#working on him was such a soothing contrast to working on Ares

[famouslysleepy]

a meme inspired by @sarnai4 newest chapter of Siblings of War!! please give her work a read but mind the warnings!!

chapter spoiler verison down below

I didn’t see the madness arc co-occurring with Alcippe’s myth at all, in hindsight I totally should have seen this coming Ares was helplessly forced to be separated from the love of his life and his kids again while enduring merciless taunting from his peers for pretty much daring to be openly traumatized by his recent experiences

This man needs a life long therapist and a prescript of antidepressants YESTERDAY!! he is so going through it

edit: forgot to add the wordless versions

[curiousthimble]

The Wrong Warden, Ch. 154

Chapter 154: The Horde Moves ⁠Alistair and Hera have to confront the taint in their blood- and what it means for them individually.

The sleep spell Hera had cast on him had worked- to a point. With it, Alistair sleeps almost well, only jolting awake from visions of darkspawn once or twice. What helps the most, though, is finding her smiling at him each time, only three little lines between her eyebrows indicating that she’s worried about him.

And she is worried about him. It’s obvious in the way she’s hesitant to scout too far ahead, knowing he brings up the rear in case any darkspawn appear behind them; how she orders Ares to stay with him instead of at her own side. He feels a little like a child being taken care of, but his own childhood had been so devoid of that sort of care that he isn’t quite sure how to thank her.

All he knows is that the Dead Trenches chill him to the marrow and that every minute brings him closer to the horde.

“Hera,” he whispers, and her eyes pop open instantly. She has the unsettling ability to be deeply asleep one moment and wide awake the next, as if she was never asleep in the first place. It’s a sharp contrast to the warm, sleepy mornings they had spent trailing fingers and lips over one another’s flesh in the safe confines of Redcliffe Castle.

Maker, I miss those mornings; they almost feel like a dream.

“What is it?” she asks, keeping her voice low and rubbing Ares’s left ear to soothe him.

When they’d fallen to the floor in a tiny niche in a wall, Wynne had warned them not to speak above a whisper or risk being heard through the spell shielding them from detection. The constant presence of darkspawn leaves Alistair and Hera uncomfortable- he can feel his skin crawling as the taint reaches across the short distance between Grey Warden and darkspawn- so they hadn’t even risked a fire. Once everyone was asleep, Alistair had watched Hera cast a similar spell to assist Wynne’s, but hadn’t given him any details of it.

“Can you feel that?” Read More

[wolfhednn]

                           ARS MAGNA. — メ

          when he was young, he had admired the arts. in all its forms as it came — song, dance, orchestral, visual and modeled. a particularly pleasing array of color, or the way a note would lilt or suspend from a soprano’s voice, would remain with him the rest of the day and into later as well to be excavated and admired again when the mood struck him, long after the moment itself had drifted out of clarity. now and then, one of the manor servants — or, if he was particularly unlucky, one of his friends — would catch him absentminded, a tune lodged in the back of his throat; the same few notes or verse repeating like an artist trying to master a specific pattern. they often teased him when they could; he always blushed.

          but for all his appreciation, he had never thought of it as work. perhaps it was that only the finished product was ever shown, or that, for his family’s myriad talents, the arts had never been among them, and he had never been exposed to its process.

          ‘ this piece struck the painter like a burst of light from the goddess...! ’

          ‘ did you know he finished the book in just a few weeks? he wrote like a man possessed. ’

          silks flashed over the arms of ballerinas flitting as light as birds across stages; jewelry gleamed at the throats of songstresses, each note seeming as effortless as breath. they looked pristine and curated, a fine spectacle carefully arranged and poised. it seemed as though the arts, though possessed of a remarkable beauty, stood in stark contrast to the martial skills he and his devoted their lives to, to the dirtiness of the battlefield, to soldiers caked in dirt and blood, to the momentous strength of not only body but will that it took to claw one’s way to victory. they lived in entirely separate worlds.

          he recalls a summer when he was thirteen, poignant for its ill-fitted timing. only a few brief months later, his brother would be dead and all of faerghus thrown into panic. but that day was painted with the calm only lambs know before the slaughter — despite the height of summer in fhirdiad, it had been mild, unobstructed sunlight falling like crystals on the skin and highlighting every movement of his father’s stately strides through the capital streets. it had been nearly half a year since he had last seen him; in those blissful early years of his squirehood, he had only his duties in the capital, his brother and dimitri for company, and all of fhirdiad’s alabaster reach as their paradise. glasagwyn, though beloved, seemed like a distant isle, and his father’s watchful eye could no longer reach him.

          that day, with business in the capital, duke rodrigue achille fraldarius had arranged for his sons to have the day off from their responsibilities, and invited them both on his outings with him. a meeting with the wealthy proprieter of one of fhirdiad’s longest-standing opera houses had been part of the day’s itinerary, and a backward glance back to that day still brings him vividly to the cloistered backstage area, a criss-crossing net of support beams and frames spanning high above his head like stairways to the ceiling far above. the smell of wood shavings was swathed in a stuffy humidity exacerbated by summer’s heat, the place electric with the stress and energy of performers preparing for the evening show

          ( or perhaps, in hindsight, his own curious energy had something to do with it ).

          the voice and presence of his father talking in an adjacent room, whatever glenn had been doing as felix had roamed the nearby halls, have since fallen into obscurity. but he still recalls the sight of the dancers and their assistants as they readied themselves for a final rehearsal — drawing tight the fabric and laces like fastenings on armored plate, sweat dotting faces hard with concentration, rubbing hands soothing sprains and sore muscles. the stage manager’s voice had cut above the contained commotion, calling names and motions and times not unlike that of a drill master.

          were these the graceful and gossamer creatures he witnessed on the lit stage later that same day, smiling and dreamlike? or were they soldiers of another kind, readying silently for their next battle on a field as grueling and cutthroat as the ones he knew?

                  he can’t say for sure that his view had changed suddenly and inexorably, that day.                           but he knows that he has never looked at art quite the same way since.

[supersoupedup]

The Abyss || Quentin Beck x Reader

wordcount: 3.6k

a/n: i’d usually include a summary, but i think it’s best if this one just unfolds.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He’d expected to see more children in attendance. After all, so-called “magic” was tailored to enthuse their small, undeveloped minds. The poor, gullible things. I mean, imagine believing that a quarter could really materialize behind your ear out of thin air, or being genuinely ecstatic because yes, the eight of hearts was indeed your card! Little idiots.

But who could really blame them? Not Quentin. He knew that the apple and the tree went hand in hand. Kids believed in magic, parents believed in CNN. Put them both together and it made for one big stupid, happy family. 

Still, the age demographics of the crowd slowly pouring into the dim auditorium took him by a bit of a surprise. No one looked a day under fifty. Quentin couldn’t help but cringe from his hidden corner in the dark rear of the theatre. He was already compromising his own dignity by sneaking into the place, but God these people actually paid to be fooled? Now that was downright embarrassing. 

Not that they couldn’t afford it.

Not only did the patrons appear to be older, but by the looks of their attire they had obtained quite the amount of wealth in the span of their years. The women dressed like modern-day flappers draped in real pearls and the men wore tailored suits like Gatsby, gold diamond cuff-links winking just as arrogantly as their wearers whenever they caught the smallest glint of candle light. 

And as if to really bring it home, the place they were all packed into was more hidden than a speakeasy. All dark alley on the outside, chandeliers and champagne within. There was even a goddamn secret password for crying out loud. 

Thanks to advanced AR technology however, that was one thing Quentin didn’t need to worry about. 

“Mr. Connaly?” The security guard in the alley had stared quizzically when Quentin appeared before him. He was thinking, but not really. 

Quentin knew that there was a little voice going off inside the man’s head, telling him that something wasn’t quite right. That there was something a little off about this Mr. Connaly. Perhaps it was his posture, or maybe it was his eyes. Didn’t matter what that little voice was saying though. Quentin also knew that he wouldn’t listen to it. 

“I thought you already went inside,” the man finally spoke.

Quentin tilted a head of gray hair, squinted a pair of brown eyes.

“Do I pay you to think?” he asked in a voice that wasn’t his own. More gravel. Connaly was a smoker.                                         

And just like that, the guard blinked away all of his doubt.

Quentin wondered if God knew that when he gave man intuition it would go to such waste. 

“Uh, no, sorry,” the man stammered, “step right in, sir.”

That simple.

You didn’t need a password when you owned the place -- or when someone thought you owned the place. 

Now there he was, illusion executed, standing as himself in the back of an auditorium where according to William, something amazing was going to happen. 

“It was unlike anything I had ever seen before!” He’d waved his hands in childlike astonishment. “Like real magic!”

Quentin frowned. “What are you, five?” 

The mousy engineer turned red with embarrassment, returning his hands to their usual thumb twiddling position. 

“No, not at all.” He cleared his throat before speaking again. “But whatever it is, if we could learn it, it could take what we do to the next level.”

Quentin scoffed.

“Learn it?” he mocked. “Learn what, sleight of hand? Equivoque? I developed the most cutting edge illusion technology on the planet, and you want me to go learn party tricks?”

“N- No, none of that, Mr. Beck, sir.” William shook his head fiercely. “This is quite more than that.” 

He took a step forward and handed him a laminated flyer. It was all black except for two white words typed in sleek, futuristic font: The Abyss. 

“You have to see it to believe it.” 

It was an ironic thing to say, but there Quentin was now. Eyes ready for the seeing. He just had to know what was so damned special that it could possibly build anything greater on top of his life’s work. And there were only eight more minutes until he found out. 

His eyes were so laser focused on the closed red stage curtain hiding what he came for that he was startled when he heard a woman’s voice nearby. 

“Is this your first time?” she asked, holding a glass of champagne that now held only a fourth of its original contents. Some of her lipstick had come off on the rim, leaving two red half moons on the inner and outer edges of the bubbling flute. She was an older lady like all the rest, but she looked like the kind who spent fortunes on anti-aging creams and the occasional Botox shot. 

Unless she was purposely going for the slightly creepy mannequin look, neither seemed to be working out too well for her. 

“Indeed it is,” Quentin answered, uncrossing his arms for the first time since he settled in. He hadn’t realized just how up tight he probably looked in this sea of people laughing, conversing, and getting tipsier by the minute. 

The woman laughed though nothing was remotely funny. 

“Well aren’t you in for a treat.” She then looked him up and down, unconsciously wetting her crimson stained lips. “Though you do appear to be on the younger side, so you mustn’t be a member. Are you a guest of Mr. Jameson’s? He said he had a nephew who was quite wealthy that he would be bringing soon. I was very impressed by how wealthy he sounded. Are you him?” 

Quentin was just about lie like he so compulsively tended to do when a disembodied voice boomed from the surrounding speakers. “Five minutes left until we enter The Abyss. Please find your seats now.”

The woman did a slight jump in excitement before finishing the rest of her drink and waving the question away. “Oh, never mind that,” she said. “I don’t want to be the last one standing. Have fun!” 

She scurried her way back toward the settling crowd while Quentin remained where he stood. He could stand just fine. He had come for one purpose and one purpose only and it wasn’t to get comfortable. 

People around him shuffled into seats, chattering giddily like children on a field trip. Quentin’s curiosity was an irritating itch that grew with every passing moment. Why were these grown men giggling like school girls? What the hell kind of show was this? 

Five minutes passed, and he was about to find out.

In one instant, without any prior announcement, the room went dark and silent. Every light, every candle, and every voice went out all at once. 

It was unsettling how quickly it happened. The contrast was stark. Not even a silhouette could be seen nor a whisper heard. It if weren’t for him being able to feel the ground beneath his feet, Quentin would have thought he was floating in the middle of, well…. An abyss. 

But he still wasn’t impressed. Anyone could flip a light switch and quiet a crowd. Whatever came next would have to be extraordinary for Quentin to truly consider it worthy of his respect.  

That’s when a warm voice cut through the silence and inadvertently sent goosebumps running all up and down his skin.

“Welcome to The Abyss,” it said. “Do not be afraid of the dark.” 

Quentin’s breath hitched. Not because he was in awe, but because the air around him had suddenly grown cold and he didn’t like that his body was reacting. 

He was only there as a detached watcher, but that didn’t stop the hair on the back of his neck from standing at attention, and his heartbeat was starting to quicken too. 

“My body’s biological response to the unknown,” he reasoned with himself. “It’s out of my control.”

“The universe began in darkness,” the voice continued, gentle and soothing. It was the kind of voice one would use in reading a bedtime story. “You began in darkness. When we close our eyes, we see darkness. The darkness is our friend. And from the darkness, comes creation. Darkness can be molded, folded, whittled, wielded, made into something... from nothing. It is a power all have, yet few master. Tonight, we unlock the power. Are you ready?”

Quentin expected this to be the part where the lights cut back on and the crowd erupted into loud, cajoling cheers, but no such thing happened. The silent darkness remained. It was so quiet he started to wonder if everyone else had left and if he was the last person remaining.

Then the voice returned.

“Good,” it said. “Let us begin. Follow my instructions.”

There was a woosh, followed by the faint beginnings of a song that started off softly. A mellow lullaby, slow-tempoed with twinkling instruments that made Quentin feel relaxed. 

“Close your eyes,” the voice instructed. 

He chuckled. His muscles might have gone loose but that didn’t mean he was about to take orders from somebody he couldn’t even see. And he surely wasn’t going to close his eyes and risk missing anything. Something that could reveal whatever big secret was hiding in the darkness. 

“Uh oh,” the voice sounded, taking on the tone of a mother chastising a small child, “someone isn’t closing their eyes.” 

The chills came again.

“Follow my instructions. Close your eyes,” the voice repeated.

“Cameras,” Quentin thought to himself. “Night vision lenses. And someone must have opened the door. That’s why it’s so cold. In August. So cold.” 

The lullaby grew louder. Something was coming over him. He was so relaxed. So sleepy. He blinked a few times. Open, close, open, close, open, close. 

What came after close? 

The music was getting even louder. All the tension in his body, diminishing. 

And actually, he liked it with his eyes closed. He didn’t want to open them. He just wanted to hear the voice. That sweet, warm voice.

Then like an answered prayer, it came. Except this time it didn’t seem to be coming from any speaker. It sounded like it was inside him. Inside his head. Whispering. Soft.

Do you see it? it asked. 

Quentin tried to move his mouth to respond, but he wasn’t in control of his body anymore. Did he even have a body? He couldn’t see anything. Except for those tiny white specks. Were those stars? Where was he? Panic slowly started to arise, but then --

Sh, sh, sh, the voice soothed him. It’s alright. Relax. You don’t have to speak here. Just think, Quentin. I’ll be able to understand you.

How do you know my name? he thought, but he could hear the words just as clearly as if l had said them out loud. What was going on? 

The voice giggled.

I know everything about you, Quentin Beck. I know your name. I know where you grew up. I know your wants. Your needs. Your joys. Your fears. 

He tried to shake his head, but it didn’t work. He couldn’t shake something that wasn’t there.

How is this possible?

Another giggle, but he didn’t get the damn joke.

You’re a curious boy, Quentin. 

Those five words were the trigger. 

The tiny stars were vacuumed away and the darkness folded in on itself to create a new image. It was him, in the backseat of his parents’ station wagon. The one they got rid of when he graduated high school.

What is this?

His first perception was wrong. It wasn’t an image. No, he was there. Really there. He could smell the cigarettes. Feel the wind coming through the windows. He could twiddle the loose string from the seat between his fingers.

“Mommy, how do planes fly so high?” he asked in a voice so small; so not his own. But it was his own. Just a version from a long, long time ago.

“I’m not sure, honey,” his mother answered. His mother answered. He hadn’t heard her voice in so long. It was rough from all the cigarettes, but somehow she still sounded like an angel to him.

Quentin looked down at his lap. His jeans had grass stains on them and they were too small. You could see his socks. Those were dirty too. 

“Mommy,” he spoke again. “How do the people get in the TV?”

“Huh?” She ashed her cigarette out the window.

“The people on the TV. Like on Sesame Street. How do they get in there? Can they come out?” 

His mother laughed. It was the prettiest laugh he had ever heard. “You’re a curious boy, Quentin.” 

And just like that it was over. The scene crumpled up and tossed itself to the side like a balled up wad of paper. 

Did you see it? The voice returned.

If he had eyes they would be crying right now.

Y- yes. I saw her.

Do you want to see something else?

I- I don’t know.

He felt so exposed. So vulnerable. It didn’t feel like anything he would normally allow. But he wasn’t even sure if he was himself anymore.

I think you’ll like this. 

Another scene. He was flying over a city, a cape blowing behind him in the wind. People stared up adoringly. Kids pointed and jumped. A truck driver smiled and gave him a thumbs up while he sounded his horn. Quentin waved back down at his fans. The people. They loved him. And he was getting ready to fly over the ocean. 

When he reached the harbor he could see his reflection in the water, all suited up. He was a hero. He was the hero. The one that people needed. Nothing like Tony Stark. Better. Stronger. Smarter. 

Until he wasn’t. 

The scene ripped itself into a thousand tiny pieces and they all blew away. 

Darkness once again. 

Did you like it?

He fucking loved it. 

Yes. Yes!

I knew you would. 

The voice was proud of itself.

Show me again. Take me back. I want more. 

I can’t do that, Mr. Beck. All things in moderation. 

Bullshit.

No, no. Fuck moderation. I want to see. Show me.

The show’s over now, Quentin. You were never supposed to be here. Be grateful.

Fuck you. 

Another laugh.

We’ll see about that.

Wait, what?

Huh?

Before anything else could be said, he woke up. It was sudden and disorienting. The lights were back on now. Everything was too bright. Everyone was too loud. 

As reality slowly came back into focus Quentin realized he was no longer standing. He was on the ground and everyone else was just getting up from their seats. He was confused. Had they seen was he had seen? There was no way. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. He felt violated. Angry. He’d come for answers. Not for some invisible bitch to crawl inside his mind. For the first time, he left his safe little corner and began to push through the crowd.

As he maneuvered through body after body he caught bits and pieces of the conversations around him.

“... Oh, the most beautiful beach!” one woman gushed.

“He was there, my boy was really there!” another man cried. 

He passed the woman whom he’d spoken with earlier.

“Oh, I was young again!” 

Fools. How could they be so happy to have their subconsciouses breached to such an invasive extent? Idiots. He felt like an idiot.

No one seemed to be paying attention, all too wrapped up in relaying their own twisted fantasies. He figured that was the reason no one stopped him or said anything when he climbed up on the stage, pulled back the curtain, and started to shout.

“Hey! Who the hell is back here? What are you? What was that?” 

He walked around backstage and saw nothing. Heard no one. The not knowing was getting him more and more pissed by the moment. 

Finally, he heard something. 

The sound of heels clicking. The sound of his name.

“Quentin.”

The same voice from inside his head. From inside the speakers. He whipped around prepared to release his wrath but he stopped short. 

He wasn’t sure what or who he had expected, but she definitely wasn’t it.

For a moment they simply stared at one another. There was no other way for him to put it; if she was The Abyss lady, she was hot. 

“I knew you’d come back here,” she finally spoke through a cheeky grin. “I asked security not to stop you. I wanted to meet you.” 

His chest heaved up and down from the subsiding anger. He felt like he should be saying something, but he couldn’t. He was too focused on how she was wearing a slightly over-sized oxford with the top three buttons undone… and nothing else. Well, aside from the pink panties he could see through the translucent white fabric. And she stood there so casually. Cigarette and a glass of wine. Completely disarming. Fuck, what was he about to yell for?

She was beginning to grow impatient waiting for him to say something but then it occurred to her what the problem might be. 

“Ah, clothes,” she said as if it were a foreign concept. “Sorry. When you have an audience that doesn’t exactly need to see you, you tend to get pretty comfortable. The heels just make me feel sexy. Though I don’t get the double standard. I mean, guys can walk around in boxers right?”

Quentin cocked his head and looked at her like she was from another planet. Hell, maybe she was.

“T-this is insane,” he finally sputtered. His anger had turned into astonishment. Curiosity. “Who are you?” 

The woman took a drag from her cigarette and shrugged. “I’m The Master of The Abyss. I create from the darkness behind man’s eyelids. I show people what they want to see. Dead relatives. Naked celebrities. Did you see the man in the third row? He came in his pants.” She laughed like it was the funniest thing ever. 

Quentin just shook his head. “This is impossible.”

The Master rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Come on, you saw it with your own eyes. I made you a hero. That’s what you want, right? To be a hero?” 

Quentin flinched. He didn’t like her phrasing. She hadn’t made him anything. She’d taken images from the inner depths of his mind and turned them into some fucked up film. He was going to make himself a hero. 

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have ever even known that,” he snapped suddenly. “I didn’t give you permission to go inside my head and make me anything.”

The Master set her glass down and snapped right back.

“I didn’t give you permission to enter my show for free. Just like no one gives you permission to fuck with their waking realities.” She was pointing a purple manicured finger directly at his face and inching closer. “And at least I have a system. A show with a set of rules. A moral code. My audience knows what’s real and what’s not. You don’t give people that luxury, now do you?.”

“Hey,” Quentin hopped on the defense, “I do what I do because people need to believe in someth-”

“Oh, save it,” The Master interrupted. “Let’s not pretend to be fucking saints here, we all have our own selfish motives. You have an ego. I have a lust for money. Do you know how much a married man will pay to fuck someone who’s not his wife without the guilt? Because it’s not cheating if it’s not real.”

Quentin scoffed. “Great, so you can conjure up a glorified wet dream and suddenly you’re better than me?”

The Master grinned at this. “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Beck. That’s no way to talk to someone you want help from.”

The man let out a huff. “We both know you won’t team up with me anyways,” he said in a low voice, “So what’s the point?” 

She sighed. “You’re right, I won’t team up with you.”

“So what’s the point?” Beck repeated.

And there went that giggle again. 

“What is it?” God, why was everyone so humored today? And why did she keep winding him up like some sort of game? “What’s so fucking funny?”

She batted her eyes and shook her head, feigning innocence, the greatest illusion of all.

“It’s nothing.” She shrugged, smiling, playing with the buttons on the shirt that barely covered her hips. “It’s just that, you’re an attractive man, Mr. Beck.”

Quentin froze. Every time he thought the night couldn’t get any more twisted, there came another curve ball. 

She was coming closer, tilting her voice to make it do seductive things. “And something about your mind is just such a turn on.”

He swallowed as they stood almost nose to nose. “So what now?” he asked huskily. “This is the part where you ask me to fuck you?”

He hadn’t planned on any of this and it was happening so fast, but hell. 

The Master’s smirk faded and for once she became serious.

“Only if you want to.” 

He could see down her shirt from here. One glimpse was all it took for him to suspend all circumstance. God, did he want to.

Fuck it.

He grabbed her by the waist and went in hungrily. 

Their lips pressed together, he closed his eyes.

He closed his eyes.

Suddenly the air went cold. 

Shit, shit, shit.

By the time he realized his mistake it was too late.

No longer could he feel her body heat. No longer could he feel anything at all. There was nothing. Just like in the beginning. Before heaven, before earth, before her.

All there was was darkness.

[in-arlathan]

These Stolen Moments

More Solavellan fanfiction, yeah! <3  ______

Time period: During DA:I Characters: Female Lavellan (Elenara Lavellan), Solas, Leliana Pairing: Solavellan Chapters: 1/1, Length: 2,971 words Rating: PG-13, Teen And Up Audiences

Summary: One night at Skyhold, Lavellan finds herself unable to rest. Trying to find peace in the Inquisition library, Solas seeks her out to offer some comfort.

A/N: Like many Solasmancers, I thought the relationship between him and Lavellan deserved at least one more cut scene. But since the game didn’t give us that I spun my own little fantasy and transformed it into fanficition. It’s much more romantic than the stuff I usually write, but it made me happy so I wrote it anyway. I hope you enjoy it. <3

You can also read this on AO3.

______

The castle was quiet at last. She couldn’t recall the last time things at Skyhold had been so peaceful. Ever since the Inquisition had taken refuge in the old edifice, the courtyard and corridors had been bustling with people. Even the gardens, a place dedicated to silent contemplation, was filled with an on-going hum of conversations and prayers.

Elenara stood in the door that led her quarters in the Inquisitor’s tower and breathed a sigh of relief. She had grown so accustomed to the noise that she almost forgot the comfort of silence.

In her youth she would often steal away from the camp of her clan to seek out the quiet places in the forest. She would look for clearings or a patch of grass by a water course where she would lay down and stare up at the lush canopy and the bright blue sky beyond. In these moments, she felt the vastness of the world that made her sorrows seem small and petty by contrast. She would close her eyes and just listen to the rustling of leaves or the distant songs of birds and allow herself to just be.

How much simpler life had been back then.

Elenara readjusted the stack of books she carried with her and began walking down the great hall.

Once, she had listened to the voices of nature. Now, all she could hear was the sharp metal shriek of blades, the commands bellowed by Cullen and his officers, the battle cries of thousands upon thousands of Inquisition soldiers. And the prayers, of course. More prayers than she had ever heard before. Even at night she could hear the faithful calling out to her. Not much else seemed to exist, but the crushing burden their words carried to her.

So, she was glad for these rare moments of silence. She enjoyed the soft hissing of wind slipping down the hall, as well as the crackling of dying flames in the fireplaces.

She reached the door on her left that led to Skyhold’s rotunda and opened it. The circular room beyond was dark, just like the rest of the castle, and a pang of disappointment hit her. A small part of her had wished Solas would be awake, still working on his mural, but he was nowhere to be seen.

It’s alright, she told herself. You’ll see him tomorrow.

At least she hoped she would. Her entire relationship with Solas – if one wished to call it so – had been a constant back and forth between them. First, she had kissed him, but felt like she messed up. When she tried to withdraw from him, he held back and kissed her in return. Much later, he would come to her, admitting to having not forgotten what had happened between them, just to walk away from her. But not until they had kissed once more and he had said the words that turned her world upside down completely.

Ar lath, ma vhenan.

Her heart skipped a beat every time she remembered this moment. She was not certain if Solas had spoken in Elvish on purpose to conceal the meaning behind his words, or if he did it because he knew she would understand. Either way, she was very much aware of the meaning behind his words.

I love you.

Elenara felt her throat go tight. Solas was a mystery to her, one she would gladly like to figure out. But it would take time and if there was one thing she didn’t have in abundance, it was just that. For now, all she knew was that, if he’d stayed but a moment longer with her on that balcony, she’d told him how much she loved him in return.

You can wonder about this some other time, she thought, chiding herself like a child. Concentrate on what lies before you.

Letting out a sight, she crossed the room and slipped through the door to her left. Her steps echoed on the stone walls as she climbed the stairs to the rotunda’s upper floor.

The library was silent as well and the candles had been put out a good long while ago. Luckily, she knew where Helisma kept the flintstone she used to light them.

Elenara placed the stack of books on the chair Dorian usually occupied during his studies in the library and hurried over to the researcher’s desk. With only soft streaks of moonlight to illuminate the room, she had to fumble around before she found what she was looking for. With the flintstone in hand, she returned to Dorian’s reading nook and lit the candles on one of the candelabras. Their golden glow was soft and subtle, but it was enough to help her read the titles.

She turned to the pile of books and picked the one on top. It was a massive tome with golden letters ingrained on its cover and spine, an old Tevinter text Dorian had recommended to her to help her understand the inner workings of his homeland. The writing was so dry and tiresome, it had taken her ages to get through the text, but it had provided some insight into the cultural shift from the worshipping of the Old Gods to the Chantry, and that was good enough for her.

Scanning the spines, Elenara searched for the spot where the book was kept on the shelves. Thanks to Dorian, all of the books at Skyhold were sorted in alphabetical order which made the task of returning them to the library much easier. When she found the gap on one of the shelves where the Tevinter tome used to be, she put it back and returned to the rest of her stack.

She had just grabbed another book when she heard something. For a second, she believed it was a soldier or a servant walking from the tavern across the courtyard, but she dismissed the idea quickly. The sound had been much closer and much softer, not like the heavy cluck of booted feet.

“I see you are still awake,” someone said.

She whirled around on instinct, her senses on alert, her body ready to fight. Only then did she recognize the elven figure that moved closer from the other side of the library.

“Solas!”, she exclaimed and let out a sigh of relief. “Good Creators, you startled me!”

He chuckled softly as he stepped into the circle of soft candle light. The golden glow covered his face with stark shadows. “I’m sorry, vhenan,” he said wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean to.”

She let out a long, shuddering breath.

“It’s alright,” she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Where did you come from? I thought you’d already gone to bed.”

“I was out on the balcony for some fresh air,” he said gesturing towards the door through which he’d entered the library. “Then I heard footsteps and concluded that it was you, so I came to see if you’re alright.”

“You knew that it was me … by my footsteps?” she asked, baffled.

“Of course.” He said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s just… something a hunter might do, not a mage.”

“You should never underestimate my tracking skills, vhenan.” A sly smile tugged at his lips. “I survived on my own in the wilderness for a good long while, after all.”

For a moment, he seemed incredibly young. It made her think about a conversation she’d overheard back at the Storm Coast. She and the rest of her party had been tracking down a group of red templars that sought to gain a foothold in the area, when Blackwall and Solas had started to exchange war stories. She remembered the Grey Warden being delighted to share his experiences with another soldier, and also rather perplexed.

“For all your experience, Solas,” Blackwall had said. “You don’t carry yourself like a soldier.”

And Solas had beamed at the elder man. “Oh, you should have seen me when I was younger. Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight.”

She’d never admitted to Solas that she, too, had had trouble picturing him as a warrior in full armor. But now … with this smile …

It made her want to kiss him, badly.

“Why are you still awake?”, she asked quickly.

“There was something wrong with the tea”, he replied and pressed his lips together for a moment. “It was caffeinated and kept me awake long after dark. Well, keeps me awake”, he clarified and looked around the empty library. “I am still waiting for the effect to wear off.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said and gave him a warm and soothing smile. She knew Solas found comfort in the Fade just like she used to find comfort in the old tales and legends of her people. Without it, life was much harder to endure.

“What about you?” he asked, looking at her intently.

She weighed the book in her hand and hurried to place it back on the shelves. “Couldn’t sleep either,” she admitted and was surprised by how tired she sounded. “There is just… so much to think about…”

Solas took another step towards her. Before she knew it, he reached around her with his left hand and placed it on her lower back. The faint smell of his skin lingered between them. Her heart jumped into her throat. Suddenly, she was very aware of his presence.

“If you like to share your thoughts with me, I’d be happy to listen,” he said in a quiet voice.

She coughed and looked away to avoid his gaze. His eyes were filled with such longing that it was almost too much to bare.

Studying the tomes on the shelf beside her, she said: “I’ve been reading all lot of these books lately. I had hoped to find some answers in the old text, but all it did was made me think. How can anyone do justice to this world? How can you set everything right, seeing all the bad things happening to good people?”

She sighed. “How am I supposed to do all this?” she asked in a much lower voice. Her throat went tight with grief and the crushing feeling of responsibility.

A saturnine look crossed his face. “I don’t know if I can provide a satisfying answer to your questions,” he said. “I’m not sure if anyone can. All we can do is trust in your capabilities to lead this Inquisition, for better or worse.”

Her lips twisted into a sad smile. “I was afraid you might say that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, looking more troubled than she had ever seen him.

“Don’t be,” she replied. “It’s not like any of this is your fault.”

His hand on her back twitched ever so slightly, but she noticed it anyway. These days, she seemed to notice everything about him. The slight changes in his moods, the way he carried himself when he thought no one was looking. Even the expression of serene joy and delight when he was working on his mural. He was a miracle with a thousand little details and she wanted to know each and every one of them.

“Is there something on your mind?”, she asked. “You seemed to be on edge these last couple of weeks.”

That must be the biggest understatement in all of history, she thought to herself. Solas was always on edge, especially when he was alone with her.

“It is nothing to concern yourself with,” he said evasively and his gaze flicked to her lips. “My troubles will pass, one way or another.”

“Is there anything I can do to lift your spirits?” she asked teasingly.

“A kiss might be a good way to start,” he admitted after a short silence.

Elenara raised her eyebrows in surprise. Did she hear that correctly?

“Come here, then,” she said softly and turned until they stood face to face. Her heartbeat quickened, as she placed a hand on his cheek. He let his hand slip from her back to her waist, bringing up the other one to hold her tightly.

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he’d said the last time they kissed. Since then, his words had made her wonder what he truly meant. She knew there was something between them, he had admitted it himself. Yet, he was determined to not give in to his feelings for her. But why?

Was it because she was Dalish, still?

Back in Haven, he had confessed to her that the Dalish had attacked him on sight and that he had no desire to get in touch with the clans any longer. His words had caught her like a kick to the stomach. Though it had not been her own clan who had attacked Solas, she knew it might has well have been them. She herself had fought off countless bandits in her time as a hunter.

Yet, she knew that the clans were only protecting themselves and more often than not, they had good reasons to be suspicious of strangers. But the thought of Solas being wounded by a Dalish arrow had left her feeling guilty and distressed. She wanted him to see the many admirable attributes of her people in the faint hope it would make him feel less lonely. To show him that there was no reason to be afraid of them.

Of her.

“My heart,” she breathed, caressing his lips with her thumb. She smiled at him, then guided his face towards hers. He allowed Elenara to brush her lips against his, while he drew long breaths through his nose. And she drank from him, relishing the taste of his mouth.

When she was out of breath, she pulled back ever so slightly, resting her forehead against his. Letting out a quiet satisfied moan, she let her hands slide down to his chest. He was breathing just as heavily as she was. His chest heaved under her touch.

“I enjoy kissing you far too much,” he said with a soft smile. His breath smelled of honey and herbs, sweet and delightful.

Elenara tilted her head to look at him. Was that regret in his voice?

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

His cheeks colored. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” he hurried to say. “It’s just... I’m not …”

“… used to it,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. “I know. We should do this more often, then.” She let her lips touch his once more. It was not a kiss, not quite, but it set her body on fire nonetheless. “Besides, I enjoy kissing you, too.”

She pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His body tensed and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to flee from her, but when she opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, he finally relaxed. Accepting the invitation, his lips parted and his tongue entered her mouth.

There was the passion she’d first experienced back in their shared dream in the Fade. It washed over her like a rising tide, almost sweeping her off her feet. She returned his kisses with the same fire, losing herself in the embrace. She couldn’t tell if his hunger was greater than hers or if it was the other way around. All she knew was that they both wanted more, fully aware of the fact that no kiss would never be enough.

“I want you,” he whispered.

His body was radiating heat like a bonfire. She wanted to take it all in, even if she might get burned in the process. All her life, she had waited to meet someone like him. Someone that made her feel alive.

“I want you, too,” she said and kissed one corner of his mouth. He sighed softly, his eyes half-closed. It was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard in her entire life – and she wanted more of it.

With the greatest effort, she let go of him.

Elenara took his hands and squeezed them gently. “Come with me,” she said, nodding in the vague direction of the Inquisitor’s tower. Up there, in her chambers, they could continue what they had started in a more private setting.

“I don’t think…”

“Lady Inquisitor!”

She flinched.

That was Leliana’s voice!

In an instant, Solas parted from her and took a step back. The lack of his warmth right next to her hurt more than she would like to admit. “Don’t…” she gasped, but Solas simply shook his head.

“You have other matters to attend to.”

She knew he was right. If Leliana needed to speak to her at this hour of the night, it must be important. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

She only hoped her face didn’t look as warm as it felt.

“Goodnight, Inquisitor,” Solas said in a casual tone and took another step back. He bowed ever so slightly just when Leliana reached the top of the stairs. The spymaster stopped dead in her tracks and watched as the elven apostate turned on his heels and headed in the opposite direction.

Elenara felt like her heart would tear apart at any moment, when she forced herself to look at Leliana. “How can I help you?”

Leliana stared, as if she had forgotten, why she wanted to speak to Elenara in the first place. Her eyes were fixed on the doorway through which Solas had made his exit.

“Leliana?”

The spymaster blinked, her focus returning to Elenara.

“Oh, yes! I’m sorry” she said and squared her shoulders. “I have news from Halamshiral, my lady. You should look into this.”

Right back in the mess, Elenara thought as she followed Leliana up the stairs to her office.

__________

Thanks for reading. <3

[love-takes-work]

Steven Universe Podcast: Volume 2, Episode 10: Garnet

Season 2, Episode 10 of the Steven Universe Podcast, released March 29, 2018, is about Garnet. The official description:

Garnet finally gets her due on the Steven Universe Podcast! Creator Rebecca Sugar and former Executive Producer Ian Jones-Quartey return to reveal why Garnet is especially meaningful to them personally, what hints they deliberately included in the pilot pointing to Garnet being a fusion, and how it ended up that she never asks questions... ever! Co-Executive Producer Joe Johnston and Storyboard Supervisor Hilary Florido also return to speak to writing for Garnet versus Ruby and Sapphire individually, and some of their favorite Garnet moments. Plus, Erica Luttrell, the voice of Sapphire, recalls her audition and offers a great behind-the-scenes look at what it’s like working the voice over booth with Rebecca Sugar!

Since as usual my summary is long, I will provide a highlights list followed by a cut which you can follow for a more in-depth narrative. Enjoy!

Highlights:

Garnet represents Ian Jones-Quartey and Rebecca Sugar's relationship. Like her, they had to maintain their union AND run the show simultaneously.

Rebecca is Ruby and Ian is Sapphire.

Plans to have Ruby or Sapphire show up in "Together Breakfast" were scrapped, though they kept the red and blue lights on the door as Garnet went into her room.

Rebecca and Ian loved checking out fan theories about whether Garnet was a Fusion before it was revealed. Fans once worried that Garnet would unfuse and never come back, or that their fusion was necessary for some dark or desperate reason, but they don't remember seeing anyone conclude that they were simply in love.

Ruby and Sapphire are a classic cartoon couple in many ways and were designed to be adorable together.

A good analogy for understanding Garnet is to think of her a bit like Ruby and Sapphire's child, with attributes of both but completely different from both as her own person.

According to Ian, Garnet is the most impulsive and it's hardest to predict what her reaction to any given situation might be.

Garnet's Future Vision is not the same as Sapphire's. Sapphire's is passive and singular, and with Ruby's impulsive influence, Garnet is able to imagine interfering in the path of fate and creating multiple futures.

Garnet's difficulty in connecting to the present is rooted in her fixation on what might happen and what she'll do or say next. She sometimes deals with feelings of being overwhelmed by blowing off steam with unexpected outbursts.

Garnet's tendency to not ask questions is a reversal of the character trope where a character constantly asks questions to move the story along.

Rebecca describes a pact with Rose associated with her lack of question-asking, which we will get into "very soon."

"Three Gems and a Baby" had an important scene where Garnet unfusing upset baby Steven, which made Garnet worry that Steven wouldn't accept her. The episode once had lines featuring her worrying that she'd showed him too soon.

Garnet's experience in "Arcade Mania" was described by Ian as "soothing" for her--a whole series of predictable futures that she could escape into.

Garnet's stoicism is largely derived from her being frozen into inaction by overload of input from her Future Vision. She can find refuge in her trust and love for someone else, and her warmth in those moments is when she is genuinely present.

A favorite Garnet line from Ian: "We can't fight these things forever. Well, we can, but I don't want to."

One of the most challenging aspects of writing Garnet for Joe Johnston and Hilary Florido is dealing with her no-questions rule.

Joe thinks Garnet is the Gem mom most likely to say something embarrassing.

Joe loved having a chance to look outside Steven's direct POV with "Garnet's Universe."

The Sardonyx arc had to be handled very carefully since it was an episode explicitly about consent in general, but using fusion as a very specific vehicle in the show. Showing how Pearl caused a serious breach by violating Garnet's consent was important, but it was also important to depict a satisfactory resolution for characters who have been through this.

Erica Luttrell originally auditioned to play Garnet.

Sometimes Rebecca has to ask Erica to be more chill in playing Sapphire because she has a tendency to use more emotional, animated delivery sometimes.

Erica gets into character with help from the storyboard images shown during the recording sessions. Her speaking voice is quite different from Sapphire’s voice.

Volume 2 is completed with this episode. The podcast will be back with more mini-recaps in a couple weeks.

You can read the detailed summary below!

[Archive of Steven Universe Podcast Summaries]

McKenzie opens the podcast by acknowledging that everyone's been asking for a Garnet episode, and brings up how Garnet's status as a Fusion was hinted at as far back as the pilot. She gives us an overview of the guests for this week and what they'll be talking about, and then she begins with Rebecca and Ian.

Rebecca Sugar and Ian Jones-Quartey:

Kicking off the discussion of Garnet, Rebecca and Ian start with Garnet's origin as they conceived her character at the beginning. Garnet represents Ian and Rebecca's relationship, so she is a mashup of what the two of them wanted. As they began to make the show together, Ruby was Rebecca's avatar of sorts, while Sapphire was Ian's. Since they were together 24/7 as they put the show together, they got very in sync so they felt they were thinking as a unit, and the way they handled it was very much like Garnet because they had to maintain their relationship's stability WHILE also being in charge of this huge creative process.

Ruby and Sapphire were always a planned aspect of Garnet, though they evolved as characters behind the scenes before they were put on the show. They had initially intended Garnet to split up more often than she does, and wanted to show Steven seeing one of them in the Temple as far back as "Together Breakfast" but not knowing who she was. They dropped that plan, but still included the red and blue lights on the Temple door as an early clue. They really enjoyed watching people try to figure that out, and try to figure out the silhouettes in "Fusion Cuisine."

Ian and Rebecca were pretty amused by how dark the theories were about whether Garnet was a Fusion and what that meant for her character. Many worried that if she were revealed as a Fusion, she would unfuse at some point and not come back, or that maybe there was a terrible reason Ruby and Sapphire stayed fused (like, to keep one of them alive or something). No one seemed to hit on the right answer--that they fused because they were in love. They were actually kind of surprised no one seemed to pick up on it since they showed Garnet being so ecstatic about Stevonnie in "Alone Together." 

In Ian's imagination, Ruby and Sapphire are totally classic cartoon characters, like the adorable characters of "Love Is..." or an angel/devil, ice/fire dynamic. Rebecca brings up characters that are designed to be a couple, like a Mickey/Minnie combo where they look identical except one has eyelashes and a bow. She wanted her characters to still have that classic totally-in-love vibe without having that look. They're super cute.

Ian enjoyed getting to explore Ruby and Sapphire's extremes in "Keystone Motel," and they discuss how this was their last episode they finished together, which felt really cathartic. They tiptoe around discussing the way Ruby and Sapphire fight, warning against going too deep since this does represent their relationship as well, but so much of what they fight about is caused by external factors and the way they try to make something bigger than themselves work smoothly. McKenzie points out that the focus on Ruby and Sapphire has distracted them from talking about Garnet herself, who is after all the intended focus character of this episode!

Ian begins by contrasting Garnet with Opal; Opal is a fragile union because the characters who form her can't keep their balance for long, while Garnet is a much more balanced relationship. Rebecca emphasizes that she is her own person, and Ian suggests she holds so much responsibility as an individual. Rebecca says it helps to think of Garnet as sort of a child of Ruby and Sapphire, with aspects of both of them but functioning as a separate entity. Rebecca says the Gems all struggle with their sense of self, but for Garnet it's a specific type of struggle and when she's on top of it it's more stable than anyone. Ian thinks she's the most impulsive, the most mysterious, and the most difficult to predict her actions. Rebecca says her inner world is very complex.

In discussing Garnet's Future Vision, Rebecca says it's different from Sapphire's ability because Sapphire sees "one future" and is a passive player in that future. Ruby is so impulsive that her actions can interrupt those predictions. So Garnet can see options of what will happen if she interferes. She's always caught up in her own mind pondering these things. She's often overwhelmed by this, and that's why sometimes you'll see her blow off steam doing weird things or being unable to connect with the present. But love keeps her in the here and now when she works on it, and she can bring it forward with warmth and focus.

One "rule" for Garnet is that she does not ask questions (in her present state, that is; she certainly asked many questions in "The Answer," before she was sure of anything). Ian and Rebecca knew about the character trope of someone who's there to ask questions and push the narrative along, and they wanted her to be the opposite. She acknowledges that the phrase "Can't you see that my relationship is stable?" counts as a rhetorical question and she takes responsibility for that.

(Chronicler's note: Garnet HAS asked several other questions that are sort of like this, but like Rebecca is saying here, they are in some way not exactly questions. In "Laser Light Cannon," Garnet says "Ready?" to Amethyst and she nods as if answering before getting thrown at the Red Eye, but you could take that to mean she's telling her to be ready. In "Cheeseburger Backpack," Garnet asks "What've you got?" to Steven as an invitation for him to pull out his raft, but you could see that as a prompt for him to show her. In "Rose's Room," she says "Guess what?" but immediately answers her own question with "We have time to hang out now." In "Watermelon Steven," she's included in the couple of "What??" reactions the Gems have when Steven bursts in with his news about his living watermelons, but it’s not really a question so much as an exclamation of surprise. And besides "Can't you see that my relationship is stable?" there is also the recent episode "Pool Hopping" which features Garnet saying "Who knows?" when Steven asks how long they'll be posing for, but she’s not really asking for a who.)

Garnet's refusal to ask questions is an expression of her sureness, but it is also representative of a pact with Rose--we saw it in "The Answer" ("never question this! you already are the answer!") but Rebecca says we'll learn more about the pact "very soon."

McKenzie brings up Garnet's visor and under what conditions she tends to take it off, and asks what this has to do with Steven being slowly let into Garnet's world. Rebecca says that Garnet is so much happier now that Steven knows she's a Fusion, and that before she was always guarding the secret, worried about upsetting him. They bring up "Three Gems and a Baby," when Garnet unfused for baby Steven and he cried, which made her worry that the truth about her will upset him and she needs to keep it hidden. Originally Rebecca thinks there were lines about Garnet being hurt that Steven as a baby couldn't handle that revelation and that she showed him too soon. His opinion of fusion is really important to her, and she worried about it a lot, but for a long time Steven didn't truly understand fusion. He just thought it was something exciting they could do. But she loves that fusion makes Steven happy, since it's got such negative connotations on Homeworld.

Ian brings up how Garnet sees things differently than any other character; similar to how they discussed Stevonnie's hallucinations in the podcast about fusion, Garnet is always seeing these splitting realities and possibilities, and in "Arcade Mania" that's one reason Garnet found the game "soothing." It was full of predictable futures she could master, allowing her a comfort and an escape. 

Her way of being socially awkward, in contrast to the other Gems, is in her hyperawareness; she's so focused on how others might react to what she says that she will often say nothing. She's frequently drowning in all the input and seeming stoic because it's paralyzing, but what brings her out of those loops is trusting and loving someone else. That love and trust can cut through all the potential ways something can go wrong. It's really hard for her when she's wrong because she so wants to believe in someone, like when she believed Steven wouldn't go on the roof in the episode "Future Vision" and then he did.

One of Ian's favorite Garnet lines is from "Marble Madness": "We can't fight these things forever. Well, we can, but I don't want to."

Joe Johnston and Hilary Florido:

McKenzie welcomes her next guests and asks them to discuss how they approach writing for Garnet. Hilary pipes in about how she actually doesn't get many Garnet episodes because her specialty is the characters who are self-deprecating and Garnet is so the opposite. Joe says Garnet is straightforward but soft-spoken, and ready to dive into any situation on impulse if that's needed. Joe brings up the "no questions" rule as a challenge in writing Garnet. Joe says it's more than just a wordplay issue with writing her dialogue; it forces them to keep her direct and definitive. They've sometimes spent a lot of time trying to get Garnet's lines clear of questions.

They move on to discussing writing for Ruby and Sapphire. Hilary again tends not to write for them. Joe says Sapphire is the calm and collected aspects of Garnet, while Ruby's the impulsive and direct parts of her. Hilary says Fusions are always those parts plus more. Because they didn't reveal Ruby and Sapphire for a long time, Garnet as a gestalt was established as an individual far before they started deconstructing Ruby and Sapphire's personalities on screen. Joe felt it was "a fun time" to explore them. Joe actually compares the situation to writing for Opal, who's an "amazing superhero" like Garnet made up of two almost complete opposites. The balance makes a really impressive combination.

In a convoluted discussion of how "fire and ice" (Ruby and Sapphire) sound cool but also sounds like a bad school dance theme, they conclude that Garnet also has the potential to be the coolest mom but also the most embarrassing mom, considering how goofy she gets when she's happy. She completely can't talk on the phone and really can't interact with humans.

McKenzie brings up "Garnet's Universe" and how it revealed the way Steven thinks about his most mysterious mom. Joe really enjoyed the change of making a "different show." Breaking out of Steven's POV is fun. They also bring up, as an aside, how it was fun to have Michaela and Deedee as sidekicks in that episode, but swapping them so Michaela got to play the cool one and Deedee was silly. They proceed to express confusion over whether Hoppy is the frog or the bunny, and the same for Hopper. (Yes, they got it backwards. Hopper's the frog, played by Deedee; Hoppy's the bunny, played by Michaela. Considering Garnet got it confused once in the episode itself, this is awesome.)

McKenzie moves on to "heavier" episodes, invoking the Sardonyx arc. Hilary said the pitch for "Cry for Help" was handled very carefully. How to "honor" all the characters was very important in trying to do something acceptable with this episode. Joe refers to fusion as a "visual allegory for relationships," which Hilary specifies are "of any kind." Joe wanted to make sure their focus on the importance of consent was handled appropriately for a show that can be consumed by kids, and he felt very gratified by how people totally understood why Garnet was so upset with Pearl. 

Hilary said it was important to get it to work within the show's framework as well as making it resonate with people on a level relatable to their own lives. And then, of course, they had to create a resolution--to show how the characters dealt with mending the break. Having an actual fissure in the team so it can't work was huge for Joe. Hilary really wanted to emphasize that this was not a simple mistake, and that you really have to face mistakes of this magnitude while still figuring out how to move forward.

Erica Luttrell:

McKenzie introduces Erica, voice of Sapphire, and asks her how she got the part. Erica says she actually originally auditioned to play Garnet. Rebecca had seen her singing videos on YouTube, which surprised her; she likes to sing but doesn't like to do it in front of people live. Those videos only exist because a friend insisted she should make them so people would tell her she could sing.

Then Erica discusses her initial understanding of Sapphire, saying she interpreted her as feeling a bit heavy because of that burden of knowing the future, and also that she would read as a little cold and icy, and reserved because of her aristocrat background. But Sapphire comes to fall in love with someone who serves her, and Erica thinks that must have been sort of a relief. And she agrees with McKenzie's assessment that it must have been great to have something unexpected happen.

In discussing fusion, Erica says she really loves that fusion increases positive attributes for Gems who combine, but that for Garnet specifically, it's about love and Estelle's delivery conveys so much peace--evidence of genuine love.

Then McKenzie asks Erica to discuss the difficulty of portraying a character who's cold like Sapphire but also imbue the role with emotion. She sometimes has to be told by Rebecca to chill Sapphire out because she thinks she might be letting some goofiness and emotion creep in.

In portraying a character who can see the future, Erica says it can be challenging--humans can have intuition but can't see the future like Sapphire can, and it must be a totally different life to have a voice in your head that is always telling the truth.

And then McKenzie points out that Erica's speaking voice is quite different from Sapphire's and asks how she gets in character. Reading the script helps, and they can get the tone from the storyboards up on a monitor while they record.

Outro:

McKenzie lets us know that this is the last episode of Volume 2, and we'll return with some more mini-recap episodes in a couple weeks.

[Archive of Steven Universe Podcast Summaries]

[concerningwolves]

Art’s Rules for Character Building

Obviously when writing, there is a need for characters, and a subsequent need to know your characters. My writing has been incredibly character-driven in the past, and they’ve always been the source of most of my positive feedback. It’s time to branch out and work on other areas of my writing, but I figured that I would share with you the best selection of the nifty tips and tricks I’ve learned along the way. Here ar four:

Seasoning with details: it’s just like socializing with your co-workers!

 Detail, detail, detail. I knew the things you needed to know, like how they would react in certain situations, their favourite foods, their morals and beliefs. But I also knew how they liked their tea, or their coffee; I knew how they sat, how they rested, slept, reclined; cat or dog person, or maybe a reptile; could they cook, did they love rubbish food, or all of the above? Half of the trivia I knew about them was irrelevant to the plot- probably more than half- but it gave me a clear sense of who I was going to be working with for three books.

 After all, why do you need to know your co-workers? You’ve got to work with them. Your characters are your co-workers: the people who will be helping you (and sometimes hindering you) in getting stuff done. Without them, conflict is hard to build and conflict goes towards plot; nature needs someone to go against, those corrupt agents need some poor sod to catch, person A needs a good reason why person B is the love of their life.

 If you know them well, the work will be smoother. Yeah, maybe you won’t need all of the information, but you never know. That isn’t to say spend all your time finding out what Hogwarts house they are in or figuring out their Starbucks order, but do understand them in the same way you would understand a friend, or even a close peer. You can use these facts and odd knowledges as the salt and pepper of your project- sparingly for flavour, that is. Too much of either can be overwhelming. Not enough (as I often find) is still tasty, but something is definitely missing.

If the devil is in the details, why is the devil there?

Little details are the key to characters. I’ve said that, but, the details need to have purpose.

Let’s take the classic trope of the bady guy cleaning his nails with a knife. Cool, huh? Eh. It gets boring. You have to wonder why he does that, surely it’s dangerous, it achieves nothing but showing how cool and intimidating he is. The character who will use anything to clean his nails because he is annoyed by all the dirt, and so takes a hairclip from a friend, on the other hand- that is interesting. That’s a little quirk. We can assume then that this character has vain traits, or that he likes to take pride in his appearance, or worries about how others will judge him. Take that detail, ask yourself why it is there, and incorporate it into the narrative flow so that your readers get the information about the character that they need, and keep being interested. Example:

Aaron flexed his fingers and pushed onto the balls of his feet, a tremor in his fingers building and building and, God, he had to stop clutching the napkin. His knuckles were white. That woman. Was she looking at him? He checked his hands, splayed them on the tabletop, made them flat. Neat, almost. His nails were filthy.

“Can I borrow that?” He pointed at the bobby pin in Samantha’s hair. She raised an eyebrow, but passed it to him anyway, holding the loose curl of hair just out of her face. They both smiled at the waiter as he passed, plastic smiles, Sam’s hand cupping her face in an over-casual way.

“Don’t bend it.” She said as he cleaned under his nails. “Not for nothing, anyway. They don’t care.”

“I care.” He had to fight to keep his voice small inside his throat. 

We don’t know why he’s there, but we can guess it’s to meet someone. This is important to him, suddenly. It conveys anxiety. Is he anxious, does he need to be? Or is this vanity? Questions, questions... you need to get your readers asking them.

So, details pinned-

know where they came from, and where they’re going

This is a funny one, because generally a character doesn’t have their entire life crammed into a story. You get a nice chunk of events within their life, and the events are, assuming that character survives the plot, resolved within that chunk. They could wind up an architecht in London, drinking a dram of whisky every night before bed, twenty years after the curse is broken and the evil bloke dead- but your readers don’t know that. They might wonder about it, but they don’t need to have the answer.

That’s the readers though. You do. You absolutely, absolutely do. What are your character’s dreams? Do they achieve their dreams? Do their dreams change- when, why, how, who for? Do they regret it? You need to know how they grow in order to understand who they are when you put them through your book. Children? Career? Or are they unemployed, do they fall through the cracks? Does the storyline you put them through leave them traumatized (and I mean that in the literal sense, not a hyperbole. Never hyperbole.) and they are too proud, or too far gone, to find help? Or maybe they don’t have anyone to help. Why? Do they push people away?- oh, that’s good. They do? Great! You can use that!

You also need to know if they are resolute, or changeable. Does something happen to them in their story that changes their minds? Or, in the simplest form of this rule: knowing that your character is going to end up alright is a way of putting them through hell.

As for where they come from, that’s backstory. We all like a nice bit of backstory. Just, for the love of Lady Word, don’t give everyone a miserable childhood, two dead parents and a curse. As problematic as she can be, JK Rowling did this very well in the Harry Potter books. Ron has a great, ramshackle, sprawling family; Hermione has her muggle parents; Harry’s are dead; Luna has her dad; so on and on. It’s backstory, not sobstory.

Backstory doesn’t always define where a character is going- trauma is not a road map to be followed; a picket-fence family doesn’t secure a nice life- but sometimes it does, and you need to know the events that shaped their lives, personalities and dreams. Nature/nurture is something that springs to mind. Knowing the beginning and the end is how you give the character depth and dimension within their little stretch of stage time.

So, finally

variety is the spice of life, and there is such a thing as too spicy (at least in writing)

This last is a culmination of all of the above. Not everyone has to be wild, funny, quirky, neon, bursts of life on a dull day. Some characters can be mundane; actually, you need them to be. Partly to bring out the brighter characters through contrast, but also to stop your readers becoming de-sensitized to the overwhelming nature of too many vibrant people. In a population, everyone is different. People are quiet, people are loud, people like Queen and others like the latest pop. Some people don’t want to be the change they would like to see in the world. Some people just like pizza, netflix, and really hate change. I think TV soap operas do this very well, by presenting us with a cast of real characters that are true to real life, but still relatable, still easy to emotionally invest in. Not that your book should be a bad soap opera, but, siphon off the lessons you need from them and run with what it gives you. Have some characters to soothe the pallet, to make the story easy to swallow and, most of all, have their personalities work together. They don’t have to be friends- but if they hate eachother, why? What kind of personality or ethics or morals clash has caused it? You choose, but please, don’t make all of your characters the carbon copy of one another, based off of something just a touch mary-sue. This is why details are so important, because that is what sets them all apart. Happy writing!

[artsynanotech]

Rebuilding

Part 1: Adjustments

Ares Salvatore has been given something impossible: a new embrace into a new clan. But is this fresh start everything he’d hoped it would be? Takes place a few weeks after All Good Things: Part 4.

------------------------------

Ares stood at the end of a narrow, moss covered bridge. The moonlit sky illuminated the vast, ethereal valley below him. Serene music filled the background, a stark contrast to everything he’d encountered earlier, and Ares took a moment to calm himself before venturing forward. He was still on edge from fighting the stone giants in the previous area, and going into the next fight with those jitters wouldn’t do him any favors.  He also took that moment to focus his attention on his blood, directing it towards the joints in his hands and fingers. Ares felt a faint, tingling sensation as he tapped into his Celerity. Ares equipped his bow and made his way down the bridge towards the giant, ephemeral butterfly floating overhead. The fight started off okay. Ares fired arrow after arrow at the creature. He masterfully dodged each burst of magic the butterfly aimed at him, aided by the dexterity his new disciplines granted him. It’d made all the difference in Dark Souls. Ares had given up the game in angry frustration years ago, finding the difficulty combined with obnoxiously finicky controls murdered any chance of fun he’d have. Now, though, he was actually making progress. But then he noticed the butterfly’s wings. Like, really noticed just how the translucent green of them shifted to blue and gold as it floated across the screen, shimmering gracefully alongside silver sparkles. The color pallet for this particular fight was really amazing, and it meshed perfectly with the ghostly vocals in the background music. Even the blue glow of the butterfly’s magic was soothing. The game designers were really on point with the ambiance for this particular fight. The television screen faded to black and the words “you died” flashed across the screen. Ares blinked  couple of times as he registered just what happened. Letting out a groan, he flopped back on Scott’s rug and stared in annoyance at Scott’s (comfortingly) bland ceiling. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful – words could never describe how grateful he was to Scott for bringing him out of the Giovanni and making a place for him in the Camarilla – but the fact of the matter was, well…

Learning to be a Toreador was monumentally frustrating.

Ares knew adjusting to a new clan would be hard. He knew that, even with Scott vouching for him, the rest of DC’s kindred would always hold him accountable for his sister’s attempted coup. Hell, Scott’s word probably did more harm than good with some of them. Ares was prepared for that. He’d dealt with his own family’s scorn for nearly sixty years and survived. The distrust of his new sect didn’t mean jack in comparison to that. It was the little things that got to him instead. Things like his damned Toreador distractibility, for one. He was having no luck learning to control that. Then there was learning to use his new disciplines. Celerity came easy, but Auspex overwhelmed him pretty much every time he tried to use it. Presence was another matter entirely. The only time he really got it to work was when he put on the Mafioso façade that came so naturally. But then Scott had never been comfortable with that image of him. And now, after what Ares’ family had done? Ares was not going to do anything that would remind Scott about his roots. Ares wasn’t Giovanni anymore. He was Scott’s family now.

Then there was feeding. Ares had always made it a point to never feed directly on anyone. He couldn’t stand the screams that went along with a Giovanni kiss. He’d never learned how to gauge when he’d taken just enough blood, or too much. He’d never grown accustomed to the pleasure that came with draining a human. The first time he fed after his new embrace he was so overwhelmed he’d nearly killed the poor sap. Thank God Scott had been there to stop him.

As if on some sort of psychic cue, Washington DC’s newest primogen walk through the front door of his – no, their – apartment. Ares heaved himself up from the floor, shut off his Playstation, and went to the meet Scott in the kitchen portion of their studio. Scott grumbled as he slid off his shoes and left them on the welcome mat. He looked annoyed beyond measure. That wasn’t anything new. Scott wasn’t exactly fond of his new position. He’d mentioned something earlier about meeting one the first new Toreador to come to the city. From the looks of it she wasn’t much better than the rest of the kindred Scott had to deal with. “Hey,” Ares waved at him. “Rough night?” “I wish.” Scott snorted and hung his messenger bag on coathook. “I could use a rough night about now. It’d actually be preferable.” “Okay… I’m not sure I get it.” “It’s like…” Scott crossed his arms and scrunched up his face in thought. “Well I guess I’d say tonight was too easy, you know? Nothing went wrong, and that's what's wrong with it. And it'd be one thing if things went well because anything I did, but I didn't do jack shit! So yes, I could use a rough night. At least that'd mean I was proactive about something.” Ares walked over and wrapped his boyfriend in a loose hug. Scott returned the gesture. Ares still didn't quite understand what Scott was upset about, but things must have been bad if cuss words were slipping through his normally impeccable verbal filter. The two kindred stood still for a minute, just holding each other before Scott pushed himself up on tiptoe to place a soft kiss on Ares’ lips. God, they were so close. It’d be so easy for Ares to lean down and sink his fangs into the soft, inviting skin of Scott’s neck. Things weren’t like before; his bite wouldn’t cause Scott any pain now. He could drink as much as he wanted and not worry about a thing.

No. That was his beast talking. Ares made a conscious effort to strangle that thought process before it got any louder. He met Scott halfway for the kiss, then picked up the shorter kindred and sat him on the edge of the kitchen table. He nudged himself between Scott’s legs.  “You know I could do that,” Ares whispered against Scott’s soft lips. “Give you a rough night, I mean.” “It certainly wouldn’t hurt.” Scott grinned playfully and nipped Are’s lower lip. “But not right now. I have a present for you first. There’s a manila envelope it my bag. Why don’t you go open it?”

Ares raised an eye brow. What was the occasion? Nothing particularly special had happened in the past few days, had it? Or course it would be just like Ares to forget if something had. But he didn’t question, and instead did as he was told. He could feel Scott watching him from the table, and he felt his cheeks burn a little as he walked over to where Scott’s bag hung from the wall. He gently opened it and retrieved the envelope. 

It wasn’t very thick or heavy, and he could hear several different things shift around inside. Ares gave Scott one last, confused look – Scott laughed a little in response – and carefully tore open in the top. Inside were three items: a blue sheet of paper and two small cards. He pulled out the paper first. It was a birth certificate, raised seal and all, dated for his birthday in 1992. It was made out to “Ari Prinz.” He pulled out a social security card next, in the same name, and finally a New York State driver’s license with his picture on it. Ares couldn’t believe it. He looked at Scott, eyes wide with absolute shock, and placed the documents gently back in their envelope. He really wasn't Giovanni anymore. As far as the paper trail was concerned, Ares Salvatore was dead.  Ares felt his heart swell, his blood tremble with happiness at the prospect. He placed the envelope on the table and wrapped his arms around Scott once more. His fangs extended just a little. Ares focused his attention on his joy, not his hunger, and pulled Scott as close as physically possible. "I... I don't know what to say. How did you even manage that?" "Caroline pulled through for us. She knows the right people, I guess. And when I explained that we'd need a good cover in case the rest of the Giovanni came looking for you, she figured it was in the city's best interest to help out." Scott sounded like he was grinning ear to ear. "I hope you like the name. I don't expect any of our friends will use it much, but I put a lot of thought into it." "You did?" Ares looked down at Scott in slight confusion. The name didn't seem like that far a stretch. Ari was close enough to his birth name, so it wouldn't take that long to get used to hearing it. And since it was a Jewish name it made sense to have a Jewish surname, right?  Wait a second. Prinz. From the German word for "prince." As in the child of a king.

Ares groaned. "Did you seriously make a pun out of my new name?" "I figured using my last name would be too on the nose." Scott shrugged, but he still looked smugger than he had any right to for such a cheesy joke. "Besides, if - God forbid - we ever have a falling out, I figured it'd be better if we didn't share a name." "That's not gonna happen." Ares used the most adamant tone he could muster. "I'm in this for the long haul." Scott's gaze fell, and for a second he looked absolutely helpless, even a bit skeptical. Ares couldn't blame him - the last time Ares had said that, it'd been a lie. A lie Ares hopelessly wanted to believe himself, but a lie all the same. Scott's sadness only lasted that one second, though, and soon he was looking up at Ares with a gentle smile. "I know. But better safe than sorry, right?" "If you say so." "I do." Scott moved his arms around Are's shoulders and leaned up to whisper in his ear. "Now, what was that you said about getting rough?"  Ares answered by nipping - not biting, no matter how much he was salivating - Scott's neck. Scott laughed and wrapped his legs around Ares' waist. Ares shoved him down against the table. If rough was what Scott wanted, rough was what he was going to get.

~*~  They hadn't stayed in the kitchen for long. Afterwards, when they were comfortably spent and full to bursting with each other's vitae (thank God, as his beast was finally calming down), they lay tangled on their bed. The last track on Scott's favorite Type O Negative album played on Scott's laptop. Ares didn't quite understand Scott's fixation on mood music. He didn't understand why Scott liked this particular band so much either. It wasn't the worst music, though, and it did give the room a certain ambiance. As long as Scott was happy Ares wasn't going to complain. He had Scott wrapped securely in his arms. That was all he needed. "So..." Ares ran his hands gently through Scott's hair as he spoke. "Is this one of those 'don't talk about work' nights, or..." "Not really. Why?" Scott propped himself up on one elbow so he could look Ares in the eye.  "Well it's just you normally don't swear. So I thought tonight must have been really hard. And sometimes you just want to ignore those things, you know?"

"Ah. Well..." Scott bit his lip as he searched his brain for what to say next. "It's the new Toreador. You'd have to meet her to understand, I guess." "She's really that bad, huh?" "Exponentially so." Scott grimaced. "Yolanda Rivera. 11th gen ancilla, originally from Baltimore. She's an architect. Maxwell contracted out the new Elysium to her construction company. Which is honestly great for our clan, you know? So we were all talking - Maxwell, the other primogen, and myself - about what the new building was going to look like, what facilities we wanted, that type of thing. And the entire time she's acting like she's going to be the face of this clan." Scott's voice spend up as he talked. His grimace turned to a look of bitter frustration and he flopped back down on the mattress. "She's joking and laughing with the other primogen like she's known them for years, and starts acting like she's so happy to be able to help rebuild our clan. She talked over me the entire damn time! What really gets me is that she had the nerve to apologize to the rest of the primogen for my inexperience on my behalf. As if I can't speak for myself!" Ares waited patiently for Scott to finish his tirade. Honestly, it didn't sound that bad to him. With Isaac's flighty reputation and Ares being, well, himself, it would do Scott good to have someone who could help him with his new political responsibilities. Scott could probably learn a lot from this woman. But at the same time he knew exactly where Scott was coming from. As much Scott complained about his new job, he wanted desperately to succeed at it. He couldn't do that if no one gave him the chance to. "She made you feel small, didn't she?" "You don't know the half of it. This woman's over six feet tall and stacked. She could stand there completely silent and I'd still be invisible by comparison." And that explained the rest of Scott's frustration. Ares couldn't help but smile. Scott had no idea how adorable he was when he got flustered about his height. The way his cheeks got all pink, the little furrow in his brow... God, it was absolutely precious. Ares snickered before he could catch himself, earning him a rather icy glare from Scott. "You think I'm overreacting, don't you?"  "I think..." Ares paused so he could choose the right words to answer that obviously loaded question. "I think you're in a tough position, and there's a lot that's new and overwhelming. You'll get the hang of it eventually. I know you will." He leaned over and kissed Scott's forehead. Scott opened his mouth to reply, as though he has a frustrated rebuttal planned for whatever he expected Ares would say, but he paused a moment to actually process what Ares did say. By the time he did speak, Scott actually sounded impressed. "Nice save." "Thank you." Ares pulled Scott close again, tucking him snug against his chest. He pulled the blankets over the top of them. There was only an hour left before sunrise. Ares didn't see any reason for either of them to get out bed before sleep inevitably took them.

[tacticalshit]

14 Tactical Gifts for Him this Valentines Day!

With valentines day fast approaching we are sure that the ladies are panicking just as much as the guys are on what to get their significant other. Well fear not, We have some great ideas that are sure to win some bonus points this year!

Code 3 spices!

All Code 3 Spices products are MSG and Gluten free, and do not include high fructose corn syrup. Only 5G of sugar per serving.  This isn’t your “typical” BBQ Sauce! Great for BBQ, dipping, prep meals and much more.

Tactical Shit Beer Mug

What Better Way to Drink the Blood of Your Enemies than with a tactical shit beer mug!

7 inches tall

3.5 inches wide

Large 28.2 oz. capacity

Heavy duty thick glass design.

Doc Spartan Combat Ready Ointment 

THE BIG TIN: An old school 2oz tin filled with Combat Ready Ointment (CRO), your go to all natural first aid ointment. It’s like carrying a combat medic in your pocket. Instead of rubbing dirt on it, grab the BIG TIN so you can continue mission and kick ass.

DIRECTIONS: CRO is intended to be applied topically multiple times a day to soothe and comfort your wounds. Also works great as a daily moisturizer to help prevent dry skin from cracking and ripping.

USES: Works great on rips, cuts, scrapes, scars, burns, rashes, tattoos, and much more. For external use only.

INGREDIENTS: It contains refined coconut oil, 100% Natural Beeswax, Sweet Almond Oil, Vitamin E, Lavender Essential Oil, Eucalyptus Essential Oil, and Tea Tree Essential Oil.

SIZE: 2oz

Do not use if allergic to the ingredients.  The statements have not been approved by the Food and Drug Administration. These statements are not intended to diagnose, treat or cure or prevent any disease.

Bad Mother Fucker Beard Oil

Beard oil for Bad Mother Fuckers. Designed to give you a Glistening, Soft, Smooth, and GREAT smelling beard. A blend of almond oil jojoba oil argan oil and a vitamin e and aloe blend which has sunflower seed oil safflower seed oil apricot oil avocado oil and olive oil.

Make your beard smell great while give you control and a bit of shine that brings all the ho’s to your yard.

Beard Oil made for Bad Mother Fuckers. Designed to give you a Glistening, Soft, Smooth, and GREAT smelling beard.

Contains: beeswax shea butter, cocoa butter, almond oil, jojoba oil and olive oil, keeps the strays at bay and gives your beard shape.

Liberal Tears Maple Bacon Coffee

Liberal Tears Maple Bacon Flavored Coffee

There is nothing better than offending the hippy liberal douchebags of this nation so their tears can be used to lube up the guns of American patriots.

That is, until this Maple Bacon flavored coffee was produced.

Apart from being a certified organic Arabica bean with all-natural maple bacon flavoring, the coffee is handled by U.S. combat veterans that are despised by the libtard nation that reside among us.  The coffee is roasted by the fiery breath of an American Freedom Eagle and cooled from the Liberal Tears that fall when an eight year old child learns how to practice trigger control for the first time out at the range.

Practice SAFE trigger control

  Liberal Tears Gun Oil – Bacon Scented – 4oz

  Guns have only two enemies; Rust and Liberals. Liberal Tears Gun Oil protects against both. We have bottled Liberal Tears to create a CLP that gives you guaranteed 2nd Amendment protection.

New Liberal Tears Gun Oil is NOW BACON SCENTED

An extremely advanced, proprietary blended, gun lubricant that will deliver unsurpassed performance in the harshest environments.

Extreme lubricity was our primary goal, and we reached it! We formulated the new Liberal Tears gun oil to outperform the current “full auto” lubricants, so we’re confident it will outperform anything you’re currently using.

New Liberal Tears delivers unsurpassed performance in the harshest environments.

New Liberal tears gun oil traps the carbon and debris, caused by firing your weapon, within the lubricant so it’s easily cleaned off. The strong lubricant layer, created on the surface of your weapon, will protect it against fouling and make cleaning your weapon a breeze.

– Made in America

5.11 RUSH Delivery XRAY

At 12” high, 20” long, and 6.5” deep, the X-ray Class RUSH Delivery Bag is the ultimate multipurpose carryall, offering expanded capacity and a wide range of customizable features designed to support travel, business, or tactical operations. Built from ruggedized Nylon for superior resilience in any climate or environment, the RUSH Delivery X-ray features a quick-draw compartment that provides accelerated access to a covert sidearm, a padded laptop sleeve to protect sensitive electronics, a quick-access admin panel keeps your keys, business cards, and flashlight within easy reach, and a main storage area with ample space for documents or accessories. The external surface of the RUSH Delivery X-ray incorporates a wrap-around web platform compatible with MOLLE, 5.11 SlickStick®, and 5.11® TacTec System™ modular storage upgrades, while the cross-body stabilizing strap and ambidextrous design allow quick and easy shoulder switching.

Edge Eyewear Hamel Gray Wolf

Edge Eyewear Hamel Gray Wolf

TR90/Nylon

polycarbonate lens

Mirrored

Thin temple design was specifically engineered to fit comfortably under hearing protection, helmets, and headsets.

Features matte frames and non-mirrored lenses to eliminate glare and help keep your position hidden when you want to lie low

Functional brow guard to block the sun and other unwanted light from above, as well as a recessed lens cavity that prevents air flow from drying out the eyes

G-15 lens not only provides contrast and image definition but protects your eyes by blocking 99.9% of UVA/UVB/UVC rays

Polycarbonate lens offers ballistic protection, meeting both ANSI Z87.1+2010 and Military MCEPS GL-PD 10-12 standards for eye safety

TPG Elite Travel Kit

The Elite Travel Kit is a uniquely designed solution for those carrying support equipment for on the go challenges, powered gadgets or simply to just have a bunch of stuff they have to access 24/7. Perfect to carry on or place inside your travel pack or bag. The kit hangs perfectly while open and can be used as a long trip Dopp Kit.

Leather accents throughout

Black revision uses 1680 Denier Ballistic Nylon construction

MultiCam revision uses 500 Denier CORDURA®

Padded Leather handle

Unfolds to 3 zippered pockets and 1 hidden compartment

Adjustable quick release front access

YKK® zippers

Available colors: Black, MultiCam

Dimensions: 10″ L x 4″ W x 8″ H

Weight: 5oz

EDC Carbon Fiber Folding Knife – Pure Carbon Fiber Blade

For the gentleman in the boardroom and a freak in the sheets, here’s your 50 shades of grey

The carry pure carbon fiber blade knife is ultra-light, slim and stylish, making it an ideal minimalist carry piece. The knife features a pure 3K carbon fiber blade. The handle is made of pure 3K carbon fiber making it very durable and corrosion resistant. The knife features a tip-down clip and a lanyard hole. A truly unique gentlemen’s carry piece. -Blade length: 3.25″ -Overall length: 7.50″ -Weight: 2.1 oz -Handle length: 4.25″ -Handle thickness: 0.34″ Gift box packaging.

The Fat 50 Ammo Can Humidor by Ammodor

They are nearly indestructible and feature a secure flip open lid with a rubber seal around the rim – making Ammodors 100% waterproof and air-tight. There is no better container for a humidor!

The interior sides and bottom are lined with precision milled 1/4″ thick Spanish Cedar. It is the preferred lining for high-end humidors since it offers natural protection from tobacco worms and mold. Joints feature beautiful 45 degree angled cuts. The bottom exterior is lined with olive drab green felt to prevent your ammo box humidor from scratching any delicate table top surfaces.

All ammo cans are thoroughly cleaned and sanitized prior to becoming an Ammodor – they will not ruin your cigars with harmful odors!

Every Ammodor is handcrafted by a Vietnam veteran right here in the good ole USA. Nearly all of our vendors are local Veteran owned small business. We have a “green” manufacturing process and nearly 100% of all waste from production is recycled or repurposed.

Please note: Ammodors are built by hand, made to order. Please allow 1-3 business days for production of your Ammodor prior to shipment.

Ammodors ammo can humidors are built using surplus ammo cans that have been proudly used by our Armed Forces. Due to this fact, the outside of the can may have minor scratches, dings or light exterior rust. Exterior markings and stencils will vary – writing may say .50 cal, 5.56 or 9mm. Frankly, we think that’s what makes Ammodors so cool! Ammodors are tough, combat tested and look bad ass! If you’re looking for a “pretty” little cigar humidor, look somewhere else.

Includes a free Basic Issue Ammodor humidifier. Upgrade to our Deluxe Kit that includes a more efficient Deluxe Ammodor Humidifier and Ammodor Digital Hygrometer. Deluxe Kits are perfect for the cigar enthusiast that doesn’t want to hassle with buying hardware separately -OR- the beginner who isn’t sure how to get started.

Haley Strategic DC3R X Chest Rig

Haley Strategic DC3R X Chest Rig

Driven by mission versatility. When used as a stand alone, the platform is low profile enough to be worn fully loaded and not print on a normal/loose fit jacket or sweatshirt. When used on a armor platform with a quick release system, such as SwiftClips™, it can be attached or stowed in seconds, giving the end user the versatility to transition from low vis to high vis or vice versa.

The rifle magazine pouches accept AR type magazines as well as AK 7.62 x39mm and 5.45 x 39 magazines. The Multi-Mission Pouches accept 1911, Glock, Sig, M&P, XD and other standard double or single stack pistol magazines, as well as many handheld lights, multi-tools, and 37mm/40mm grenades.

The rig intentionally does not include a radio or dedicated full size medical pouch so no matter the posture, essentials such as communications and medical kits can remain on the end user at all times.

XM42-M Flame Thrower

The XM42 Modular is a complete overhaul of the original handhelf flamethrower that grabbed worldwide attention.  With all new billet aluminum construction and a fully customizable layout, this rugged and sleek design is configurable to balance personal perference.

Applications:

clearing snow and ice,eliminating weeds,controlled burns/agricultural, firefighting, ground insect hive control, concerts and pyrotechnic events, bonfire starting, simply a fun display of fire

What’s Included

XM42-M flamethrower, 2200 mAh rechargeable battery, battery charger, detailed user manual

Technical Specifications

Length:  26.3 in

Width:  6.7 in

Height:  18.4 in

Weight:  8.0 lb

Pilot Torch Fuel:  230g isobutane camping stove style canister

Pilot Torch Ignition:  Pusbutton piezo spark

Standard Nozzle:  .081″ solid stream

Typical Distance:  30 ft

Fuel Capacity:  0.4 gal/ 1.5L

Compatible Fuels:  Gasoline, gasoline-diesel mixture, ethanol

Construction:  Aluminum, stainless steel, flueroelastomer, nylon

Standard Finish:  MIL-A-8625 Type III Class 2 hard coat anodized

Battery:  2200 mAh 3S lithium polymer with XT60 Connector

The XM42-M can be completely disassebled by the end-user for aftermarket Cerakote, upgrades, or replacement components.  It utlizes an electric fuel pump to emit fuel from the nozzle, which is ignited by a pilot torch mounted at the end of the device.

The system is powered by a rechargeable lithium-polymer battery (battery and charger included).

Simply fill the tank with your fuel of choice, ignite the butane torch, and press the trigger button to send a stream of flaming fuel up to 30 feet away.

The modularity of the flamethrower allows you to swap in a 60+ second fuel canister, or even connect the backpack kit that supports over 3.5 minutes of non-stop fire.

Accu-Tac SR-5 QD Bi-Pod

The Accu-Tac SR-5 Quick Detach Bi-Pod was designed, engineered, and manufactured in the USA. The SR-5 is 100% billet, made from the highest quality aircraft aluminum available. Its wide stance and ratcheted leg extension gives you the adjustability needed for precision aim and repeatability. You will feel the stability and security of your rifle as never felt before.

Our quick detach rail mount is simple, quick, and very secure; it attaches to a 1913 Picatinny rail and mounts in seconds without the need to use extra tools for tightening. Our ratcheted leg extension design allows the shooter to quickly adjust to 5 different heights without having to align each leg equally. The spring loaded leg extension retracts quickly with a one-button retraction lever. The retracted leg height of 6 inches extends to a full open position of 10 inches with 3 other positions in-between.

To engage or adjust leg position, simply pull the spring loaded leg downward to move each leg independently. Leg position can be deployed in a 90 degree, 45 degree position either forwards or backwards, locking securely into 5 positions through a 180 degree arc.

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Summer Orchard. (Erotica)

With her feet dangling off the edge of the porch she took a deep breath, absorbing the serenity of her surroundings; the soothing breeze brushing across the orchard, the smell of freshly ripened apples growing in the trees, and the cold wet grass under her feet tickling her as she swung them to and fro. Completely lost in the tranquility of the moment she failed to notice the screen door creak open.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Barely able to gather herself “Hmm? Oh, yeah sorry” she replied.

“Well I picked a few this morning if you would like some?” he proclaimed.

Without hesitation “Yes please.”

Getting up she walked towards the door, opening it he motioned for her to go first. The moment she set foot inside she spotted the apples on the countertop, the crimson color contrasted with the room.

Walking towards them she felt a tug at her arm,

“Now now, I picked those. If you want one, they aren’t free” he stated.

“Oh? And what must I do for them?” she questioned.

“Fruit for fruit, I’ll take whatever your body has to offer” he declared.

“I don’t know. That doesn’t seem fair” she indicated.

“I wasn’t asking was I?” he interjected.

In one swift motion he pulled her towards him; dropping one arm behind her legs sweeping her off her feet and catching her with the other. He then carried her to the bedroom before resting her softly on the bed.

Kneeling down he removed her skirt, throwing it across the room. With his hands now free of her skirt he inspected her legs, slowly sliding them up to her blouse. He cautiously removed each button, before pulling it off and resting it on the side of the bed. Standing up he began removing his shirt, as she released the button on his pants allowing them to drop to the floor.

With his hands he shoved her back, forcing her to lie down. Taking only a moment to inspect her, his hands then slithered across her vibrant skin; starting at her thighs working their way up to her breasts.

As his hands massaged her breasts he leaned in to run his tongue along her body, the cold tickle of his tongue sent shivers up her spine. As he stopped at her chest he looked up,

“Tell me what I want to hear” he demanded.

“Make me wet” she drawled.

His head turned “I must not have heard you, what was that?”

“Make me wet…master” she quickly added.

“Much better” he said with a smile.

One hand left her breast, driven with lust, as it moved down to her inner thigh. With his body he held one leg out of his way, as his hand pushed aside the other. Running his fingertips down her inner thigh, he then slowly slid his fingers into her watching as the expression on her face filled with desire.

As his fingers danced about inside of her, he pressed his lips onto her nipple teasing it with his tongue. Letting out a soft moan she held his hand in place, coaxing it in to herself ever so slightly.

A wicked thought took over as he pulled his fingers out. Moving his hand on top of hers he manipulated her hand, sliding one of her fingers into herself.

“I think I need some help” he so wickedly stated.

Before she could reply she felt two of his fingers slither their way in, moving her finger around inside of her. In shock she turned red,

“What are y…” She gasped.

“I said I needed help, I didn’t say I would stop” he interrupted.

She replied with a sharp moan as she helped him as best she could. His body quickly got up as his other hand lunged forward, taking hold of her throat. Merely resting upon it, letting her know who was in charge. It wasn’t long before her lewd juices ran across his fingers before dripping to the floor. With a mischievous smile upon his face he pulled their fingers back, lifting her hand up to his mouth before licking her off of her own finger.

“Delicious” he grinned.

He forcefully rolled her body over, taking hold of her shoulders standing her up. With his hands he bent her exposed body over the bed, lifting her head by her chin forcing her to stare at the mirror on the vanity.

“Look at yourself, marvel at your body as I have my way with it” he quipped.

He quickly thrust himself into her, forcing a swift shriek out of her. Pumping into her with his cock as her body lifted from the recoil. She watched diligently from the mirror, intoxicated by her body thrashing about.

His hand slid from her chin to her throat, firmly wrapping itself around it. He squeezed, only allowing her enough air to stay conscious. Unable to reach the bed below her, she instead reached back bracing her hands in his hip.

“Look at how wonderful your body moves as I have my way” he proclaimed.

“H-ar…der…m-m-m-aste…r” she begged as she clamored for air.

She could feel his cock throbbing inside of her, pulsating in symphony with her racing heart. Driven by the pounding her body received she let out a scream, a simple cry of hope; a hope for more, so much more.

Suddenly he pulled himself out dropping her to the bed, before flipping her body over.

“You don’t get to cum yet, at least not from me” he commanded as he slowly crawled on top of her and smiled, “If you want to cum, you’ll have to do that yourself. I can wait.”

“But I���Yes master” she murmured.

Her body trembled as she bowed her head, embarrassed by his request.

“Don’t look away, I want to watch you squirm as you finger yourself” he demanded.

With her face painted red she slowly moved her hand down and across her body, quickly realizing how wet she was. The thought of him watching her masturbate caused her to drip with excitement. She always wanted him to watch as she pleased herself but thought he would never ask.

As her fingers danced about herself his eyes studied her expressions. In his perverted sense of joy his smile grew wicked as he leaned down to whisper in her ear,

“Cum for me, and I will let you ride me” he claimed.

Too embarrassed to speak she merely nodded; the only sounds able to escape her were the moans of her own enjoyment.

He sat up, spreading her legs so his twisted eyes could catch a glimpse of the show. He watched as she squirmed about, her back slowly arching as she grew ever closer. She turned her head unwillingly as he reached down turning it back,

“No, I want to see your face as you cum” he demanded.

Just then she gasped for air, a delicate cry of ecstasy escaped as her body contorted.

“That’s it? I was hoping for a better show than that” he sighed, “I wanted to hear you scream, I guess I will have to do that myself.”

The second she pulled her hand back, he forced his cock in before she could gather herself. Lifting her up, carrying her over to the chair before sitting down.

“Now… Ride me till you scream” he demanded.

“Yes master” she exhaled.

Just before she could wrap her arms around him, he took hold of her wrists restraining them behind her.

“For a show like that, I can’t let you use your hands” he stated.

With her face still red her hips began to sway, elegantly inching his cock in deeper. The penetration of his cock sent chills up her spine, filling her mind with lust and desire. Unable to hold herself back she began bouncing on his lap, causing her to let out a sharp gasp with each downward thrust. The silent room filled with the sound of her lewd juices clapping against body.

The vivacity of her movements weren’t enough, instead he decided to help. Thrusting up into her each time she fell down, turning her moans into screams. With her hands still restrained behind her, she was unable to brace herself. Each thrust gave a perfect contrast of both pain and pleasure.

Lost in the moment he let go of her wrists pulling her body to his, squeezing it tightly against his. Upon realizing her hands were free she swiftly wrapped her arms around him, unknowingly driving her nails into his back.

With the force of their movements, her juices splashed about. Dripping down the shaft of his cock onto the chair, the sensation of it only excited him more. Her nails drove deeper into his back as she took a deep breath; no longer bouncing upon his lap, but instead forcing her body down  to accept every inch she could possibly withstand.  His hard cock penetrated her very core as she let out a moan,

“More…” she begged.

“You have been such a good girl. If more is what you want, then more is what you’ll get” he replied “But first, my cock needs to be cleaned. It’s dripping wet because of you.”

“Please master, let me clean it for you” she pleaded.

Standing up he carried her over to the bed, resting her back on the bed. He spun her body around till her head barely rested on the edge. The sight of her lying there with her mouth agape, welcoming his cock, drove him mad with lust. He drove himself deep into her throat as she gagged. The sight of her throat expanding to accept his cock served only to feed his desire for more.

Unable to restrain himself, instead possessed by sheer lust, he fucked her causing her to choke from the force of it. Her body twisted as she fought for air; grasping her breasts he forced her to the bed to hold her steady as her legs then flailed about. His eyes fixated on her throat, watching in a daze, as it expanded with each thrust of his cock.

The sounds of her gagging caused him to pull back, freeing his cock from her mouth.

“No!” she screamed, “I…I wasn’t done…master.”

“Oh? So you like the way you taste on my cock?” he replied.

“…Y-es…” she whimpered.

“Get on your knees and you can have all you want” he commanded.

Rolling herself over, she stumbled to the floor resting on her hands and knees patiently. He took a few steps back,

“You will have to crawl if you really want more. Show me just how much you want it” he demanded.

“Yes master” she replied.

Slowly, one hand in front of the other, almost taunting him, she crawled. Upon reaching him she looked up,

“I want to watch as you swallow every drop” he demanded.

She didn’t even reply; unable to retain her patience any longer, her mouth quickly wrapped around his cock. Her lips softly caressed him as she coaxed every inch deep into her throat. She enjoyed the flavor of his cock, enough so that a soft moan expressed her gratitude.

She placed one hand on his hip as the other took hold of his shaft, toying with him as the tip of her tongue teased him. She ran her tongue along his shaft dragging her lips along with it, looking up to enjoy his expressions.

His breathing grew heavy as he placed his hand on her head, satisfied with the sight of her toying with him. Taking hold of her hair he pulled her head back, leaving her hand behind to continue.

“Beg for it” he snarled.

“P-please master, may I?” she begged.

With a wicked smile on his face he shoved her head back in, forcing every inch down her throat as both her hands embraced his hips. Letting go of her hair he took hold of her hands, placing them on the back of her head. He held her head in place waiting for her to gag, only releasing her head once she does. With each breath she took he forced his way back in, each time waiting for her to squirm about for air.

He wanted to see her body writhing about, fighting to withstand his punishment. Sated by the sounds of her gagging he braced her head tightly, pumping himself in and out enjoying the sounds her mouth made as it embraced his pulsating cock.

He then slammed his cock into the back of her throat, holding her in place. Gagging from the force of it, her eyes welled up with tears as his cock throbbed into her. She swallowed all of it, each with a loud gulp.

His grip loosened as his strength weakened; with her hands now free she wrapped them tightly around his waist holding him in place until the throbbing stopped. Still not satisfied, she pulled back taking hold of his shaft. She then rubbed whatever else she could out of him, licking up every drop that made its way out.

“Did, did you enjoy yourself?” he exhaled.

Looking up at him,

“I did…Master” she mocked.

“Well a deal is a deal. You can have an apple” he concluded.

“I’m full enough for now. Maybe later” she quipped.

Standing up she took hold of his wrist, guiding him to the bed. She laid down patting her hand on the sheet, implying that he should lie next to her. Accepting the offer he laid down next to her, his arm slid under her as her body moved in towards his. Her head now resting on his chest as his arm held her close.

“That was just for a single apple, if you want dinner I will need more” he added.

Looking up at him she replied, “Now that you mention it. I think I want dinner right now.”

“Such a good girl” he smiled.