#maybe someday I’ll relearn it and make a recording

[sofflepoffle]

Thinking about how I spent months learning a really complicated Miku dance and then never recorded a proper video. Do I even know how to do a cabriole jump anymore

[mxndoscyarika]

Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 3

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: food/drink, death mention, mention of politics

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: Happy New Year, everyone! We made it! To celebrate, here’s the next chapter of Honeydew. I’d like to mention that this story takes place a few years BEFORE the events of We Can Be Heroes, so that’s why some things are a bit different from canon. If we make it far enough, there might be some allusions to the movie, but for now you can think of this as being set 3-5 years before the movie. Wishing you all a safe and healthy new year!

Erin locked her car and walked down the sidewalk to the entrance of the restaurant. She felt just a little bit overdressed with her pencil skirt and ruffled blouse, but it was a day full of meetings and she didn’t have extra time to change. Hopefully she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

When she walked in, she spotted Marcus sitting by a window, gazing out into the street. The daylight highlighted the curve of his nose beautifully, almost like a painting. His glasses framed his eyes perfectly, drawing attention to the warm brown of his irises and accentuating his strong jawline. The short beard on his cheek looked soft and kissable, though shorter than her Marcus kept his.

Her heart fluttered as she stepped into the dining area. Each step towards Marcus Moreno felt like one step further away from the past, from her Marcus.

But wouldn't her Marcus want her to be happy?

Stop getting your hopes up, she scolded herself. This isn’t a date.

Part of her wished it was. It was the same part of her that gravitated towards him after they met at Sachi’s party and filled her with warmth when he texted her for the first time.

She knew it was silly to develop feelings for him; he was probably too busy for relationships. After all, he had to take care of his daughter, Missy.

What if he already had a wife, too?

Her heart sank as she glanced down at his hands, which were clasped together on the table. Shining on his left hand was a ring.

Definitely not a date, then.

“Hi,” he greeted, his face lighting up when she approached. He rose to his feet to give her a hug. When they pulled apart, he took in her outfit. “Wow, you look...great.”

She blushed, hands still resting on his arms. “Thanks, you too. I must say, a suit looks good on you.”

“Oh this? It’s nothing,” he said, beaming. Before she could stop him, he pulled out her chair so she could sit. “I, uh, ordered you a coffee; you sounded tired on the phone when you called, so I figured you would want a little pick-me-up.”

In front of her was a mug filled with steaming coffee. It was a cappuccino–one of her go-to orders. When she wasn’t surviving off of plain coffee, she loved the warmth and luxury of the more elaborate form of caffeine. Sitting down, she asked, “Thank you. How do you know my coffee order?”

Marcus laughed softly, his cheeks flushed. “Lucky guess?”

“Very lucky, indeed,” she hummed, taking a sip. As she did, memories of a certain agent and cup of coffee raced back to her. It was such a lovely coincidence that both Marcuses managed to give her coffee in the sweetest way possible. Admiring his dress shirt and tie, she asked, “Are you coming from work, or do you always dress like this for lunch dates?”

She let out a breath of relief when he explained it was for work. The man sitting across from her was already beautiful–she wasn’t sure how she’d cope if he also wore suits every day.

Marcus explained that he worked for a group called the Heroics, which was the organization responsible for coordinating superpowered individuals to protect the world. There was a dress code for those working in the offices, though sometimes the heroes staying behind could be ready in their super attire.

The Heroics were a fairly new group, one that the government had seemed interested in working with. However, most of the information was classified and only relayed to those working at the Pentagon. With the rising concerns of police brutality and the acceleration of technology, the world was searching for a newer, better, way to keep civilians safe.

When she asked him what position he had, he groaned playfully. Even after all this time, his honeydew never rested. He tried to ignore what that meant for her during the past few years. “Isn’t this supposed to be our break from work, honey?”

“What, can’t a girl be curious?” she teased, tilting her head.

Marcus chuckled, heat rushing up to his face when he realized his eyes had fallen to her red lips. Without thinking, he reached across the table to take her hand into his. “How about this: I’ll tell you later if you can make it through lunch without talking about work.”

She huffed playfully. “Alright, you win.” Rubbing her thumb along his fingers, she asked, “What do you want to talk about, Mr. Moreno?”

Everything. He wanted to talk about everything. Yet at the same time, he wanted to talk about nothing; he just wanted to spend time with his best friend.

But he was Marcus Moreno, not Marcus Pike. Even if she was his best friend, he wasn’t hers.

“I guess I just want to get to know you better,” he said, shrugging. The corners of his mouth curved up in a soft smile. “What does Erin He, the FBI’s Operational Technologies Supervisor, do in her free time?”

“Not that I have much free time these days,” she began, “but, I like making things. Food and art, mostly. There’s a new art gallery opening nearby. I’ve been meaning to go but work has taken up a lot of time. That, and most of my friends aren’t really into that kind of stuff.”

Back in Texas, Marcus had introduced her to the prospect of viewing and enjoying art, not just creating it. At first she’d been hesitant–she never really enjoyed walking through museums or galleries–but listening to Marcus’s interpretations of the artwork, and then offering her own, made her reconsider it. Maybe it was the art; maybe it was the company and quality time that used to come with it. It became a part of her life, a treat to herself amidst the bright screens and headaches. It was her escape from the world, even if it was short-lived.

She just wished Marcus could’ve been there in her years after moving to DC.

Marcus smiled. “Well, I’d love to go with you someday. Maybe not during the week, but one day when Missy’s over at a friend’s house.”

At the mention of his daughter, Erin remembered his wedding ring. Her stomach churned at the thought of keeping him away from his family. Retracting her hand, she said, “Oh, right. Of course…. But wouldn’t you want to spend time with your wife?”

His brows furrowed with confusion, then he followed her eyes to his ring. He smiled sadly. “Oh, right. I forgot to tell you…my wife passed away a few years ago.” He tapped on the metal band. “I used to see this as a symbol of my marriage, but now I like to consider it a reminder of my daughter. A reminder that I have someone waiting for me to come home and provide for.”

There were days when he missed his wife more than others, like whenever Missy would come home from school with an art project made for Mother’s Day. Or when she’d want to try new hairstyles or try on clothes at the mall. It had been years, but there were just some things he couldn’t be no matter how much he tried.

“I’m sorry,” Erin said. Offering him a small smile, she added, “For what it’s worth, I’m sure you’re a great dad.”

She always knew what to say, always a step ahead. He’d missed that about her. “I don’t have the best track record with relationships,” he replied, letting out a huff of laughter. “Let’s just say that.”

“You’re not alone in that camp,” Erin replied. She played with the corner of her napkin. “Though I must say I’ve never made it far enough to have a kid of my own, so you’ve got that going for you.”

“Why not?” He knew dating while working for the FBI was always a tricky situation, but he never thought that she, of all people, would have trouble finding someone. She was sweet, hardworking, and smarter than everyone he knew. She was....everything he ever looked for in a partner. Having lunch with her, getting to relearn what it felt like to be her friend, was everything.

But he also knew her. He understood her dedication to her work, and why she worked long hours at the office. He did the same, too. Well, until he met his wife and had Missy.

Did Erin ever get to experience that feeling? The feeling of being home and content and loved? Did he take that feeling with him when he erased his identity from the world?

She was about to answer when a waitress came up to the table to take their orders. Once the waitress left, she turned back to Marcus. “Let’s just say there was an old friend, one that I can’t ever replace.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, so quiet that she almost missed it.

Why did it sound like an apology?

Taking a deep breath, she changed the subject. “Well, it was a long time ago, anyways. I’m just happy that I met you. Tell me, Marcus: what do you like to do in your free time?”

They talked about everything they could think of, basking in comfortable silences once the food arrived. It was all easy; almost too easy. But Erin couldn’t help but let it wash over her. It had been a long, long time since she felt at peace with everything. There was just something about the way Marcus smiled that was comforting, like a hug from an old friend. His humble–almost shy–demeanor only served to draw her in. She quickly realized that, at the end of the day, he was just a man trying to do right by his daughter.

When the bill arrived, he didn’t hesitate to slip in his card and give it back to the waitress. “Don’t worry about it, honey. It’s my treat.” Winking at Erin, he said, “Maybe next time.”

---

After lunch with Marcus, the day passed in a blur. The meetings were long, but not as unbearable as she expected. Even the piles of feedback on her desk didn’t feel as daunting as they usually did. When she left the office, the weight of the folders in her arms weren’t as heavy.

Erin had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when her phone rang, buzzing against the counter. She didn’t even need to glance at the screen to know it was him; she had a special ringtone set up.

Putting the call on speaker, she answered, “Hi Marcus!”

“Hey Erin!”

Warmth filled her chest as he thanked her for having lunch with him. His voice was as soothing as ever, even through the phone. She could have listened to him talk all night.

“I had a great time, too,” she replied, beaming. Sitting on her kitchen counter, she must’ve looked ridiculous with her hair in damp tendrils. Thankfully, Marcus hadn’t decided to do a video call. “I mean it. I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in a while.”

A soft chuckle. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t bore you too much.”

She scoffed. “You could never.” Maybe to some he would be boring, but to her? He was everything. His late wife was a lucky woman, and Missy was a lucky girl. Marcus was everything she ever wanted; he was kind, thoughtful, secure. And although they’d parted ways with nothing more than a promised call, she never felt so happy.

“Actually, I was wondering–”

He stopped as a little voice piped up near him. It must’ve been Missy, his little girl. Erin could just barely hear her ask, “Who is that?”

Biting her lip, she listened on as Marcus chuckled softly and bashfully answered, “She’s, uh, a friend of mine.”

“Is she a girlfriend?”

“N-no,” he stammered, laughing nervously. “She’s just a friend.”

“Is she pretty?”

His answer made her cover her face and fight to contain a squeal. “Yes, she’s very pretty.” A pause. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, sweetie? Why don’t you get in first, I’ll be right there.”

Erin waited patiently as silence settled in the kitchen once again. Her cheeks were hurting from smiling, and she was sure she’d feel it the next morning. He thought she was pretty!

Marcus returned with a sigh. “Sorry about that, Missy can get a little curious sometimes.”

“It’s alright,” she replied, hoping she didn’t sound too giddy. “She’s cute. What were you going to ask me?”

Silence. Then, he said, “Oh, right. I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted to get dinner sometime later this week?”

Her heart raced as she realized what he wanted. It had been so long; what would she wear? Did he already have a restaurant in mind? Did he really want to take her out to dinner?

Was it a date?

Already deep into the whirlwind of questions, she realized she hadn’t responded yet. Without thinking, she said, “Yes. It’s a date!”

You couldn’t have been more subtle?

She braced herself for the rejection, but it never came.

“It’s a date,” Marcus repeated softly, almost as if he were saying it to himself. A soft laugh. “I should probably, uh, go check on Missy. We can figure out the details of our date later, alright?” His voice somehow turned even softer, like velvet. “Goodnight, honeydew.”

Erin yawned, the day’s exhaustion finally setting in. Maybe those files could wait until the morning.

“Goodnight, Marcus.”

< previous chapter | next chapter >

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PERMANENT:

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HONEYDEW:

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[lallemcnt]

i've got nothing to lose (with you)  🌊 (4.7k)

let's see: eliott and le gang on a mini get-away outside of france, inspired (superficially) by the scottish highlands; this is very much a piece centred on eliott's thoughts and feelings, everything else is secondary.

or, a pining, friends to lovers au

A house on the river with a white chipped window overlooking green valleys of soft-petaled ivory rose caninas fighting for land with the stone brambles and butter-yellow honeysuckle. Within minutes of their arrival, Eliott moved a rusty looking bottle-green desk directly in front of this window, as though compelled from an outside force. The valley demands his undivided attention at a time where the sky is in a perpetual state of change, transitioning from colour to colour as though indiscriminately picking shades on a colour wheel; specks of fuchsia accidentally blending and bleeding into a rust-orange and a startling red, colours which never turn out quite so captivating on a phone camera. Dusk recalls the beauty of the day, unwinding time and caressing the flowers that dare to grow at higher altitudes. Eliott sits there on what once was a rather plush seat, but now torn down the middle so he can feel the wooden foundations beneath him. Admiring the landscape as he cracks open the spine of a new notebook he uncaps a black pen. It hovers there with possibility for a few minutes until Eliott sighs and recaps it resting his face in his hand staring out the white chipped window.

Footsteps echo above him, muffled voices and slamming doors. He tries to find some inspiration within these movements and sounds but all ideas elude him. It’s been like this for the past two months so when Basile mentioned his parents had a little place a channel away he thought it fateful, fortuitous; a change in scenery from the humid city, away from the lungfuls of pollution to the countryside, a different country; a different language and culture — the endless opportunities for observation. He thought nature would spark something, get the ideas storming, the pen flowing, but he’s an empty machine. No feelings he can scratch out on paper or phone despite being told by everyone he’s ever loved that he feels so much. That he is an endless vacuum of emotions. He even bought a stupid notebook when he’s used to writing down ideas on the notes app on his phone. Maybe an alternative medium would strike an unknown area of his brain filled to bursting with worlds unlike his own. But, he’s being hard on himself, they have only been here a day. He has time.

A knock at the door has him looking over his shoulder before glancing once more out the window.

“Hey.” is all he says.

The door creaks at the hinges as footsteps pad towards him. The tips of fingers against his back almost makes him sigh out loud. It’s not a purposeful touch, it’s the simple act of fingers curling round the frame of his chair accidentally grazing his t-shirt, eliciting painful butterflies in his stomach. Eliott has imagined that touch filled with intention and it’s all he can do not to slip his hand over Lucas’, brush his thumb over the skin and tilt his head back to gaze into those eyes. Eliott wraps his arms around his stomach instead, biting down on his bottom lip.

“Nice view.” Lucas comments.

Now this is someone Eliott could have written many a poetry collection about. Forty poems in verse regaling their childhood mischief. Lucas the leader in all their make-believe games from the moment they ate their last spoonful of cereal until the moon was in full bloom, their parents having to threaten their separation for the rest of the holidays if they didn’t climb down from Lucas’ treehouse. He could lament over Lucas’ hair darkening from a dirty blond to a chestnut brown during which first kisses were had, Eliott broke his elbow falling off a skateboard and Lucas was there, leading him aside and letting him cry — insisting that he didn’t think any less of Eliott whose cheeks were flushed and stained with tears, hands clenched into fists from embarrassment. He had cried numerous times in front of Lucas, but this time had an undercurrent to it, a vulnerability marked by the changing of tides and secrets of the night; seeing Lucas began to evoke new sensations he hadn’t felt since his first kiss — a nervousness that had his hands shaking and his stomach turning. Eliott Demaury could craft twenty-one sonnets about this boy’s hands and the journey of emotions he has encountered over the years since his realisation. Though something about it doesn’t feel right, using pen and paper to express these feelings. The sentiments morph, become corrupted and lose their potency. They become the words at the end of a sentence squished in, overlapping each other, and cut off at the end, no room for them. No place for them in his heart. He believes those words are for Lucas. Someday. And only spoken among them are they meant to touch the world.

Lucas’ fingers poke Eliott’s back as he speaks. “I think everyone’s about to eat; Yann’s cooked some spaghetti.”

Dropping his head back to rest on the chair he finally meets that gaze; dark blue eyes inquiring, strands of brown hair brushing a strong nose, and Eliott responds: “Mmm, sounds good.”

Lucas shakes his head in a well, are you coming? gesture and Eliott only nods.

They continue to look at each other, searching for what Eliott knows not, only that they could both do this for years. Oh, it’s not romantic, though the scene has all the players and the setting to forge a wondrous story of fate and destiny, no such eventuality could Eliott lay claim to when it comes to Lucas. Their staring contests are the makings of legends, they could stare for France at the Olympics. That was Lucas' idea when they were twelve, to enter the Guinness Book of World Records. If only Eliott could telepathically communicate his love through his stare, he would be saved from the mortifying ordeal of laying his soul bear for Lucas to potentially stamp on, to do with what he will. The odds were not in his favour.

The next moment Lucas is grabbing him by the wrists tugging him to his feet. “What were you doing?”

A loud sigh. “Trying to write.”

“Ah.” A voice filled with understanding and sympathy.

“Yes.”

“I have no words of encouragement. Knowing you you’ve watched a hundred videos on how to get inspiration so, for now, let’s just have some fun this weekend,” He mines the breaststroke. “If you manage to write something, if only a three word sentence then great. If you don’t well then I’ll have to reset your brain or something.”

“I guess.” He’s feeling a bit dispirited is all.

“It’s the only plan I’ve got so you can either take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take anything you give me.” It’s out before he can stop it and he has no time to freak the hell out or try and amend this faux pas because that’s when they are summoned.

“FOOD IS READY!” bellows a voice from deeper inside the house. Basile.

“Just in time.” Lucas smiles, dragging Eliott along behind him, like he doesn’t trust him to not sit at that desk, staring out the window for the foreseeable evening to come. Eliott is a dreamer after all, it can’t be helped.

All the knowing brings a small smile to Eliott’s lips, Lucas catches it and a laugh bubbles out of his throat his grip tightening on Eliott’s wrist. He wonders if that’s what love is. Knowing. For some people the learning process is what keeps them in love, and for the others who have already mapped out the insides of each other, know them as intimately as they do their own body. What about them? Is it in the relearning? Rediscovering the constellations of their mind, the breadth of their movement and the deepest, most darkest secrets at their core where the imaginary apple tree blooms from all the seeds they dared to swallow as kids.

“Idiot,” Lucas whispers.

“Yeah, you are.” Eliott quips right back.

Lucas shrugs his shoulders, grinning. “Eat your spaghetti, dumbass.”

Eliott acquiesces and brushes his fingers over Lucas’ skin, where they do nothing but slightly graze, just once.

-

The evening brings them around a crowded table covered in an ugly mauve table cloth, five empty glasses holding it in place, and Eliott feels like it’s all a bit biblical. A cornucopia of sorts with the big spaghetti dish in the centre, napkins laid under cutlery, and — yes, lit candle sticks holding court at either end, illuminating the richness of the tomato sauce and the plates precariously positioned near the edges of the table.

“ELIOTT!” Basile yells the instant Lucas and Eliott enter the kitchen slash dining space.

“He made fucking placement cards.” Arthur chortles, shoving one in Lucas’ face, who grabs at it laughing.

Basile looks indignant, his ears flushing pink. He begins shepherding Yann to begin serving their food, refusing to look at the other boys, and Eliott’s heart pangs in his chest even when he knows that Arthur is only taking the piss, he means nothing by it. He can’t but help feel empathy in any given situation, because he was cursed to feel every fucking emotion in the world. He wishes there was an off switch as quick and easy as turning of the light but for your emotions.

And right on cue, “Baz, I’m joking!” Arthur grabs the place card back from Lucas and when Basile doesn’t respond, he looks around at Yann and Lucas for support, like did I misstep that badly?

“I was joking, Baz. Basile. Baz! I’ll do your stupid laundry for the rest of this trip if you open your mouth.”

Baz glares at Arthur while opening his mouth into an o shape.

“What the fuck.” he falls to his knees at Baz’s feet and throws his hands over his heart in mock anguish.

“That’s only two days.”

Relief spreads over Arthur’s face. “You prick. And for the next five days when we’re back home.”

Baz smiles. “Okay.” Just before Arthur wraps his arm around Baz's neck, roughing up his head and causing Basile to shout his head off like an idiot.

Yann and Lucas exchange an amused look as they take their assigned seats at the table. Eliott slides into his seat, taking the proffered orange juice from Baz and sighing quietly as the cool liquid hits the back of his throat.

Beers are passed around, spaghetti is ladled into ceramic bowls and bellies are satiated. It only takes five minutes before the toasts begin — it’s a slight downgrade from Shakespeare, but Eliott isn’t the biggest fan of his works anyway. These monologues do not bore him to tears, they manage the feat of the opposite; a well of innocence and love and disaster (in the best way) — and Eliott can feel his stomach cramping from the laughter to come. Baz’s excitement is an energy source of its own, powering up each boy in turn and only encouraged more by the alcohol in their veins. He thanks them for coming, his curls bouncing as he hugs each of them and kisses their temples in turn, giving a special wink to Eliott. This prompts Lucas to raise his eyebrows and air kiss Eliott in jest; Yann clutches his heart and narrows his eyes at Lucas in betrayal. But the real jester is Eliott’s heart, making a mockery of him.

-

There is something about the sun glistening on the water, the sparkles of light suggesting an underworld, and the heat and the tender breeze which fosters an exuberant vitality among these boys. Jumping into the rushing water like the rocks within aren’t sharp as nails, as fierce and demanding as deities demanding human blood. Embracing the camaraderie that comes from being complete idiots and living to tell the tale. Defying the ancient gods. Eliott has noticed his regard for his own life has drastically lowered since his acquaintance with Lucas’ school friends; they are wild and high-spirited that when their energies are fused together you have never seen a more brazen display of the human idiocy. Eliott came to the conclusion upon their second meeting that they share a single brain cell between them, no more no less. Their presence demands he shed his insecurities and feelings of inadequacy, that he be instead audacious so sometimes he finds himself retreating and requiring a few moments by himself just so he can keep up, reset and recharge.

Watching the other four attempt to kayak down the river, watching Lucas rub a hand across his throat where a collection of moles stand out against his tan skin has Eliott feeling some type of way. A nostalgia clings to him, the echoes of childhood innocence — running around with paint-stained hands intertwined, breaking the last cookie in half because they couldn't bear the thought of not experiencing every delicious moment of life together with the one person who they could just be with. The one who made them want to be bold. A time before feelings were made complicated and repressive by adult sensibilities and expectations. It’s a nostalgia breeding a melancholy Eliott feels too young to be unraveled by, because he is so very lucky to even be known quite this intimately by a person; it gives rise to a loneliness he feels no right to. He has to look away from Lucas before he gasps out loud because it will be obvious then. And he doesn’t know what he’d do if he was found out, because that’s the scary thing. He already made a mistake yesterday. He cannot give up now. He’s been good so far. Acted the performance of his life. He’s an artist. A master of repression.

But now he is in danger, at the precipice of possibility, because the way Lucas has been looking at him when he thinks Eliott isn’t looking; the tilt of his head, the softening of his brow and that gentle smile without any mischief behind it is simultaneously tearing at Eliott’s heart but also the last image he would want to see before closing his eyes forever. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened but he lost control somewhere along the way; in between the little moments when he lets himself dream, giving the reins of control over to his hapless thoughts filled with impossibilities and infatuation. Beneath the sheets of his bed where he can exist as he is. A multitude of muscles and tissue, blood and bones sinking into the safety of the mattress as his mind is whisked away by a boy sprinkling him in fairy dust and offering him the chance to fly.

It’s catching up to him now, he can feel it rising. A tidal wave promising to consume him, reveal him. His skin is sticky from the sun, it feels too tight. His throat is aching, a sob threatens to betray him. He wants to scratch at his throat to relieve the pressure; he needs to scream until he can no longer produce sound. Until he is an empty vessel incapable of such visceral emotion. He wants to tear out his hair. This loneliness so rapidly evolving into a creature of frustration, of anger. How haven’t they noticed? How can’t they see this volatile species among them? Can’t they feel the very toxicity in the air?

Eliott hits the surface of the lake hard. The initial pain of impact, welcome — a moment of distraction as he is plunged deep into the open arms of the biting cold and opens his jaw to let loose this beast of rage. Furious with himself for being so completely selfish, for having allowed this self-pity to threaten a friendship he would sell his soul to save, to keep forever close to his chest. To that organ known to most animals and at the centre of some of the most tragic and romantic sonnets found in between must-smelling pages and on the rough skin of ageing humans. Though not all the words are without detrimental consequences, Eliott feels like a letter on the verge of changing the entire meaning of a sentence. The power in his hands to rewrite the narrative so he can finally have what he has been waiting for for years. But nothing is without consequences.

Sometimes Eliott thinks about how life is made up of doing things you don’t want to do with small moments of reprieve in and amongst the mess, the stress, finding the will to carry on. The reality is that he doesn’t want to tell Lucas. He really doesn’t. He has contented himself with admiring from afar. Until it gets to be too much. He would rather know him in this way, as a friend, till his last breath than compromise a relationship that has given him more than he deserves, more than he has ever been able to give back. A bond that sets his blood racing, his heart soaring and his body an ardent vivacity of courage and pure, uncorrupted joy. Like a river discovered on a blisteringly hot day, where your fingers have swollen up in the clutch of the silver rings you wear and you want to strip off every piece of clothing clinging to your sweaty skin and it’s that instant relief, that feeling that you could live in the water forever. Your hair soaked and plastered to your neck and the sun that was only seconds ago unforgivably hot is now a blissful pleasure against wet skin. Lucas is solace in a world that too often demands him to not be himself. To just be okay at its call.

Here’s a not quite secret: Lucas knows.

Floating to the surface, his back to the sun, Eliott folds his limbs inwards as the pressure for oxygen begins to sing in his veins. Calling him back to the present to face the world he has made. The first breath is purely human instinctual relief at the intake of a luscious breath of air. The second slows his heart down a fraction. The third is coincides with a minor skip of a heart beat as Elliott shoves wet hair from his watery eyes and sees lean muscled shoulders. Get the fuck together, Eliott. He pushes himself out of the water and it’s as though he wasn’t listening before, as though his thoughts blocked the functionality of his ears, because as soon as he leaves the water laughter pierces the air, cut short when Eliott flops down beside Yann.

Yann immediately reveals that Lucas has an idea, and Eliott’s groan is an automatic response, he throws an arm over his eyes, closing them against the sun.

“So Lucas was thinking—”

“—I was thinking we should race down that hill—”

“—You mean mountain.”

Lucas scoffs. “It’s hardly a mountain.”

“No thanks, I’m cool. You guys can though. I’ll chill here.”

Eliott’s bent knee collapses to the floor as Lucas kicks at his leg. “What?” he asks, annoyed.

“I’ll do it if you do it.”

“Ha, yeah right.”

“I promise. Eliott, I swear I’ll do it.”

“And where has trusting your word ever got me, Lallemant?”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Pinky promise?”

Eliott laughs.

“Spit shake.”

That’s basically kissing is Eliott’s first thought. “No thanks.”

“You’re acting like you don’t trust me.”

“I literally do not trust you.”

At Lucas’ hurt expression Eliott feels more defensive than guilty like he normally would. He’s tired of this day. He wants to sleep for twelve hours straight.

“It’s a fucking mountain. I don’t want to die.” he gestures emphatically to the mountain. Arguably, the distance is not far but Eliott’s not the biggest fan of running at such a steep, vertical angle. Knowing him, he would twist his ankle and break an arm versus the rather athletic Lucas and Yann, co-captains of a baseball team. “I have a headache.” he adds, not looking at either boys’ face.

Closing his eyes once more and longing for the privacy of the river; the secrets beneath the rolling surface of the azure water, conversation becomes muffled as Eliott finds his stasis. Lolled by the constant rush of water, Eliott is ignorant to his environment, though not frightened when his vision turns from a burning blood-red to a muted orange. He blinks an eye open and Lucas is there, a slight furrow in his brow, his lips a firm line.

He whispers, “You okay? We’re gonna be over there.”

Eliott nods.

“Okay.” Lucas brushes one hand through the hair framing Eliott’s hair, his long, callused fingers moving carefully. He finishes with a pinch of Eliott’s chin and sprints away, Eliott assumes, after Yann.

What if he let it all go? What if he let himself look at Lucas and touch his hand? Could he do it without having to justify it to himself and the world?

-

Lucas’ bedroom sits two doors down from Eliott’s at the end of the hall. It has a white door with blue accents like every other door in this house and it’s slightly open. It’s a sign Eliott decides because he needs one to do this. He needs every last ounce of courage available to him because everything is about to change. Whether it is small or life-shaking, and he doesn’t have to do this. But he does.

One step. He watches his foot take the next and next and three more until he is two steps away from being seen. That is if Lucas is on his bed, but if he’s only the other side of the room, then Eliott has more time to second guess this endeavour. He doesn’t know which to wish for. He is one step away and no Lucas. A breath out, his stomach clenches. Okay.

Walking into the room with all the confidence he doesn’t possess, Eliott bounces onto Lucas’ bed  and leans up against the wall, and there the other boy is reading a book for school in a wooden rocking chair by a dusty looking mirror, half concealed by a brown throw. Meanwhile Eliott is being sucked in by the loveliest mattress his butt has ever had the pleasure to rest on. The duvet smells like Lucas.

“Fuck, this bed is so much bigger than mine.” he announces, shuffling down onto his back.

Lucas wiggles his eyebrows. “Lots of star fishing has happened there.”

“I bet.”

He has made it this far. Maybe with Lucas engrossed in his book it will be easier. The first part anyway, because he has no doubt Lucas will either try to avoid eye contact all together or shut the conversation down within seconds because he doesn’t like Eliott in that way.

“I like you.” Eliott clarifies. His throat tightening. He can’t believe he said it, he’s not known for being the most loquacious about his feelings. Despite being sensitive and greatly empathic, this does not extend to how he treats himself. Vocalising his turmoil is new and uncomfortable; he doesn’t feel like he can breath better, there’s not relief in it. He counts to ten and tilts his head up to examine Lucas who is staring intently at his book, his face a mirror of shock and fear. But Eliott’s not exactly sure if it is shock at his love or the act of the revelation itself.

Lucas clears his throat. “I don’t want things to change,” closing his book around his finger to hold his page, he licks his lips as his shoulders curl in slightly. Eliott is a hurricane, wrecking devastation and warning signs are blaring in his head to get out, get out, get out! “I do know that I like you.” And then all is quiet in his mind as he lowers his head back to the mattress. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands; folding them behind his head then across his stomach, the puzzle pieces not fitting. His stomach is clenched in preparation for a fall, for someone to jump out with a camera and say he’s been punked, for Lucas to bust out laughing and divulge his prank to the boys. He was expecting rejection so this is new and he can’t quite believe it. This isn’t going according to plan. Lucas isn’t supposed to say I like you. What the hell is happening.

Sitting up, Eliott can feel his face tightening and he’s confused as he gets to his feet, drifting towards Lucas’ bedroom door like a lone breeze. The light catches Lucas’ hair, lightening the tips to a golden brown and Eliott’s heart is in his throat, his jaw clenching he needs out of this space. He’s almost out the door but Lucas has somehow slipped in front of him, framed in the doorway and he fills the frustration building up.

“Hey.” Lucas’ voice is soft as he searches Eliott’s face, taking in his fists at his sides and the pronounced jaw line. He reaches up and rubs gentle circles just beneath Eliott’s ear; taking one of his fists in his own hands, he runs a callused finger over knuckles and under to where fingers are curled inwards. Lucas is not met with resistance because Eliott’s fingers unfurl and Lucas is slotting his own in between and Eliott is losing his breath, it’s been stolen, he can’t get it back and his eyes are near to welling up.

They drift towards the bed, Eliott floating, not registering any physical movements beyond their intertwined fingers, the soft pressure of Lucas grip on his own hand is a masterpiece. He is sitting down, in the middle of the bed and Lucas is sitting on his knees on top of the blankets, their hands hang in the space between them.

“How about this,” Lucas says, decisively, his gaze drifting from their hands. He shifts forward moving closer to Eliott, “We try. We don’t force anything. If it doesn’t feel right we stop, because I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Eliott. Fuck, that’s what terrifies me most. But I think we would both regret it if we didn’t try and I really fucking want to. Eliott?”

Right, he needs to speak. Say something. He shifts closer to Lucas, not quite believing what he’s hearing. Unlacing their hands he brushes his free hand through Lucas’ hair before pulling him in for a hug. Breathing in his scent which is tangy from the citrusy soap they’ve all been using, but the underlying cedar-wood, jasmine and toothpaste is there and it feels like safety. “You like me, too?” his voice is low.

Lucas’ laughter vibrates against his chest bringing a smile to Eliott’s lips, he pulls back and pecks Lucas’ forehead before returning his face to his neck and Lucas tightens his hold. And he swears he hears him say so much. Eliott knows he is in love, but this is enough for now. He would broach that later on. This he would trade for anything. The feel of Lucas in his arms, their chests pressed against each other, the feeling of Lucas’ plush lips against his neck and the warm feeling in his stomach. He is in elated shock and nothing can touch them, they have fallen into their pocket of space and time, they are safe.

“How are you this warm?” Eliott wonders aloud, pulling back from the hug, his eyes darting to Lucas’ lips. “Can I kiss you, Lallemant?”

Lucas reclaims the space between them, securing his ankles behind Eliott’s back, he quirks an eyebrow and presses his lips together. Eliott is bewitched by those lips. What secrets and answers do they hold? Are they as soft as they appear?

“Okay.”

And Lucas is leaning forward, his eyes flickering from Eliott’s eyes to his lips and back again, he brushes his nose up the side of Eliott’s and back down again. His eyes lock on Eliott’s blue fading into a lighter blue-grey. Eliott can’t help but brush the tips of their noses, then he slants his mouth upwards, tipping his chin and this is new, because whenever he imagined them kissing, him kissing Lucas, he was always leaning downwards because of their heights, but here Lucas is sitting in his lap with this lips hovering just millimetres above his own and it’s everything he has ever wanted. The second brush of their lips is lost completely to the thunderous sensations of the first and it’s vertigo from here on out.

[jarofrebuke-transcripts]

Jar of Rebuke Episode 1 Unofficial Transcript

Season 1 Episode 1: Pilot

INTRO

The following audio recording is classified documentation for Case [audio distortion] with the Enclosure. Unauthorized access to this information will lead to immediate intervention. Progress further if proper clearance has been given.

JARED

Dr. Daman has suggested that I start an audio journal of some kind, something outside of my therapy sessions to help me track my progress or whatever. Considering I don't have much of anything that's mine anymore, she suggested that this might actually be a good way to reclaim some of my individuality. Maybe talking about what I do know of myself might help me remember more. So I guess I'll start with what I know. My name is Dr. Jared Hel. I'm a field researcher for the Enclosure. I specialize in studying the particularly dangerous creatures around here. For some reason, no matter their effect on others, nothing is permanent on me. Gods, the amount of times I've died this last year is probably more than I should ever care to admit. I guess it's a blessing in disguise though, it's job security, for one thing. A scientist who can't die no matter how dangerous the entity he's studying? I think I'm set. Sure, I may bounce back from death with a few more scars but they're relatively healed up and I'm rarely ever in much pain when I wake up. Though, to be fair, if the Enclosure just left these creatures alone I’m sure this wouldn't even be an issue in the first place, but no... they just gotta meddle.

I started working at the enclosure, what, two years ago? Though I've really only been on the field for less than a year. Apparently, I worked at a different research site for some other organization before that but I don't really remember anything from before two years ago. I supposedly transferred here to research a particularly dangerous subject, the one that... um... well the one that killed my team. And me, I guess. The most frustrating thing is the lack of remembering- I don't remember any of their names, their faces, nothing. I had to relearn absolutely everything and no matter what I relearn I never remember. It's so infuriating knowing that there's a whole childhood and more that I have yet to recollect anything from. I feel so left out of reminiscent conversations, you know? Well of course you know, I'm practically talking to myself here. All I know of myself before the incident is what was on my work file- top of my class graduate from IU, but I don't remember a damn thing about my time there. Apparently there's a lot of fields around there, though I guess that's not too different from the towns around here. Born and raised in those corn fields, according to my records. No documented family to speak of. But from what other folks in the lab have shared about their families- maybe I’m not missing out on too much.

When asked about getting in touch with the folks from the other facility that I worked at they didn't seem to think that it would be too helpful. Hell, how would they even know who to put me in touch with? Wasn't like they would have documented my friends or anything. So again, nothing. Story of my damn life. And of course there's Todd. Oh I’m sorry, Dr Todd Carmen. He's currently head of operations at the enclosure. He's, uh, I'll say he's a character. Not as unique as he thinks he is but certainly not boring, but just because something isn't boring doesn't mean that it's entertaining. He has a fashion sense that I would have never personally considered wearing, but um that shade of orange with his pale complexion? Simply bold choices in my opinion. But I'm sure he'll get himself sorted out someday. Besides all that though I guess it's not too bad. Job security with benefits- apparently a lot of jobs don't offer health insurance. Though with our line of work it's kind of necessary, to keep us alive.

Uh, what else do I know? The Enclosure is an organization based out in the middle of absolute nowhere that researches the various anomalies, but really only bothers with the particularly dangerous ones. Like, really dangerous ones. I mean bigfoot, mothman, that sort of stuff they really just leave to their own devices for the most part. Sure they hurt and even I guess sometimes kill people, but not a lot of people, and enough people already know about those things to not really hide them away now. Wichton is like two hours from any other town. It's guised as a farming town. Uh well no, it is a farming town but the enclosure has taken it as its guise. Most of the facilities are underground, deep underground. They paid off all the townsfolk back when they were building to not ask questions. And considering they built it during a massive economic depression, no one asked questions, the townsfolk took the money. But there's still some circulating rumors about us to this day, of course. As long as we keep the particularly dangerous creepy crawlies underground with us they've got no reason to worry too much. Sure, sometimes things sneak out and make weird noises in the fields at night but country folk are superstitious folk, and if nothing else it's what these people have known all their lives. Suspicious lights, weird noises and mutated deer don't even faze these people. The Enclosure picks its battles when it decides what to tackle, that's for damn sure. Not like they're an international brand or anything, they only have the resources to stick to these neck of the woods, and with all the anomalies in these parts, not really surprised that they settled here. Been here for nearly 100 years and have very little idea why it's such a supernaturally charged area. Some say it might be the fact that folks are so superstitious that it basically invites the energy here. But others think there's a reason, but it ain't my department to figure that out. The hardest part of the job is getting things into the facility. But sometimes the hot shots up top decide to just have us study those things from afar since taking them out of their established locations seems impossible. So many ladies in gray and white dresses all over the place, we can't exactly make a support group for them here or anything! Not when they're out busy haunting dunes or lakes or crying by the side of the road or whatever. Not really hurting anyone all that much, so they've mostly just been left alone. We keep tabs, but we also don't always interfere. Oh and being the sacrificial lamb is a bit annoying, but I bounce back quickly enough. Death has gotten less disorienting over time, but no less annoying.

What did I do today? Well... I had a shorter day, shift-wise, so I went in at like 6 a.m, then got out around one-ish. I was supposed to leave closer to noon but I ended up having to stop at Dr. Rahal’s office for a bit for my headaches. They've been getting worse and we don't really know why. At least they come and go in waves, so I get some peace at times. It's always nice to see Dr. Rahal though, he's been the nicest to me since I started at this place, from what I can remember at least. He's one of the Enclosure physicians who I've been seeing. From anything to work related injuries that aren't too severe to these headaches. I swear I've never met a guy in my life who can smile so genuinely and be so sincerely happy over just about anything. It'd honestly be annoying if it weren't so sincere and if he also weren't so genuinely nice. He's really trying to help with these headaches but medicine doesn't really ever help and the medical scans showed nothing that would indicate any issue. I mean, not that they let me see the medical scans. I guess I wouldn't understand them anyways, even if they did let me.

Dr. Rahal thinks that it's likely stress so that takes us back to therapy with Dr. Daman. Had a session after work, which was when she suggested that I really start this up. She's suggested it before but I kind of dismissed the idea until today. She made a very good point- what's the harm in doing it? I mean, it can't make the headaches worse and even if it doesn't help me remember anything, maybe getting things off my chest could help in some way. Therapy was uneventful, not like much happens in a week, just the usual work stuff mostly. Though I have started going out after work a bit more often, even if it's just to a local shop or to grab a bite to eat. Dr. Daman suggested a few months back that I socialize a bit more, and it's been kind of nice. Weird, but nice. I've mostly stuck to myself outside of work, honestly. Well, besides those community events that you're basically ostracized if you don't attend or you get bombarded with those calls of “where were you last night? We were so worried about you, are you okay?”, even if you don't remember giving them your number. I like to go to a restaurant in town called the Royal Cow, they make the best in-house ice cream. They built it to look like one of those red farm houses which matches most of the buildings in town, but their mint chocolate chip ice cream is basically the best ice cream I've ever had. They also make really, really good sugar cream pie. Get it when it's still fresh, it's a little warm, melts in the mouth. I mean it basically cures any hankering for a sweet tooth. So that's what I ordered- a fresh slice of sugar cream pie. But that was my dessert. They do also have some pretty good not-sweet foods. Their lunch menu is alright but their breakfast food is really where it's at. And they do that breakfast all day thing, so I got their breakfast platter which is really, really good food.

On my way home, I bumped into Darius. He's the son of some local farmers in town. His dads have an apple orchard, on top of everything else. The Enclosure actually keeps tabs on their farm, because no matter what his dad John plants, apples always grow. I mean no matter what John plants. He could plant pumpkin seeds in the fall but no apple trees are gonna spring up and I'll be damned if those aren't the best apples. I mean sometimes crab apples grow instead, he can't really control what kind of apples grow, but John has found a way to make crab apples into really good apple pies and ciders and stuff. I've heard they make good jams and jellies, but he perfected a crab apple pie. He said it's “just a lot of love” but I think there's something with those apple trees. But again, not my department to figure it out. Darius and I made small talk. The weather, mostly. So mostly just complaining about how it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't so humid or if we just had a nice breeze, but the shade does help. He always makes excuses to talk to me. I'm not complaining, but that does seem to be a thing around town is everyone makes excuses to talk to everybody. Like the one time that Holly stopped me in the middle of the road to chat when we were passing each other. It's a community norm, I guess, but Darius always wants to talk again. I'm not complaining, he's a really nice conversational partner we can chat about just about anything with certain obvious restrictions. He knows I work at the Enclosure, but folks in town seem to think it's some hoity-toity but shady government job. I don't really think we're tied to the government, per se, but whatever lie they've told the towns is just what I stick with. Whether or not they believe that is entirely another story. He knows I'm a scientist, but he thinks i'm more of an environmental natural scientist instead of a supernatural scientist. I guess whether or not he believes that is an entirely other story too, but we don't really talk about work much. On my end I don't bring it up and while he does talk about working on the family farm from time to time, especially because they expect for him to take over, he tries to find other things to talk about. He's gone back to school recently. They recently in town set up a sort of trade school, I guess, where if anyone's considered a master in town they can teach classes to teach other people in whatever skills they have to share. Seems Darius is taking a bit of a Home Ec class, I guess, sewing and cooking and things like that. He said that he's great with his hands in the field but he really wants to round out his hand skills. He then awkwardly chuckled after that but I don't understand why. I mean it's completely respectable to want to be able to stitch up your own clothes or actually have a nice dinner besides the reheated leftovers left on your doorstep or to know what to do when your microwave catches fire. Honestly, I don't really know what all they teach in those classes. I'd never even heard of something like a Home Ec class until Darius told me about it. I wonder if I ever took one. If i wasn't so busy with work I would actually look into taking classes. I like to learn and Darius even said that he'd be more than happy to help me with anything if I needed it which is nice. But I'm a really fast learner. I actually get bored a lot because of it. I don't see why anyone would need five months or years of training or educating. No, I can see why. I also just know that I am the anomaly. When I forgot everything and had to relearn how to read I was at a 10th grade reading level. By what, just a few weeks? And then I was at college level again in a matter of a month. But even though I was relearning stuff quick I never remembered anything. I never remembered books I've read before the incident, I never remembered learning how to read the first time, I just was quickly relearning how to read. I don't even know if you would consider remembering how to read. I mean I'm never remembering anything. I don't even remember the creature that I was working with in the incident. And no one will tell me anything, because they said they want me to remember organically, or something like that. They said they feared something like a trauma, whiplash? I really don't understand it and it just pisses me off more than anything. But Dr. Daman won't budge. No one will let me look over any files of the incident or files on the other lab techs who died. They slapped this key around my neck and said, “here, to keep your brain in check. Oh, you literally remember nothing? Well tough luck, see this therapist and see what happens!” Ugh. They said if it weren't for my weird powers then the incident would have killed me too. They said they don't know why I have this ability to rebound from death like it nearly never happened but they sure are willing to use my ability for work.

Right, the key. Uh, when I woke up the first thing the doctors did was have me wear it around my neck. It’s on some sort of sturdy red cord. I've never taken the thing off in years. You would think that it may have faded a bit or that the cord would have worn, but no. Cord is still sturdy and the key is just as shiny as the day they gave it to me, which isn't that shiny, it was a bit tarnished already, but hasn't gotten any more tarnished. It's supposed to keep my brain in check after the effects of, well, the incident. Dr. Daman says that if I take it off, I risk unlearning absolutely everything that I've learned in the last two years. I don't know why the key is supposed to be the thing that does this, but this is the only time that death has ever made me lose everything, so I figured what's the harm in wearing it. Not like it hurts to wear or anything.

Darius has asked me about it before though. Not when we first met or anything but after multiple times of running into each other he finally asked. I get asked about it a lot but I just say that it's a familial trinket and they tend to just leave it be. But darius had asked after we'd shared a few drinks at a local bar and even though I have a bit of a high tolerance for alcohol and never stay drunk long, he seemed to ask at just the right moment for me to open up a bit more, I guess. I said it's a comfort item, which I guess isn't exactly the whole truth, I actually honestly hate this thing. A constant reminder of all the things that I've forgotten. But I guess there's slight comfort and knowing that because of this key everything that I've relearned will stick. They say it's important to understand all that you don't know, but I know all too well that I've got at least 20 years of things that I don't remember. But hey, with this key I guess i can rebuild that. I must have seemed uncomfortable about this question where he was satisfied with that answer because Darius let it go after that, but I catch him staring at it sometimes. He's asked what I know about skeleton keys, and all things considered I didn't know much, at least didn't remember. He told me that his dads both told him about the powers that keys hold, not just to lock things but even more importantly to unlock them. That a skeleton key could lock or unlock any door to a given building, no matter what other keys people had, commonly used by cleaners and inn owners and stuff like that. He really seems fixated on the idea and I guess the symbolism is a bit striking with my current situation considering... whatever. The less he knows the better. It would be nice to talk to someone outside of the enclosure about more personal stuff from time to time but I can't go around spilling secrets.

Right, my day. Uh, lunch, talked with Darius, uh... after about 15 minutes of “all right I should get going”-s and taking a few steps apart, starting to have talked about other topics and repeating the process, I finally started home. On my way home I drove past some corn fields and various other pastures. The Enclosure gave me a house near the edge of town because after a year of rigorous relearning I didn't want to live in their communal housing anymore. It's not too far from Darius's family orchard and farm which is nice. Nicest farm in the area, in my opinion. There's no real rivalry between the farmers, at least nothing too intense. But something about those trees in the distance out of my window is really relaxing. All the cattle I passed on my way home had moved to face the same direction near the fences and stared into the distance mindlessly grazing. That and the clouds rolling in were very strong indicators that there was going to be a heck of a storm tonight. I didn't listen to the weather announcement this morning but the sky's only gotten darker now so i'm ready to sleep like the dead tonight. But when I was pulling into my driveway I saw something rustling in the bushes by my front door. I thought maybe it was a squirrel or a rabbit or something but then two tiny hands parted the leaves and I saw one of those black-eyed children just sitting there staring at me. I normally only see them at night. I guess it was waiting for me to come home to loiter on my doorsteps or something, I don't know. When I got out of the car I was surprised when it actually climbed out of the bush and just rigidly stared at me with those lifeless black eyes. I got my stuff out of my car and made my way to the door, but it was kind of standing in the way. I just slid on by it with a muttered apology and slipped inside before I could start whispering requests for entrance. Never making that mistake again. No matter how much I want to let them in my house got all sorts of messed up last time and I got a heck of a scolding at work when they found out. I don't shoo them away, but I don't let them in anymore. It was really weird, they normally only come knocking or waiting by the sides of the road at night, I had never seen one in the middle of the afternoon. Once I got settled in I pulled out a book, a crossword book I was gifted at the last community bonfire. I blow through these things really fast but I really like them, so Christine gave me like five of them, all different, claimed that she found the most difficult ones that she could find, which is really sweet. She even wrote little notes on the inside cover of each of them so I've ended up actually keeping them when i'm done so I can reread her notes when I need a little pick-me-up. Whether a crossword book or a little box of treats she always writes uplifting notes and anecdotes inside any gifts she gives anyone, all signed with the most beautiful cursive- “with love, Christine Torres”. She really mothers everyone in town, at least that's what I've noticed. This one is a real toughy, which I like. That's mostly what I've been up to since I got home. I decided that I'd take a break from doing, well, this. Dr. Daman was adamant about me giving it a shot so here we are. Me, myself and I. Oh sorry, hold on, work email. (Whispered: who am i even apologizing to?) Well now, wait a minute. A new lab partner? Dr. Gia Castillo. Why the hell did they give me a new lab partner? I guess I'm meeting her in the morning. I hate it when Todd pulls this, but I’ve got no say in the matter. The usual. But I hate sudden change.

I'm tired, I'm reheating some food Mrs. Weddington gave me and going to bed. I can hear the thunder starting to get louder and that kid outside tapping on my door so I guess I should try and get some sleep. Guess I'll talk to you later? This is actually kind of nice, saying whatever I want without worries. (little laugh) I'm already dreading tomorrow. Well this is Dr. Jared Hel, signing off, I guess.

[tapping sounds, and sounds of thunder, as we fade into the outro]

OUTRO

Jar of Rebuke is written and produced by Casper Oliver, who is also the voice of Dr Jared Hel. The intro is read by Vanessa Rosengrant, and credits are read by Ashley Craft, who has also created the podcast official graphics. Music was created by Luke Menniss, spelled m-e-n-n-i-s-s, who you can find and support on Bandcamp, Spotify and Twitch. Find us on Twitter, Instagram and anywhere else you get your podcast fix for more Jar of Rebuke and also to get updates on upcoming official merch for our show. Support projects by this crew on Patreon to further other queer-lead projects and get neat perks. All donations are appreciated and will grant further clearance to special Jar of Rebuke content. You can also make one-time donations on Ko-fi.

[goboymusic]

Happy Tuesday. Being a creative idiot, I often choose subject matter that puts me on edge. “I dare you to release this” kinda thing. Intentional cringe songs. This has been a habit since I was a teenager (GoBoy 1). It hasn’t helped, though it does make the production process genuinely entertaining.

Things improve from here. This is the worst song on GoBoy 3 in my opinion. Luckily GoBoy 3 ends on a high note with the final five songs.

The production quality is rough. I was in the process of relearning how to produce music again after a seven-year hiatus, and I didn’t nail it here. I could go back and tweak the mix and structure, but it’s important for my creative health to push forward with new content.

This song was cut down to 1m 16s because it didn’t deserve to be any longer, given the amount of effort that went into the writing. Maybe I’ll release the original version again someday.

Throughout GoBoy 3 and 4, a lesson was relearned after a seven-year hiatus: listeners can sense any hesitancy in your voice (this paragraph contains excerpts from post 50, which apply to this song). Confidence is important in a recording booth. This rediscovery would lead me to experiment with drinking while recording GoBoy 6. What results would liquid courage bring? Just an experiment. The production quality in this song is kinda meh. My vocals do not have enough strength. I should have belted out the vocals, similar to the singing style of GoBoy 6.

A bass boost was added to songs 37-99 in Nov, 2021, while I had covid (this paragraph is an excerpt from post 38, which applies to this song). As a result, this song feels more powerful. The bass boost isn’t a simple plugin nonchalantly added to each song. It’s a process that took about 3.5 hours per song, or one whole month to complete all songs. Admittedly, I pushed the bass boost a little too far for some of them. The bass in some songs sounds like a freaking earthquake (unnecessarily pronounced low frequencies 20 - 50 Hz). Might dial that back someday. The bass boost was also applied to every song on GoBoy 6 and beyond.

[thunderlummox]

Gaming Efficiency and the Child

I think I’ve figured out what is fueling my recent gaming habits.

When I was a kid/teenager/college student I had mountains of time on my hands. When I wasn’t working or studying I pretty much had that time to myself, meaning I had sometimes 4-8 hours of game time I could play daily, sometimes even more on my days off during some periods of college (it was not unusual to put in about 10-16 hours on days off with no school work to handle).

I am now of course 37 with a wife and kid, a 50 hour a week job (with commuting time) and various responsibilities adjacent but not necessarily related to those primary responsibilities. As such sometimes, especially in tax season (accountant), I have maybe an hour, maybe two, tops during the work week to play a game, and that’s if I’m not dead exhausted where I just want to hit the couch and watch Parks and Rec (again). 

I think this is, without a doubt, the main reason my gaming habits and desires have changed dramatically. I used to be able to go through a 60+ hour game in a fairly short amount of time, even in between work and school, because I could spend several hours at a time deep diving and not worrying about outside concerns. This is no longer the case. Even on weekends there are responsibilities that take me out of the running for some of these games.

The child is the major reason for this. I had demands on my time before, but his demand is on my mind and soul. Even if I’m able to get a long stretch of time to play games I can’t really get into an immersive experience anymore because I need to have at least some of my attention on the kid and what he’s doing. He needs to go outside and play, and as he’s autistic he hasn’t yet gotten a cadre of friends to gang up with and go out on his own. The tunnel vision necessary to succeed at some games or the immersion that keeps you interested isn’t something I can spare at this point in his life.

I also have to be cognizant of the material of the games I’m playing. Much as I’d love to dive into Horizon Zero Dawn or the Last of Us Remastered on my PS4 my play time on those would be limited to the hour or so a night after he goes to bed, which makes it very difficult to get into a rhythm or feeling about the game in those short intervals. The subject matter is absolutely not appropriate for a 7 year old autistic child, especially since he’s not yet progressed in his communication enough to tell us when he’s scared or where we can explain the difference between video game and cartoon violence and real-world violence to a degree we can be satisfied with.

The trend towards the vast open world with millions of things to do is counter to my gaming needs; I have a completionist mindset when it comes to gaming (I famously lost a summer in ‘02 playing Tony Hawk Pro Skater 2 to absolute completion, in the days before achievements and trophies) so ignoring all the side quests and collectibles scattered around the open-world genre is almost impossible for me if I want to enjoy a game like that. And forget about JRPGS; that genre has barely evolved since the mid-nineties and still in recent games rely on save points (which are the most disrespectful thing to an adult gamer’s time) for the recording of progress, something that necessitates a certain about of play time be set aside to get from one point to another. 

So what does a game need to get my attention? I’ve prepared a list:

1) Lack of graphic, realistic violence. I know there is a severe lack of proof that violent video games cause real-world violence (famously I point to the drop in crime statistics after the release of a GTA game, look it up) but in my head it’s not that it will turn my kid into a psycho it’s that he may not understand that violence isn’t a quality answer in most real-life situations. And I can’t gauge accurately how he’s absorbing that information as yet. Plus since becoming a father I’ve found my hunger for ultra-violence has dropped considerably if it isn’t attached to a quality underlying metaphor or message.

2) Efficiency. I need to be able to feel like I’ve made progress in a game in a short period of time, half hour to 2 hours at most. I can’t be shackled to a game without consistent auto save after everything you do, or a quick save function hot keyed to a button. Drop of a hat I need to be able to get out of that game and do other stuff.

3) Easy to learn, difficult to master. I’ve tried Dark Souls I can’t say how many times: I will never play these games well. The difficulty in merely learning the basic things you need to win makes it impossible for me to get into a rhythm on the game and get to the point where I can progress. Same with an open world game like the Witcher 3. I basically have to relearn the controls and menu and crafting system each time I pick it up, and even with the presence of auto save functions and the like I can’t seem to find the sweet spot. Plus it’s violent as all get out at times. Someday maybe, someday. I have to be able to pick up a game, learn the basics needed to play on the easiest level, and then see if it can hold my attention long enough to master.

These parameters have led me to basically be a 2-3 game player now. Diablo III and Overwatch are perfect games for my lifestyle; easy to learn the basics, difficult to become a master at, able to be played in short intervals and still feel progress, and lack of over the top violence makes them playable in or out of my son’s presence without me worrying too much about his fragile little mind getting warped. That and they are SUPER fun to play, per the usual Blizzard product. Add to that whatever I’m playing on my Vita (since it’s portable it allows me to play whenever I have a spare free moment in my day) comprise the full list of games I play regularly.

Aside from an occasional wistful remembrance of hours spent wandering the World of Warcraft or exploring the galaxy of Mass Effect I don’t really miss the experiences anymore. It’s a sacrifice I’ve willingly made, and I’m still stockpiling games and books for when I reach an age with more time on my hands, like when the kid is grown or I’m retired (semi retired; I picked accounting because as long as I’m still mentally sound I can do it until I die at some level). 

So while I read all the issues with Mass Effect Andromeda or about people having amazing experiences with Horizon Zero Dawn I don’t really feel the need or pull to get into those games anymore. I’m happy to experience the new arcades now; online games like Diablo and Overwatch that you pick up and play at leisure, but still have depth for people to explore and become amazing at. Because honestly, I’m going to eventually have more time to play the games I’m missing, and by then I’ll probably only need to play the most excellent of them. And they will be dirt cheap to purchase as well.

PS I know in Diablo you basically make demons explode in huge gouts of blood all the time, but I make the argument that the artsy nature of the rendering and lack of human characteristics makes it still a game that doesn’t do too much in the way of violent imagery. Besides if demons do come around I want my son to know it’s ok to kill them. 

#gaming