door leading out to the alleyway. He stumbled alongside her for a few steps, before he pulled away with a sudden burst of energy, circling back the way they came. The exasperated sigh she let out was very un-Jedi-like. He would have told her so, but he was too busy concentrating on keeping one foot in front of the other.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Need my stuff—”

“You could just ask—”

He staggered to a halt in front of the dirty, red jacket that had been nearly forgotten. As he bent over to scoop it up, his head swam again. Only the sudden presence of two steady hands fisting into shirt kept him from taking a tumble to the dirty floor. His fingers found purchase on the red leather, clutching it protectively as his very patient caretaker hauled him back upright.

“Can we go now?”

“Yes,” Theron said airily. “I can walk though.”

She shook her head at him, lips pressing together in a thin line. The sound of feet pounding in the distance caused her to look over her shoulder sharply, and she barked out a terse order to Guss. Theron tried to parse the words, but it was like trying to listen to something underwater. At the urging of the hand pressed into his back he got his shaking feet to take a few shuffling steps towards freedom. If he just focused on his legs, and not the way the world swayed and darkened at the edges of his vision then everything would be fine.

Guss’s lightsaber made quick work of the debris in front of the door, and for the first time in three days Theron could taste freedom. As they stumbled out into the dingy alleyway, he took in a deep breath of the outside air, relishing in the feel of it as the darkness in his vision rolled up to greet him.

#swtor fanfiction #fanfic #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #lightsaber duels ahoy!#oc: greyias highwind #otp: adorkable #theronangstywhumpfest2k17 #swtor #greyfic

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otterthewriter · 7 years ago

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javid summercamp au (modern)

“Attention campers!” Jack boomed. He easily commanded the amphitheater stage and his young, excited audience. “Welcome to Camp Kelly!” He gestured to his crowd and they at once erupted into deafening cheers. From the back of the audience, Katherine’s eyes nearly rolled out of her head.

“I am Jack, and I’m the king of this camp. You can call me Your Majesty,” Jack gloated, grinning widely.

“Get off the stage!” Race shouted, standing up and throwing a handful of trail mix from the back of the arena.

“That is the Royal Jester. You can ignore everything he says,” Jack taunted, and was then interrupted by Medda’s vehement shouts of protest.

“JACK KELLY!” she bellowed, climbing down the center aisle of the seats.

“And now, I would like to hear a thundering round of applause for the Queen of my kingdom, the lovely and wonderful, Medda!”

The children burst into applause even more boisterous than the last as Medda entered the stage. She exchanged a deadly look with Jack, who smirked and dashed to the back of the audience, collecting high fives and fist bumps all the way.

“I apologize for my employee,” Medda said to the audience, emphasizing the word “employee”.

“I am Medda. You can call me Medda.” The kids giggled. The kids always loved Medda. She was bubbly and generous, and welcomed the children to her camp with open and loving arms.

While Medda was launching into her “welcome” spiel, Jack was taking a seat with the other counselors.

“You’re a real dumbass, Jack,” Sarah chided, as he sat down at the end of their row.

“Love ya too, Sarah,” he replied, letting his gaze pass briefly over David, who sat two seats down from Jack. Jack was hopelessly enamored with David, though he would never admit it. He couldn’t get enough of his loose brown curls resting on his forehead, or his electric blue eyes that pulled Jack in headfirst over and over again.

“Besides, the kids just eat that stuff up. They love me,” Jack continued. “David knows”, he added. “They can’t resist my undeniable charm.”

David’s freckled cheeks reddened and he smiled awkwardly. He noticed Jack too, and Jack knew. Just like he knew--or thought he knew--that David could never love him. Jack Kelly, with all his flair and confidence, was certain beyond doubt that David would never really love him. Not David. Not shy, sweet David. Not David who cried after every group of campers left, and who spent his free time braiding the girl campers’ hair and making friendship bracelets with them. That David could never love an arrogant, cocky asshole like Jack. David deserved better.

Medda was wrapping up her welcome speech, so the counselors started to stand up. The kids were split up into groups based on their skills and interests. Kath did photography and film, Sarah did hiking and outdoor activities, Crutchie did theater, Race did water activities, Jack did arts and crafts, and David did botany. The seven counselors spread out and held up signs corresponding to wristbands that the children had received on arrival. As kids gathered around their new camp leaders, the counselors greeted and got to know them.

Once the kids were organized, the counselors marched them off to their respective activities, just like every camp, just like every year. But somehow Jack knew something about this camp would be different.

The counselors sat around a campfire that night, laughing and singing together after another successful first day of camp. Jack played his guitar and Crutchie led the group in bad renditions of classics and pop hits alike. The teenagers were comfortable with one another and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. It was as if they had grown up together, and they regarded each other as family. The joy was apparent on each one’s face when the fire’s glow would briefly light up their tired grins.

One by one the counselors would announce that they were turning in, and depart to their small dormitories, until there was just Jack, Crutchie, and David left.

Crutchie, sensing the tension in the air, stood up and said, “I’m gonna head in. Good night.”

David seemed to bolt to his feet. “Me too,” he sputtered.

“Stay, David,” Jack suggested, sitting back. “It’s only ten.” He was guessing.

David hesitated, exchanging a desperate glance with Crutchie, then slowly sat back down as Crutchie headed toward the dorms.

Jack knew he shouldn’t tease the boy like this. He knew he should just leave him alone, let him move on, find someone better. But that crooked smile… and those perfect lips…

“How’s your group?” David asked, yanking Jack out of a trance. Jack shifted his eyes up, not having realized he was staring at David’s mouth.

“Huh?” Jack asked, blinking.

“Your kids? What are they like?” David repeated.

“Oh, they’re good. Yeah. I’ve got one boy, Xavier. He loves Harry Potter. Talks about it non-stop. Made me think of you.”

“Oh,” David replied sheepishly. Jack scolded himself for flirting with the innocent boy.

Jack could occasionally catch a glimpse of David’s flushed pink face in the darkness. It brought him back to a night about three years earlier. David was new that year, and he fit in perfectly, despite his shyness. Jack immediately noticed David, but stopped himself from getting too close.

It was a Tuesday night when David came to him. Jack was up late painting, as always. It was a rainy summer, and it had been showering that night. David was in Jack’s doorway. His curls were wet from the rain and lay heavy over his eyes. His cheeks were pink from the cold. Jack’s heart was pounding hard as he helped the boy dry off. They sat close to each other on Jack’s bed while David weeped and admitted to Jack that he liked boys. Fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together, lips brushing. Jack let David sleep in his bed that night. Jack stayed up all night and sketched images of a small, unharmed boy lying in his bed. He dotted every freckled and drew the curve of his hips under the covers. In the morning Jack was gone from his dorm. He was sitting on the roof, watching the sunrise.

“Jack, I want to tell you something,” David said, breaking a lengthy silence. Jack’s heart raced. “I think you’re a really good person, Jack. Most people aren’t like you. You have a good heart.”

Jack was taken aback by his words. A good person? Jack grew up in foster care, surrounded by dirt-poor scumbags who would do anything for a dollar. Most people thought Jack was no different from them. Jack thought he was no different from them.

“I’m no good for you, David Jacobs,” Jack nearly whispered. “You don’t want this. You don’t want me.”

The fire crackled loudly into their silence. David hurt for Jack. He knew what Jack thought of himself, and longed to convince him otherwise.

David moved toward Jack, who became stiff.

“I need you.” The words tumbled out of David’s mouth. Messy and unintentional; unplanned and unrehearsed. The spontaneity made David nervous, but it thrilled Jack. It revealed a side of David that Jack had never seen. David was messy sometimes too. Just like Jack.

Jack grabbed David’s perfect jaw and pressed hard into his perfect lips. David inhaled sharply, but then gave in and kissed Jack back. Jack ran his fingers through David’s curls, and David carefully felt up and down Jack’s chest. Jack kissed David like he was cold water in the desert--thirstily, hastily, and desperately.

Then, as quickly as it began, Jack pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, then hurried away, leaving David confused, hurt and alone.

Jack was up early again the next morning. He went out to David’s garden and sat near a bushel of snapdragons. Snapdragons were Jack’s favorites, and David always made sure to keep an area for them every year. Jack knew they were for him but pretended that they weren’t.

The air was calm and sweet before the sunrise. Jack’s thoughts were slow and steady for once. He found that David slowed his thoughts down. Something about the boy helped him focus.

A voice from behind startled Jack. It was Sarah, David’s sister.

“You’re up early,” she noted, sitting down next to him on the bench. The two had dated for about a month a few years ago. They had fun together, but Sarah was never really attracted to him, and Jack really had eyes for David. The two were strikingly similar however--messy, passionate, and headstrong. After they broke up, they developed a surprisingly strong and meaningful friendship.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered.

“You and David were out late together last night,” she pointed out. “Anything juicy?”

“I kissed him. I shouldn’t have,” Jack admitted.

“He has such a thing for you Jack. Let him in,” she urged. Jack was quiet.

“I can’t. He’s so… sweet and undamaged. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Sarah sighed. She knew his feelings too well. She knew that by “this” Jack meant his chaos, his sadness, his fears, his fury. Everything that he felt was a liability. Everything that made him who he was.

Sarah clasped his hand tightly.

“Let him decide if he deserves it or not. Give him a chance,” Sarah said, meeting Jack’s intense gaze.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun’s rays start to spill into the sky from behind the mountains.

“What are you thinking?” Sarah asked, still holding Jack’s hand.

“I’m thinking that David won’t love me when he sees the real me. The anxious me, or the sad me. The ugly me.”

“I’m thinking that you should let him try.”

That afternoon, during free time Jack took his kids to the main plaza, where he knew David would be. They were working on quick sketches that day, so Jack told the kids to sketch every other camper before free time ended. They relished the assignment, and spent all their time chasing kids around with a pen and a pad of paper. David made flower crowns with his kids, and taught them about maintaining gardens. Jack would occasionally glance at the boy, who always hopefully smiled back. Jack’s heart skipped a beat every time David laughed, his whole face lighting up.

“Jack,” said a young voice from next to his chair. The voice belonged to Brie, a quiet little girl who liked drawing faces with no bodies and signing her art with a puzzle piece.

“Why do you keep looking at David?” she inquired.

Jack laughed, then met her eyes, large and curious.

“Are you in love with him?” she asked. Jack said nothing. He looked again at David, with a strand of flowers in his hair, blushing from heat and delight.

“Yeah. I am,” Jack finally answered, looking back at the girl.

“Then here,” she announced, handing Jack a piece of paper and walking away. Jack unfolded the paper and saw a drawing of David. His unabashed grin and gleaming eyes floated in the center of the page. Jack smiled to himself and put the drawing in his pocket.

I’m in love with David Jacobs.

That night during dinner David didn’t eat. He stared at his parmesan chicken, a usual favorite, and thought only of Jack’s calloused hand on his jaw, and his fingers through his hair.

“David what’s wrong?” one of his kids asked.

“I’m about to do something really really stupid,” David responded, climbing on top of his chair.

“Everybody listen!” David shouted. He felt his knees weaken as all eyes in the cafeteria were fixed on him. Jack’s stomach dropped. He had never seen David so exposed, so spontaneous, so… much like Jack.

“I have something I need to say, that I should have said a long time ago,” he continued, ignoring his trembling hands. “Jack Kelly, I want you. I need you. And I know you don’t think you’re good enough, but you’re good enough for me.”

Jack stared admiringly at the boy, heart beating in his ears. I’m in love with David Jacobs.

Jack stood and maneuvered toward David’s table. He climbed on top of a spare chair and stood beside David.

“David, you gotta understand-- I’m a mess. My baggage is… a lot. It’s not pretty. You’ve gotta promise me that you’re in for the long haul,” Jack told him. David gripped Jack’s hands and looked hard into the deep blue of his eyes.

“Through thick and thin,” David answered, cracking a grin. Jack couldn’t help but beam back.

“Come here,” Jack whispered and pulled David’s head close to his. Their lips met and the children collectively groaned. The other counselors cheered. Jack pulled back to look at David’s face, flushed and exhilarated. Their lips met again, hot and cold, coming together to form a perfect warmth.

#alright here it is #also sorry for using the word mess and variants like 500 times #but its just because jack Kelly is a fuckin mess #and so am i #javid #newsies #newsies au #newsies fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing

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