#and a bit too pale and unvaried

[iamthenightcolormeblack]

My Experience with Jane Austen Part 2: Reading the Books

In part one I laid out which books I read, which ones were my favorites and least favorites, and the adaptations I've seen. Now I'd like to talk about my reading experience.

Disclaimer: I’m not an expert, just a casual reader sharing some observations, feel free to correct me if I get some details wrong. Out of the books I’ve read I’m most familiar with Pride and Prejudice.

Let's face it. Reading Austen can be challenging and I understand why some people dislike Austen.

It's easy to perceive her novels as "boring" because on a surface level, not much happens. The characters are well-off people (in the upper half of society) who spend their time at home or traveling between social calls and it's easy to dismiss their conflicts as "first world issues." Settings are often indoors, reflecting how "confined and unvarying" the lives of the rich (especially women) were. The plots often move forward through dialogue or conversations rather than big dramatic events. The focus on marriage can also make the stories feel like antiquated relics of the past and can be hard to relate to.

The writing style is also different. There isn't much dialogue at times because Austen slips in lots of very subtle commentary or prefers to describe a character's external appearance or characteristics. Often big events like proposals are described briefly after they happen rather than during, which can make the story feel rather "dry." The books are narrated in third person and sometimes there is unreliable narration (Pride and Prejudice) where we get characters' multiple points of view, but all narrated in the third person as to give each one credibility and prove that it's hard to trust others. Austen's writing style means that readers have to fill in the blanks with their imagination. For example, she doesn't give exact physical descriptions of her characters, often relying on general characteristics like "tall," "handsome," or "amiable." In my previous reviews of Pride and Prejudice adaptations, I explored that intentional ambiguity as a big reason why the character of Mr. Darcy is alluring--because the reader forms a personal connection with the character by sketching his portrait alongside Elizabeth. The characters (their physical appearance and some of their motivations) are purposely mysterious and while it gives the reader lots of opportunities for engaging with the text, without historical/literary context for "filling in the blanks" it's easy to see the characters as stiff mannequins in strange clothing rather than human beings.

Austen as a romance writer: Her romances don't always match up with our perception of what a romance should be. Some people start Austen expecting intense emotions and outbursts of passion but become disappointed when presented with formal courting and stately dances instead. Emotions are often veiled behind dialogue and for a first-time reader it can be challenging to see a romance developing. Most of the time readers have to rely on the clues given by Austen (descriptions of characters "blushing," looking "pale," or losing their composure) to detect the stirrings of love, but on a first reading it's difficult to do so when one's trying to figure out the plot and the characters. Finally, the dialogue can't always be taken literally; lots of people, including me, were disturbed when Mr. Knightley said he loved Emma since she was 13, but it was actually a joke made in response to something she said.

Her books are products of their time, and I sure am not an expert in Regency era economics or social norms. Sometimes the implications of certain actions can be lost on a reader if they don't know about the social norms of the time (I had no idea that Darcy following Elizabeth around, alone, on her favorite walk at Rosings was a sign of his love for her). Differences in social class are also very subtle and while one can generalize the characters as all "well-off" people, they are separated by many levels of hierarchy and their ideas about social position and status affect how they interact with others outside of their station. Darcy looks down upon those whom he perceives to be below him, and while Emma wants to make an advantageous match for Harriet, Harriet's lower social position means that Emma's schemes are not likely to work.

Because of the unique quirks within the novels, the reader is required to go beyond the surface level of plot and appearance and read between the lines to understand character motivations and actions. Without historical context (Regency era society having little social mobility, women having few legal rights and needing to make good marriages to secure material comfort) or literary context (the Enlightenment, 18th century Gothic novels referred to in Northanger Abbey, the birth of the novel, early Romantic writers just to name a bit) reading between the lines is nearly impossible.

So why do we read Austen? Below are my personal reasons.

The novels feature female heroines that have dignity and self-respect. It's significant that the stories focus on women who are trying to live according to their own values and speaking their own minds rather than acquiescing to societal dictates. Elizabeth Bennet is revolutionary in part because she wants a marriage based on mutual admiration and respect between two partners who know each other well, rather than an economic arrangement for a home. One could go on forever about how Austen is a feminist, but, the characters don't act like modern day feminists--they are still people of their time. However, it's easy to assume "feminist" heroines have to have "aggressive" characteristics (rebelling, fighting, defiance) in order to be labeled as "feminist." Importantly, Austen's women are allowed to be vulnerable (they cry or struggle with their emotions) without that being a shameful thing. We also see different types of personalities celebrated: Jane Bennet, who is kind to everyone, is seen in a positive light rather than shamed for seeing good in everyone. Anne Elliot, who is regarded as "old," becomes more beautiful as she gets older and has a second chance of love. Emma Woodhouse is spoiled yet confident and assertive and "not likely to be well-loved" (paraphrase of Austen's commentary on Emma). Fanny Price is a shy person but still achieves her happy ending. Her heroines are real people who have flaws and get opportunities to learn and grow so that they can make their aspirations reality.

A unique take on the universal conflict of humans versus society: Austen's characters are bound by social norms of etiquette as well as a value system that idolizes wealth and connections above all else. Persuasion is a great story in part because it focuses on how Anne Elliot learns to follow her heart and avoid being "persuaded" by others (and by society) to follow a path that will not make her happy. She's had to live with the regret of following the well-intentioned but harmful advice of others (Austen notes that Lady Russell values social connections too highly) over her own feelings and judgment, nearly losing her chance to be with Wentworth. The romances are significant in that they reinforce the dignity and self-respect of the female heroines. To a certain extent, Austen's stories are realistic in that marriage is necessary for material well-being in a patriarchal society that provides few ways for women to provide for themselves. But most importantly, she also sees marriage as a means of affirming self-respect and dignity of the women. It's one of the few parts of their lives over which they have any control because they get to choose whom they marry (for the most part, unless the marriage is arranged). Their wish to marry for love is revolutionary because they dare to aspire for something more than wealth. They want their future partners to be their equals, someone who they can love and respect (or be totally honest with them) and who will provide the same in return. This line from Emma (the 2020 movie adaptation) sums it up: "I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Fame I do not want. Fortune I do not want. Consequence I do not want."

The difference between outward appearances and inner character is a fascinating theme that appears in several Austen novels, most notably Pride and Prejudice, where Wickham and Darcy are foils of each other ("one has got all the goodness, the other all the appearance of it"). A lot of the villains in Austen's novels are those who deceive others about their motivations or lie for their own advantage. A common trait these villains all have is that they have a charming outward appearance that masks their true natures; they don't look ugly nor are they unpleasant (ex. Wickham having great social skills, Willoughby following the trope of the knight rescuing Marianne as the damsel in distress but leaving behind many broken hearts, Mr. Elliott being charming and knowing exactly what to say and how to act but actually a swindler). In contrast, the "good" characters are honest, even at the cost of social displeasure, use manners/etiquette to show respect rather than deceive people, and act selflessly to prove their worth (actions speak louder than words). It can be summed up this way: "don't judge a book by its cover."

Psychology: Austen very effectively described hindsight bias when sarcastically commenting on how the village of Meryton turned on Wickham after the elopement with Lydia, when previously they regarded him as an "angel of light." She also understands how easy it is to manipulate peoples' minds through confirmation bias (Wickham telling Elizabeth all the dirt about Darcy, which she eagerly takes because she hates Darcy so much). She also knows that emotions can override people's judgment: "angry people are not always wise." It's fun seeing how her people are social animals who make flawed judgments based on first impressions/emotions.

The secondary characters: Mr. Collins the clergyman is the most famous and he's so funny because of his arrogance in spite of his low social position (he keeps worshiping Lady Catherine instead of respecting God). Another great one is Sir Walter Elliott, a nobleman who is vain and constantly checks himself in the mirror (the most obvious social criticism). Also Austen understood how women insult each other: through passive aggression (ex. Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst talking negatively about Elizabeth behind her back). Austen's female bullies use their talent and "good breeding" to intimidate or shame others.

The romance (no explanation needed): "You pierce my soul. I am half-agony, half-hope. I have loved none but you." I love how the couples learn about each other through many spirited conversations and become slowly fascinated with each other until they realize they are in love and then have a conflict between formality and their growing passion...or they fall back in love with each other...or they are friends who slowly realize that they are more than friends...okay I'll stop talking nonsense I've been trying so hard to be semi-scholarly

Tags: @talkaustentome @austengivesmeserotonin @austengeek @princesssarisa @appleinducedsleep @colonelfitzwilliams

#jane austen #pride and prejudice #sense and sensibility #northanger abbey #emma #mansfield park #persuasion #lady susan #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #mr darcy #mr bingley #colonel brandon #edward ferrars #elinor dashwood #marianne dashwood #fanny price #edmund bertram #emma woodhouse #mr knightley #catherine morland #henry tilney #anne elliot #captain wentworth #classic literature #in this essay i will #worth reading

[sing-a-sirensong]

Venomous

A Reed900 Venom AU I had rattling around in my brain, thanks to Discord.

Summary: Gavin’s strange new “roommate” has some questions about human behaviour. Rating: E Warnings: None

On AO3 here

———————

Some people have their entire lives planned out. Others have no plans at all, just letting life take them in any direction it happens to go. Either way, “expect the unexpected” is a commonly spoken phrase. Unexpected changes are a fact of life, all just a part of the human experience. However, there are some events that seem so far out of the realm of possibility that one might wonder about the existence of some giant cosmic joke. 

Gavin Reed is not the type of man to wax philosophical, or question some cosmic order, or think about his place in the universe beyond being a damn good detective. Right now, in fact, he’s pondering little more than what to eat for dinner as he stands idly waiting at a crosswalk. Music plays a little too loudly in his earbuds. 

Chinese again? Gavin wonders, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. Maybe pizza. Got one of those coupon books in the mail. 

He’s pulled from his musings by a touch against his shoulder, an accidental bump by another pedestrian crossing the opposite direction. Gavin turns his head as they walk away, allowing himself a brief up-and-down glance at the retreating figure. Tall, fitted slacks, legs a mile long. Fuck. Gavin thinks, I haven’t gotten laid in ages. 

Gavin.

He sighs tiredly, pausing his music. He’s gotten so used to the internal commentary by now that he doesn’t even feel surprised anymore when his new… roommate pipes up. 

“Yeah tar pit?” He answers, out loud. He fiddles absently with his earphones, grateful for the wonders of modern technology that keep him from looking like a complete lunatic talking to himself.

Having offspring now would be very inconvenient. 

“W-What?” Gavin stutters, taken off guard by the odd choice of topic. “Dude, what the fuck are you talking about.” A mild annoyance that was not his own filtered into his mind. 

That other human. You considered procreating with them.

He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That isn’t- ok first of all, don’t call it that. And second of all, this isn’t a conversation to have in public. Just wait five minutes until we get home.” The feeling of annoyance settled slightly, and his head was quiet again. 

Less than five minutes later, in the elevator to his apartment, the peace was broken.

We should not have pizza for dinner again. It is not healthy for us to have such an unvaried diet.

Gavin sighs again, something he seemed to do a lot more frequently now. He steps off the elevator, walking down the hall. 

“Alright, how about the chicken alfredo from that place around the corner?” He suggests, unlocking the door and stepping in, shrugging off his jacket and shoes. “I’ll even get it with broccoli so we can eat one whole vegetable.”

Can we get the chocolate lava cake? 

Gavin snorts, warm fondness settling in his chest. “Yeah buddy, we can get the chocolate lava cake.”

Excellent. 

A cantankerous meow signals the presence of Princess Peanut; Gavin’s crotchety, cranky, three-legged very senior cat. She stares up at him with two murky orange eyes and lets out another raspy howl. How rude of him to set foot in his own home and not pay attention to her immediately upon arrival. 

Gavin feels the now-familiar sensation of Nines manifesting physical form, a feeling akin to peeling tape or glue off of your skin, except it feels more everywhere. The odd creature Gavin now shares his body with leans down, bracing their weight on one hand and gently petting the cat with the other. It’s adorable, in a heartwarming, eldritch horror sort of way.

Nines appears to be a young man, looking almost human enough. Dark brown hair that sometimes slips into curling tendrils, blue-grey eyes that almost seem to glow, black stained nails that might be a little too sharp, gleaming white teeth that are definitely too sharp, and pale skin that’s just a touch too grey, fading into the swirling black mass at his hips where he emerges from Gavin’s torso. 

But as odd as it is, Gavin thinks this appearance is for his benefit. He knows that isn’t what Nines looked like the first time he showed himself to Gavin. He remembers it being almost… mechanical looking. All sharp lines, and sleek inky blackness. Two glowing eyes. Of course Gavin had been completely losing his mind at the time, in the middle of a (very understandable) breakdown, so his memories may be slightly exaggerated. 

Another grouchy meow jolts Gavin into motion, Nines retreating back under his skin.

“Alright you fucking Nut, I’m getting to it.” Gavin grumbles, opening a fresh tin for the princess’s dinner. He gives her a quick scratch under the chin, and leaves the kitchen to flop on the couch. 

Gavin.

He hums in acknowledgment, idly considering a nap before dinner. 

We are home.

“Yeah tar pit, we are.” He mumbles. 

We can continue the conversation about procreation now. 

Gavin’s eyes snap open, wide awake now. “Uh, yeah, I guess you’re right. Fuck, um.” He sits up, scraping his fingers roughly through his hair. “First of all, don’t call it that. It’s just sex. It’s not really about making babies or whatever, it’s to relieve tension. Because it just uh, feels good. Really good.” 

Unintentionally, Gavin remembers being bent over various pieces of furniture and fucked silly by his previous trysts. He flushes slightly with embarrassment, Nines definitely saw that. He’s still getting used to sharing a brain, sue him. 

An unconvinced murmur brings Gavin back to the present, Nines was apparently finished rifling through his sexual encounter memory catalogue.

The process of pursuing a sexual partner seems time-consuming and difficult. Why bother if it is not necessary? Your failures outnumber your successes. 

“Way to kick a guy when he’s down.” Gavin grumbles, but he knows the question is genuine and Nines has no malicious intent behind his statement. Nines simply thinks in terms of numbers; success and failure, yes and no, black and white. Gavin sighs. 

“I guess you technically don’t really need a partner, it’s just sometimes better when you’ve got one.” He explains, allowing Nines a very short glimpse of Gavin’s moments in bed or in the shower with just his hand for company. He can feel Nines consider this new information. 

A much more logical approach with a significantly higher success rate.

Gavin huffs out a laugh at Nines’ rational analysis, scratching idly at his chin.

“You’re not wrong.” He says. 

Show me.

“What?! No!” Gavin splutters, instinctively alarmed at the thought.

Why not?

“Because it’s fucking private, not some part of fascinating human culture to observe through a microscope!” A ridiculous point to make to someone that lives in his head and can read all his thoughts.

Gavin can practically feel the unimpressed look Nines is giving him.

Hm. It sounds like you are being a little bitch. 

Gavin barks out a surprised laugh. He’s clearly been a bad influence on Nines’ vocabulary. That warm fondness bubbles up in his chest again and he runs a hand through his hair. You know what, why the fuck not? His life is already so fucking weird, this might as well happen. 

“Shit, alright, why not.” He stands. “But we’re not gonna stay out here for this.” He closes the door behind him once he’s in the bedroom. Gavin does not want an untimely cat-shaped interruption. He strips down, tossing his clothes on the floor haphazardly, and lays flat on the bed. This, at least, isn’t unfamiliar territory. Nines has to be with him in the shower, and he’s merged with all his cells or whatever, so it’s not like he doesn’t know what Gavin looks like naked. 

Gavin relaxes into the sheets, one arm folded behind his head and the other palm resting on his stomach. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply, and tries to pretend this is just like any other time he’s jerked off. 

This is not very interesting.

Gavin can’t hold back his amused snort at the obviously unimpressed tone, but he feigns irritation anyways. “Yeah I’m going, I’m going.” He grumbles. 

He skims a hand down his belly, palming between his legs. This isn’t going to take long, he thinks, the barest touch and he’s already filling out from the anticipation of finally getting off.

Gavin eases into it, stroking slowly over hardening flesh. Pleasure sparks low in his belly, but doesn’t want to overwhelm Nines with too much too fast. But the mental feedback Gavin is receiving seems to just be curiosity at the new sensations, and steadily increasing interest. 

I think I am beginning to understand why humans choose to do this.

Gavin’s dick twitches at the low voice echoing in his head, and he laughs weakly. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He jokes. 

On the next upstroke he twists his wrist, fingers tracing a vein along the underside. He bites back a small noise, forcing his breathing to stay even and trying to quell the simmering heat in his belly.

Do that again.

Gavin’s breath stutters at the abrupt demand, but he complies, hand speeding up and thumb smearing a pearl of precome over the sensitive head. His hips jump and the fingernails of his opposite hand dig into his palm. 

“Nines I- ahh, uhm,” Gavin pauses to swallow hard, “I’m not gonna- ah- not gonna last long. S’been a while.” He manages to grit out. Fuck he’s gonna have a hard time keeping quiet. 

His cock is getting slick in his grip, leaking steadily now. Gavin would feel embarrassed, if he thought Nines cared even a slight bit about how long he lasted. A groan escapes him on the next swipe over the tip, and Gavin brings his hand down from under his head and bites his knuckle to muffle the noises. 

I want to try.

Gavin wheezes like he’s been punched, nearly sitting straight up in shock. 

“You what?” He chokes out. But after the initial surprise of the request, Gavin is slammed with a wave of arousal at the thought of Nines touching him. He squirms in place a little. 

I want to touch you.

Gavin’s cock throbs in his grip. He can feel the hungry curiosity from Nines filtering through his mind, and yeah, fuck, why not. He settles back into the blankets, cautiously laying his hand by his side.

“Oh-kay, yeah alright.” He breathes. “Just be careful alright? Us humans are fucking fragile.”

I would never hurt you.

Gavin feels a pinch of emotion at the sincerity in his statement, and relaxes further into the bed. He gives Nines the mental go-ahead. 

A familiar sensation starts up on his skin, and Gavin looks down to see rippling darkness emerge and pool across his hips, brushing against his cock. Against his overheated skin, it’s fucking cold.

Gavin instinctively jerks his hips back and yelps. 

“Shit that’s cold, Nines, fuck.” An apologetic hum echoes through his mind, and Nines pauses briefly. He resumes his path after a moment and covers Gavin’s cock entirely, deliciously hot this time and squeezes. Gavin curses. 

Better?

“Yeah, fuck, how’d you do that?” He gasps, fingers gripping the sheets. 

Temperature regulation is imperative for survival.

The reply is offhanded, most of Nines’ focus now on consuming Gavin’s responses to his touch. 

Gavin groans, his head tilting back in the pillow. Christ it feels so good, hot and tight and slick. He moans raggedly, praise falling from his lips. 

“Just like that, fuck that’s- that’s good, keep going.” Nines trills happily at the praise, spreading further up Gavin’s abdomen. Curious tendrils flick at Gavin’s nipples, and his hands fly up, gripping the pillow above his head. Nines continues to play with his chest, and Gavin arches into his touch. 

The grip around his cock is scorching, twisting sweetly over the tip with every squeeze. Gavin squirms with pleasure, futilely thrusting his hips up.

More of Nines’ inky form skates greedily across his skin, drinking in every one of Gavin’s reactions. He twines up Gavin’s arms, winding around his wrists and through his fingers, pinning his arms above his head. 

Black tendrils slide down the inside of his thighs, and Gavin spreads his legs without realizing, rocking his hips desperately. Nines smoothes over his body, pressing Gavin’s thighs wider. Gavin lets out a whine, feeling filthy and on display. He tugs against the hold on his arms, whining again when there’s no give.

Gavin always had a thing for being manhandled but fuck, this was- fuck. 

“Oh God, fuck- ohhh don’t stop- baby don’t stop-” Gavin pleads. Nines is purring in his mind, eagerly devouring his pleasure, experiencing it with him.

Gavin keens at the feeling of something prodding at his entrance, nodding frantically and gasping when it presses inside. 

It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, smooth and slick tendrils sliding into him and exploring, swelling inside him until he’s filled so perfectly. He shudders and clenches down, gasping at the fullness. 

Fuck, then Nines starts moving, not thrusting but pulsing, rubbing deliciously against his inner walls. Gavin moans with every movement, drooling onto the pillow as his throaty ah ah ah’s fill the room. 

Gavin’s drowning in pleasure, his eyes rolling back in his head. But then Nines presses up firmly, directly into his prostate, squeezing around Gavin’s cock at the same time. Gavin very nearly wails, babbling desperately. 

“Oh fuck, baby I’m so close- Nines, please sweetheart, I’m gonna come- don’t stop, baby please don’t stop-” He begs, writhing in Nines’ all-encompassing hold. 

“Gavin.”

His name is growled out loud, Gavin hears it right next to his ear, not in his mind, and the faint scrape of sharp teeth on his throat tips him over the edge. 

Gavin‘s voice cracks on a sob, mewling Nines’ name as he comes in long, aching pulses. His toes curl as pleasure rips through him so strongly it almost hurts. He clenches down hard on the tendrils inside him, thighs trembling from the force of his orgasm. 

Nines keeps moving, drawing it out until Gavin is whimpering from oversensitivity, finally relenting. 

Gavin melts into the mattress when Nines releases him, completely boneless. Instead of vanishing beneath his skin, Nines settles across his body like a soothing, form-fitted blanket, petting affectionately at Gavin’s arms and shoulders. 

Fuck, Gavin’s never come that hard in his life.

Was my performance satisfactory?

The smugness radiating through their mental bond was almost palpable. 

“You’re fucking insufferable.” Gavin slurs, tremors still running intermittently through his muscles. 

Perhaps more practice will be needed.

Gavin’s spent dick twitches pathetically at the thought. “If you want.” He mutters hoarsely. Gavin definitely wants. But his eyelids are drooping, and he nestles down into the pillow. A faint question tugs at the edge of Gavin’s mind. “Nap first, food after.” He mumbles, “And I’ll get your lava cake.” A moment’s pause. 

… Can we get two lava cakes?

Gavin smiles fondly into the pillow, chuckling quietly at the timid question. 

“Yeah baby, we can get two lava cakes.”

#reed900 #venom au #dbh nines #gavin reed #sira writes #fanfic #detroit become human

[chappedandfadedvds]

Dec 22nd, Tuesday 13:08

There was a long missed lightness in his movements as he carefully tiptoed through the fair powdered snow, He sunk in deeper with each step on his way over to Lucas, who stood with Robbe and Yasmina just a little up the drive way.

He adored the soft yelp his boyfriend made when he slung his arms around his waist from behind.  Only to bury his cold nose in the little gap between the brim of the younger boy’s woolen hat and the white scarf tightly wrapped around his neck. It left the tiniest bit of pale skin below his ear exposed. Just enough for Jens to peck a gentle kiss to.

„Go away. You are cold.“ His boyfriend complained, while he gladly leaned back into the embrace, with a soft laugh on his lips. Why hadn’t Jens said it earlier, this was so much easier to be able to seek out Lucas whenever he needed him close. Especially without any other reason than to feel their bodies together as one. Though that had been true for almost all the days of the past weeks, as they remained unvariably at home due to the restrictions. It still felt different.

They swayed lightly from side to side, Lucas carrying on his conversation as if nothing had happened. Their two friends watching the couple with a large grin present on their faces. Last night’s after-dinner-announcement still fresh in everyone’s mind. Many questions postponed towards another day, as it all felt too much. Yet all three were quick to fall back into easy conversation for Jens to just be able to silently listen to them.

There were still the tiniest snowflakes dancing across his vision, covering all of their heads and shoulders, as they stood inmidst an all-engulfing white. Only the dark green pine trees and brown wooden cabin peaking out at places. The cars were draped in the new layer of snow from last night. The pure white was almost blinding, if it wasn’t for the heavy clouds hanging up in the sky.

It looked peaceful as it lay undisturbed for the greater parts.

Jana and Amber were giggling to the groups right, as they had thrown themselfes into the snow wailing their arms about in an up and down motion, before they went to do these silly snow angles. He watched them amused for a while, before he was hit by something with a faint thud as it fell apart on contact.

A snowball, he noted surprised.

He went to straighten up, turning his head around to find Aaron, Moyo and Sander smirking up at him in a clear challange, as the three boys crouched in knee-deep snow. Ready to grab enough to form more. His lips curled up without much thought. Sure, if that is what they wanted, they better got prepared.

Jen’s arms briefly tightened their grip on his boyfriend’s middle, before he left him to get revenge on the insidious attack from behind. Almost cowardly in it’s execution.

He ducked out of the way from Sander’s, got hit in the shoulder by Aaron’s, and just when he was close enough Jens launch himself forwards to tackle Moyo to the ground. Not a second too late before he would have recieved a direct hit to his face. 

„Eat snow, looser.“ Jens shouted, the two of them fighting amidst the snow they rolled in, before he got off and to the side. If only to give the the poor boy wheezing high as a tea kettle some needed air, as Moyo wrestled for breath, and pushed himself up from the ground.

Moyo was on his feet not a moment later, hunched over, still huffing air. It didn’t kept him from looking up at Jens, pressing a playful threat between his teeth for Jens to better run fast.

He didn’t needed to be told twice, before he rushed to run into the covert of the trees infront of him. Sander following him to team up with against the other two boys.

They stopped soon after when they passed the trunk of an especially large pine, just wide enough to work for cover and have time to collect snow into their gloved hands. They shouldn’t stray far from the cabin, it was close to impossible to figure out a way back without any hints between the alikness of their surroundings. Him and Lucas had almost gotten lost on their little walk on sunday without meaning to, straying of the path. That had been scary enough.

There was a little sound as the bark on the side turned white under the impact of a snow ball flung at full speed. Jens briefly flinched, tilting his head to peep around the tree and find a mob of brown curled hair, that only could belong to one boy.

With a grin, he gave his little weapon a better shape and jumped out from his cover to put all his strenght into his arm. The satisfaction of seeing it land on target, was plastered smugly across his face. Aaron’s head peeked up startled with a brisk shake of his head. Like the first second of surfacing from water.

„Nice!“ Sander shouted, softly punching Jens’s arm, when the older boy screamed curses a moment later, busy to brush off a decent amount of snow from his jaw. Apparently they hadn’t see Moyo sneaking up to them, with Aaron as a distraction.

The two boys threw each other a pointed look, confidently nodding in agreement, before they bellowed lowly. Announcing their imminent counterattack. Both running off into the open, straight ahead towards their enemies, still laughing in tears. Though their faces in an instant turned to horror, when theynoticed the mad boys closing in with a roar from their throats. Moyo and Aaron took off in utter panic, traying to get away as soon as they could.

They really were children again, stuck at ten. Shouting apologies, when they almost run into Senne and Milan standing by the corner of the proch, with cups off tea, as they watched Luca and Zoë dressing their poor excuse of a snowman with a scarf. The two accepting the boisterous complaints a moment later, when Sander jumped last minute over Jana lying in the snow.

„Sorry!“ 

The older boy called back, already far enough that the girl couldn’t reach him no longer. So Jana resulutely jumped to her feet, in order to follow them, still chasing Moyo and Aaron in circles around the cabin, that was blissfully tucked into a white winter. __ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

#week 9 #wtfock #skam #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapped and faded #christmas week #the group #playing in the snow #skamholidayevent

[god-fucking-dammit-mizutani]

Moonlight Mile

Taishiro Week Day 3: Soccer / Camp

Words: ~2000

Summary: Soccer Camp AU. Taichi enlists the help of his fellow counselor in staying awake. It turns out to be more effective than he hoped. 

Notes/Warnings: Brief mention of drugs as a metaphor. There is no partaking by any of the characters, though.

Read it on AO3!

~*~

The road looms on, an unvarying landscape of dark, blurred trees and highway dividers. Unable to hold a station for very long, the van's junk radio releases a melody of hissing static. The last of the road lights blink in and out of his rearview mirror; the campers whistle and sigh through their light snoozing in the back. Together, it's the recipe for a lullaby Taichi would give anything to succumb to.

Highway Hyponsis. He'd circled the wrong name on a mock exam in driver's ed and now the answer sits with him on every long drive.

Next to him, his fellow counselor shifts in a soft doze. The car swerves slightly right, tires humming over the ridges of the audible lines, before Taichi gets enough of his senses back to correct the steering wheel. He doesn't feel too bad when midnight eyes blink back at him, sleep logged and bleary. Before he can right himself back to sleep, Taichi drops several pats onto his thigh.

"Help me stay awake," he hisses. One of the kids groans, and maybe he should be more sympathetic after a game well played on their end, but their lives rest on his tired eyes.

The boy beside him sits up. He leans his elbow on the little ledge by the window and rests his cheek onto his palm from the crooked angle, eyes focused on the dark expanse of road before them.

"How do you propose I do that?"

His voice is drained, face pale save for the blotches of sun burn that sprout in uneven patches along his face, particularly the sharpest point of his nose. The car swerves a tad again and Taichi refocuses on the road.

"I don't know," he says unhelpfully.

His companion makes a low groan, more sleep ridden than annoyed. With a long yawn, he rolls into describing something Taichi's half working mind can't wrap itself around with the exception of words he's heard repeated in science lectures. He feels transported, suddenly, to the back of class and even more prepared for a nap.

"I said keep me awake," Taichi grumbles haughtily, "not bore me to sleep."

The other hums, his tone as monotonous as the view. Taichi eyes from his peripheral a shock of red nodding against a muted world.

"If you have a preference, Taichi, I'm amenable."

In the last two months, he's not sure Koushirou's ever used his name before. Taichi finds it a bit strange. Not the lack of hearing it, even, but the buzz it seems to ripple with, a current he can't quite explain that rides through his body.

Everything about Koushirou is an enigma to him. Taichi's never met someone who wears a laptop to soccer camp and can't tell a pass from a dribble, but insists on taking his shifts on the field instead of working in the recreational cabin or first aid tent, out of the sun and away from the sport. He thinks about his friend, Yamato, the traitor who left him for space camp this year, and wonders if Koushirou would blend in better there, with science and physics at his fingertips instead of grass.

"Something that'll wake me up," he says finally. "Like a surprising fact, I guess. Or a scary story."

Koushirou jostles around until he's sitting completely straight. His head leans back where the adjustable headrest used to be. Taichi wonders if it's still sitting at the bottom of the lake, where he tossed it on a bet with someone a couple of summers ago. An easy fifty bucks.

"Surprising," Koushirou repeats, yawning. "Bananas are technically classified as a berry."

"No," Taichi says.

"Statistically, you're more likely to die from a vending machine than a shark attack."

"You are such a source of fun facts."

"I aim to please," Koushirou says. There's a ghost of smirk on his face and Taichi chokes on a surprise bubble of laughter in his throat.

He glances up at the rear view mirror on habit. In the far back, one of the kids has thrown his feet up against the back window, seat belt slaking enough that his head is no longer in view. Taichi's too tired still to stop just to save one kid from having all the blood rush to his head. When he looks back to the road, the rickety old camp logo flashes in his headlights.

Only ten more miles.

"Are you awake?"

"No." Taichi rubs at his eyes, holding one of them closed. Maybe he can trick them individually into thinking he's resting. His opened eye feels only slightly more alert, but the effect dives after a moment. "Got anything else?"

"Cleopatra lived closer to the moon landing than she did the construction of the great pyramids. We share fifty percent of our DNA with bananas."

"How berry interesting."

Koushirou snorts. "I'm going back to sleep."

"No more puns," Taichi promises. "Keep going, please?"

"Diamonds can be made from a combination of carbon dioxide and peanut butter. The chemistry in your brain when in love matches the patterns of a cocaine high."

"Cocaine, huh?" Taichi doesn't have the experience to compare them, but he wonder over it for a bit. Of all the little sparks and infatuations dotting through years in life. The puppy loves and cloud nines that dissipated. The only face he recalls with any sense of clarity is Sora's, but he should hope so. They're still friends. He had thought that was love, when he was eight, but he knows a little better now. He doesn't think any of them gave a feeling he could equate to more than a sugar rush. "Are you sure that's legit?"

Koushriou shrugs. "I haven't reviewed the exact paper myself, but it appears somewhat verifiable."

"Do you think it's like that?" Taichi asks. "Like, have you felt it?"

Koushriou huffs a small laugh, airy, tired. "What answer would surprise you more?"

Taichi shrugs.

Up ahead, their exit comes into view, and even though they're the only ones on the road in his line of sight, Taichi makes sure to signal the upcoming turn in advance.

He takes the exit with a wide swing. It winds around, long and high, framing a particularly darkened ditch. Taichi loves when the bus makes the loop every summer, the first rush of camp around the bend of it. Steering around it himself is even better. It feels like an adrenaline rush, like scoring the winning goal after an arduous game. He wonders if love's something like that. He doesn't know.

Koushirou is silent, unmoving, in the passenger seat. Taichi feels more awake now that the road has twists and obstacles so he lets the air between them fall still save for the snores in the back seat. He chooses to switch off the radio, an effort to end some of the white noise. All it really helps is give a platform for the wind racing about the car to hum louder in his ears.

When Koushirou speaks again, it startles him. "Theoretically, the parallels are somewhat similar…" He sounds distant, defeated. His eyes have closed again, forehead resting on the glass now. For a moment, Taichi thinks he's misconstrued the sound of snoring into a coherent sentence, because Koushirou looks to be asleep, lips parted only for puffs of breath that leave trails of fog against the window.

Taichi focuses back on the road. Everything he sees is under the beams of his own headlights. The thicket of forests overhead choke out the night sky, suffocating the moon and stars, the only source of light on this road otherwise. They're still not home, not safe. There's still miles between them and camp. He imagines plopping into bed soon, cool sheets sinking around him, embracing him. He thinks about giving in to sleep and his body aches.

He'll make it. He has to.

"They're stimulants. Psychotropic, even," Koushriou continues, muttering. This time, Taichi catches the movement of his lips in the corner of his eyes paired with a quick flutter of his lashes. "Doing things out of your nature. Seeing things that aren't there-- like misinterpreting signals for your personal confirmation bias. Chasing the feeling of being around them until you've developed a tolerance… The need for more…"

Koushirou rubs at his eyes and yawns. It must be after two, Taichi thinks. The clock in the van hasn't worked since before Taichi was a camper himself, and he's not about to grab out his cellphone now just to check. He remembers the match had ended sometime about seven. Their victory dinner had been after eight, at a restaurant on the side of the road. Wrestling the kids back into the car had been like herding cats into a bath.

"It'll die some day," Taichi says, rubbing at his own eyes. There's just a few miles now. Maybe half an hour if he drives carefully, but faster. "Love usually seems to."

Koushirou hums. Taichi's never heard anything so caught between amused and despairing before, but it's a melody he thinks will haunt him for a while yet. "Contrarily, I fear it's getting worse," he says. "The more we talk, the more onerous it is to terminate this feeling."

"Have you tried asking them out?"

Koushriou snorts, "No." His lashes flutter against his cheek. They're dark against his skin, longer, also, from this angle than Taichi's ever noticed. A smile quirks up on Koushirou's lips. "They barely know I exist."

"Try it," he suggests. "You won't know otherwise."

Koushirou sighs. His lids just barely open, his eyes as dark as the world around them. His lower lids look puffy, bruising with want to sleep.

Taichi almost misses their turn, taking the right sharper than needed. No one seems to stir. Overhead, the moon peeks through a bald spot of trees. It catches on Koushirou's hair. It looks silky, tempting to touch. Taichi pinches on the nerve between his thumb and forefinger, some pressure point he'd been told helped with tiredness. He's not sure it works.

He can feel Koushirou's gaze on him, an intensity only obscured under heavy lids. It feels, interestingly enough, familiar. "Something surprising," the other mumbles. He sounds so far away.

"Ever since fifth grade…" Koushirou trails off and lets out a short, little huff. Frustrated, tired. Taichi sympathizes. "I've been enamored with you since then."

By the time the words register coherently in Taichi's ears, Koushirou has already huddled against the door, legs hunched on the seat and arms wrapping about himself like a blanket. The even lifts of his shoulder indicate to Taichi that he's already back to sleep. He thinks he has every right to wake him up, to explain further, but Taichi doesn't exercise it.

The rest of the trip passes in mostly silence, but Taichi doesn't feel the same lull of sleep call to him. His head buzzes with half formed questions, wondering if Koushirou had meant him--or had he been thinking of someone else? Half dreaming of a person who wasn't there?

He finally pulls into the old, dilapidated shed on the front end of camp. He can't remember if it's ever had doors, but the older counselors remain stern that the van must be inside when not in use. He wonders if they can collect insurance if the garage topples over on it.

Slowly, the campers stir with loud yawns and soft murmurs. Some take a little extra coaxing to move. The kid who's legs were blocking the back widow has since fallen to the floor, laying across his teammate's sneakers. Taichi shoulders the bags of equipment as everyone else grumbles and staggers through the darkened fields, blindly following their instincts back to their cabins, to bed.

Koushrou is already half way across the field to his own cabin, laptop bag latched faithfully to his back, by the time Taichi finishes dropping off the duffel bags back to the storage shed a few feet away. He doesn't bother following or calling out.

Taichi's sheets feel cool, welcoming, when he flops into bed, but tonight they do not coax him to slumber. Clipped to his headboard, his miniature fan whirls noisily. He watches the revolution of the little blades, counting the intervals like one would imagine sheep.

It might be nerves. He's overtired, worked up by driving. Restless muscles.

He knows it's not true.

The sun drift in slowly, over the open sill, stretching along the floor boards and leaning over the edge of his bed to peck him with a morning kiss across his cheek and Taichi hasn't stopped thinking about a boy, who, by possible admission, is in love with him.

The knowledge sparks something in his chest, a feeling both foreign and familiar in a way that rustles his feathers and frustrates his mind. It rattles on the tip of his tongue, refuses to dive off--

Adrenaline.

It feels like an adrenaline high.

#taishirou #taishiro #digimon #taishiro week #taishiroweek #drug mention #there's more to this story but I'll post as a different chapter or 2 later #ahhh #sparkle garbage