#battle to the death but with magic this time

[gingersnaptaff]

It's time for ANOTHER POLLLLLLLL.

So, without further ado Some notes for each:

Cigfa - MY BELOVED!!!!!!! Is briefly mentioned in the first branch as being the lady Pryderi marries, she's the daughter of Glyn Gohowy, and she has her moment in the spotlight in branch three. The daughter-in-law of Rhiannon (obvs) she accompanies her, Pryderi, and Manawydan in their sojourn into England when Dyfed becomes a wasteland. She and Manawydan are the two who don't get spirited away by a golden bowl. Cigfa thinks Manawydan will treat her unkindly but Manawydan is very nice to her (🥺🥺🥺). I also love her with my whole heart. Wish she had more book time.

Amaethon - Son of Dôn and Beli Mawr and brother to *deep breath* Gwydion, Gilfaethwy, Aranrhod, and Gofannon Penarddun, and Nudd, he's the God of agriculture. He's a bit part in The Mab, with only one mention in Culhwch and Olwen to his name. He's also the instigator of The Battle of The Trees (Cad Goddeu) which is a Diddy lil conflict between Arawn, Lord of Annwfn and The Family of Dôn.

Manawydan - legit my favourite Mabinogion character. He's the son of Llŷr and Penarddun which makes him a full-blooded brother to Bendigeidfran and Branwen as well as half-brother to Efnisien and Nisien. Bendigeidfran sends him and Nisien to woo Matholwch back after Efnisien maims the Irish King's horses and afterwards, Manawydan accompanies his brother to rescue their sister from the Irish court. Manawydan is one of the seven to return home which means he witnesses Bendigeidfran, Nisien (presumably as we never hear what happens to him), Branwen, and Efnisien's deaths and leaves him as the sole survivor of the Children of Llŷr. He gets his spotlight in book three where he's fuckin amazing and is the one to basically hold a mouse ransom (look long story.) and says 'such as I have I will hang' when the magician in disguise tries to barter for the mouse back. He also MARRIES RHIANNON AND FREES HER AND PRYDERI FROM THE MAGIC BOWL. He and Lleu Llaw Gyffes are two of the shoemakers mentioned in the triads and - as shoemaking was seen as being a kingly craft - is a sign of their being kings (which is v prescient considering MANAWYDAN GOT DEPOSED BY CASWALLAWN). I love him. I love him. He's so, so, so, so nice and an all-around good guy. I made him Gwynhwyfar's God dad in my book I love him that much.

Culhwch - cousin/nephew to Arthur (I always get confused.) he's the one who causes Glewlwyd no amount of pain after he arrives at Arthur's court after the knife is in the meat and the neas has been poured. Why? FOR A QUEST! He wants to marry Olwen, the daughter of Ysbaddaden Pencawr and needs his cousin's help to do it. He doesn't do much on his quest but he gets points for like participation, I guess? Lomg story short he does marry Olwen though which is nice. Bet she was thrilled.

Edern- Brother to Gwyn ap Nudd, Creiddylad, and Owain ap Nudd (and sometimes Lludd and Llefelys if u think Lludd and Nudd are two separate lads which I do.) he's a fuckin MESS. @wildbasil can tell u more about him but he's Gwenhwyfar/Guinevere's lover and cause Gwyn no end of stress I imagine.

[ladykailitha]

Share with Me One Love, One Lifetime Part 4

Yay!! We are about half way there. Because yes, this story will end at eight chapters and I'm so happy to see it end. It's been a long hard road for this series and I'm grateful for all the friends I made since starting out on this journey.

But I'm not the same person who started writing a story to fill a void in the fandom to someone who has written almost a million words in the Stranger Things fandom.

So thank you!

In this chapter we have all the fun Lovers' Lake stuff and a little breakdown from Steve as a treat.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Cal,” Wayne snapped. “There was no way in hell that Eddie levitated Patrick ten feet in the air, snapped his bones and then did nothing to other two? If my boy could do magic, there are more than a few people in this town who would be dead by now and not three kids he didn’t have any connection to.”

“Wayne...” Powell huffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Think of what is at stake here! All those young lives snuffed out. Someone has to be punished for it.”

“And you’re not railroading Eddie to do it,” Wayne said gruffly. “Just because he’s a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks doesn’t make him responsible for their deaths!”

“And you’re saying that Victor Creel is?” Powell said slamming his hands on the table. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“It’s either him or his dead kid,” he said. “Which one do you think is crazier?”

Powell let out a long sigh. “Let’s say we entertained a connection between the two cases. Then it is way more likely to be a copy cat then Victor or Henry Creel.”

“If you’re saying Eddie is practicing evil magic based on a table top game,” he said with a sneer, sitting back in his chair, “then you’ll have to arrest Jacob Matthews, Kenny Martin, and Lonnie Byers because they all played Tactics growing up.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Powell said crossly, “as this Dungeons and Dragons the kids are playing now days.”

“One is playing with armies in fictional battles,” Wayne said, “and the other is playing a small band of heroes to battle evil in fictional setting. I really don’t see the difference. Jake liked being Germany, and I’d say that if far more egregious then playing a thief or rogue whatever they call it.”

Powell licked his lips slowly. “I’m not going to convince you to help us bring Eddie in am I?”

“No,” Wayne said, raising to his feet. “And you try to pin this on him, then you’re more than a coward then I thought you were. There is something evil and rotten in this town, no doubt about it. Hop knew and it’s time you got on board while you can still protect this town.”

Then he strolled out the door.

~

“I concur,” Eddie said leaping from the top of Skull Rock, deftly in front of everyone, “Dustin Henderson, that you are a total butthead!”

“Eddie!” Dustin cried and ran over to hug him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said as he gave hugs to Steve and Wayne, too. “This old man has taught more than a thing or two on how to survive in the wild. I was able to swim back to the house and change my clothes and grab my bag.”

Wayne nodded. “Damn right I did,” he groused. “It’s a good thing too, because when I saw you pinwheel head first into the water, I thought I’d lost ya for good.” He hugged Eddie, too.

Steve hung back, breathing heavily, trying to look everywhere but where Eddie was receiving the worried assurances from Dustin and Wayne.

Eddie leaned his head down to get a better look at his boyfriend. “Hey, Stevie...I’m okay. See?” He held out his arms and turned around, showing that he wasn’t hurt in any way. “I’m okay, baby.”

Suddenly he had an armful of Steve Harrington. A sobbing Steve Harrington, who gripped the back of his jacket in a white knuckle grip.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured gently. “I’m okay.”

“I should have moved you to my place,” Steve whispered harshly. “You would have been safe. You would have been safe!”

Eddie rubbed Steve’s back and made soothing noises. “You don’t know that for sure. But I’m safe now. Okay? Why don’t you guys tell me everything you learned at the Creel House?”

Steve nodded and moved to take a step back, but Eddie held on tight. “I didn’t say you had to let go, Stevie.”

Steve slumped against his boyfriend and they both settled against the base of Skull Rock.

“You say all the light bulbs in your flashlights exploded?” Eddie muttered darkly. “Do you know when that was?”

Nancy and Robin looked at each other. “There was a huge grandfather clock that was somehow still working, so yeah we’ve got a pretty good idea when it was,” Nancy said.

Eddie worked his watch off his wrist and tossed it at her. “That stopped when I hit the water, shortly after Patrick died.”

Nancy looked down at the watch again and her eyes widened.

“It’s the same time, isn’t it?” Dustin asked. “The surge of power we felt in the house was the same power that killed Patrick.”

“Wait, wait hold up!” Lucas said waving his hands. “Dustin’s compass wasn’t wrong. It was acting up.”

Dustin stared over at him in shock. “Oh. Fuck.” He turned back to Eddie and Wayne. “The only reason compasses act up like that is in the presence of a Gate to the Upside Down.”

“You have got to be shittin’ me,” Wayne growled. “You think there is one of these holes in the universe nearby?”

Lucas nodded. Wayne threw his arms in the air and proceeded to let loose a slew of curse words that left Dustin mildly impressed.

“Well what are we standing around gawking for?” he growled and whirled Dustin the direction the compass had tried to direct them on their way here.

Steve and Eddie leapt to their feet and quickly gathered all of Eddie’s stuff, to follow close behind. They took each other’s hands and held on as they marched deeper and deeper into the woods.

~

“Dustin, Dustin!” Eddie shouted as Dustin rushed ahead from the group.

He barely made it in time to pull him back from face plant into the lake. “Shit, dude! Not every edge of the water has a shore line. Jesus Christ!”

“Whoa!” Dustin said. He pointed out to the water. “It’s got to be out there in the lake.”

“Shit that’s where Patrick was killed,” Eddie whispered back. “Look around for the boat, it should be around here somewhere.”

They finally found it and dragged it up to the shore. Dustin stepped up to the boat but Wayne put his hand on his chest.

“No kids,” he growled. “I should say no one under eighteen, but I have feeling the ladies are just goin’ to ignore me if I try to stop them from going.”

Robin and Nancy shared a glance and then they both shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

“Someone should stay here and watch the littles,” Wayne continued. “I volunteer. Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?”

Eddie grinned at him. “I can’t promise nothing. Especially with this lot.”

Wayne huffed out a chuckle and then waved them off. “Dustin, give Nancy the compass so that can find this hellgate.”

Dustin very unwillingly and loudly complaining handed over the compass.

The four teenagers got into the boat and Eddie looked back at the shore as the Party shrank the further they got from them. He had this uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that it would be some time before he saw them again.

~

Steve started untying his shoelaces and working off his socks.

“What are you doing?” Nancy asked, raising an eyebrow. “I was going to go. I’m a strong swimmer.”

Steve looked up from where he was shoving his socks into his sneakers. “Well unless you can beat co-captain of the swim team and a lifeguard for three years straight, it’s going to be me.”

Eddie let out a sigh. “He’s the best swimmer here, hands down. Plus, if something comes out of the Gate, he’ll be better able to fight it off.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “Because unless you have some magic power I haven’t been told about, Steve’s our heavy hitter.”

Nancy threw her arms in the air and turned away as Steve pulled off his sweater and tossed it to Eddie with a smile and a wink. Eddie pulled out a cigarette after that view, because, damn. His boyfriend was hot. But before he could even pull out his lighter, Robin snatched it from his lips.

“Gross!” Robin hissed dramatically, throwing the cigarette into the water.

Eddie wrapped the flashlight in the plastic bag and then handed it to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve said with a smile, taking the flashlight from him.

“Good luck, babe,” Eddie murmured.

Steve nodded and dove right into the water. He felt that rush that he always did when hit the water. It silenced the roar of his thoughts and narrowed his focus. He was more at home here then on land. With Eddie’s flashlight in hand he moved toward the glowing light.

He got as close as he dared to that thing. It was red and pulsating. Angry. Angry in a way that only the Upside Down could be. He swam backwards to try to get distance from it, but his foot must have brushed something as he swam to the surface, because as he was in the middle of explaining to the others that it was definitely a gate, something grabbed grabbed a hold of his ankle and dragged him back down.

He struggled and fought but it was no use, whatever had a hold on him was not going to let go. With that strange swoop that occurred when you moved from one dimension to the next, suddenly he was in the Upside Down. All alone. Barefoot and shirtless in a world designed to kill you as fast as possible. Yeah he was fucked.

~

Suddenly Steve was fighting for his life, but he wasn’t alone. Somehow all three of them had dived right in after him and were attacking the monsters with boat oars. Eddie was swinging his oar around with deadly accuracy. Even breaking the oar in two on the second to the last bat.

God, Eddie was hot when he was angry.

Wait.

He needed to focus so he didn’t die. He bit the tail of the demobat that had wrapped its tail around his neck, causing the beast to let go fast. But Steve was faster. He grabbed the tail and began bashing in whatever the thing had for brains and then stomped on it, ripping it in two.

He panted, spitting out the brackish goo that made up their blood, trying to get out as much as he could. It tasted vile. Even more so than his own. He looked up at the blood red sky dancing with lightning and his eyes fluttered closed.

“Eddie meet the Upside Down,” he breathed, “Upside Down has already met Eddie.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and then was suddenly giggling. Then they all were.

“I knew I shouldn’t have introduced you to Jeff’s humor,” Eddie said once he could breath again.

“Let’s get under cover,” Nancy said with a sneer. “Because I really don’t think we’re going to like what happens if more of them show up.”

Steve pointed to the ‘shore�� line where the trees loomed in front of them. “That’s as good a place as any. We know what a demogorgon and the Mind Flayer sound like and can avoid them as much as possible.”

Nancy led the way to the treeline with everyone else following behind.

“I hate that’s a thing we know,” Robin groused as she fell in step with Steve.

Eddie brought up the rear. He kept looking behind them as though he could feel something out there watching them. Or rather watching him.

~

Once they were safely out of the watchful ‘eyes’ of the demobats, Eddie relaxed his shoulders. But the downside to relaxing after an ordeal like that one is that the adrenaline wears off.

“Fuck!” Steve hissed putting a hand on his side and it coming back covered in blood.

“Shit, baby!” Eddie said, moving him to sit on a nearby rock. “That looks bad.”

“What if you get rabies?” Robin asked panicked. “Do Upside Down creatures have rabies?”

“Shut up, Robin,” Steve asked, leaning his head back and gripping his hair to fight back on the pain, “or I swear to god I will hit you!”

Robin hiccuped and then smiled. “At least your humor is intact.”

“Move,” Nancy said, the pieces of the bottom of her shirt in her hands. “We need to wrap that up so it doesn’t get infected.”

Eddie snorted. “Do you know first aid, Nance?”

“Well...” she muttered, chewing on the bottom on her lip. “I mean a little.”

“Well I know a lot,” Eddie said, yanking the strips from her. “Wayne was an army medic and I got into a shit ton of scrapes the first year I was living with him. So if anyone is going to treat Steve it’s going to be a Munson and as Wayne ain’t here, it’s gonna be me.”

Nancy stepped back to stand with Robin, her arms crossed over her chest.

Eddie looked up at Steve and gave his hand a squeeze. “This is gonna hurt a lot, but this is just to stop the bleeding until we can get you somewhere where we can do a proper job of it, okay?”

Steve nodded. “Just do it. I trust you.”

Eddie gave his hand another squeeze and started to wrap the wounds around Steve’s stomach and sides, neatly tucking the ends under the bandage to keep it in place.

“We need to get up high to see where we are so we can get out of this hell hole,” he said with a grimace as he got to his feet.

He looked around him and found a suitable tree and began climbing.

“Just don’t step on the vines,” Nancy warned. “They’re connected to Vecna.”

Eddie turned around to see that the tree was covered in them and he had somehow missed them on his way up. “Shit.”

“Remember when I said the demodogs where connected to a hive mind?” Steve asked as Eddie tried to figure out a way to get down. “Apparently all things in the Upside Down are connected to the rat bastard.”

“Great,” Eddie growled. “Just fucking great.”

“We need to get to my house,” Nancy said, “I have two guns in my bedroom, and I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

Eddie hopped down. “You, Nancy Wheeler, have guns, plural, in your bedroom?”

“I know, right?” Robin said gleefully, “She such a badass.”

“I have two,” Nancy said with smile. “I have a Russian pistol and an old revolver.”

Steve scoffed and grinned. “You almost shot me with that one.”

Nancy grinned back. “And you almost deserved it.”

THWUMP!

“For your modesty, Stevie,” Eddie growled, with a glare.

Steve realized that he was now holding the battle vest in his arms. He smiled up at Eddie. “Thanks, love.”

Just then an earthquake hit, throwing Nancy into Steve’s arms and Robin and Eddie to the ground. Once it stopped, Steve made sure Nancy was steady enough and then he began to walk in the direction he was sure Nancy’s house was.

Eddie expression softened as Steve happily put on the vest and then yes, he admired his boyfriend’s ass. Sue him, he loved that ass. He hopped to his feet and dutifully followed Steve out of the forest.

Nancy pursed her lips together and bit her tongue. Ducking her head to hide her smile, she fell in step with Robin.

~

Tag List: EIGHT SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @beelze-the-bubkiss @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @themoonagainstmers

9- @steddieislife @chaotic-waffle

[merlin-reboot-when]

Lancelot du Lac / Series 4 au where Merlin manages to free Lancelot from Morgana's spell and he lives, but all other plotpoints transpire exactly as shown in the episode. There's no proof that Lancelot wasn't entirely himself at the time, maybe his own memories are a little foggy too and they still don't know why Gwen ended up kissing Lancelot.

Arthur can't trust him anymore, but he also considers the possibilities that Merlin is telling the truth because it is the truth and not just because it could save his friend. So after a couple of days of consideration he banishes Lancelot as well. He can't stand the thought of sentencing a friend who might be innocent to death.

Merlin is incredibly upset because on the one hand Lancelot is alive, but he still loses two of his best friends in the aftermath of this mess, Agravaine is still whispering in Arthur's ear and if Morgana finds out Lancelot is alive and she catches him out there alone...

Lancelot tries to find Gwen - who also still doesn't understand everything that happened - and explain to her that this was Morgana's doing. Maybe they can look out for each other. He succeeds eventually (after Merlin sent Gwen to Ealdor in "The Hunter's Heart" and let Lancelot know where to find her) an in the beginning it's very awkward because at one point they did have feelings for each other. They soon figure out though that whatever was once between them is over for good. They've both moved on, Gwen is in love with Arthur and Lancelot- well. Lancelot may or may not have some complicated feelings about a certain warlock.

They reunite with the rest of the group in "The Sword in the Stone" and with Agravaine's betrayal revealed Arthur finally believes the (slightly censored) story Merlin and Lancelot told him about the incident that led to this banishment. They win back the castle, Arthur takes Lancelot back as his knight and marries Gwen. Happy End!

I'm not sure how this would impact the events of series 5, but I've always seen Lancelot as a counterpart to Kilgarrah's and Gaius' respective warnings to prioritise the bigger picture or Merlin's personal safety. He believes in Merlin because he's Merlin, not because of some prophercies or because Merlin has powerful magic. And with Mordred re-entering the picture Merlin became increasingly conflicted about doing what feels right vs. doing what would serve his long term goals best. With the building pressure of the oncoming final battle Merlin also felt increasingly lonely under that weight and having Lancelot in the picture again would've helped him a lot in my opinion.

There could also be some relationship drama around Lancelot knowing Merlin cannot prioritise him. Lancelot knows that Merlin always has and always will have to put Arthur. He understands this to a certain extend, he's a knight and he took an oath to serve Arthur and Camelot above all else too. Still, there are dozens of knights while Merlin is a very unique type of protector and this isn't just his job, it's who he is. So they keep circling each other, drifting closer and closer the more time they spend together and the more secrets they share, but always finding excuses to not take that last step.

Those two aspects combined could come to a head around "The Disir" when Merline faces one of his biggest dilemmas about the prophecies yet. Instead of only Merlin and Arthur travelling to see the Disir a second time, Lancelot would be there too. He is probably the only person who in that situation might advise Merlin to finally tell Arthur the truth. He's not as cold as Kilgarrah and cares about his fellow knights, including Mordred. He's not as scared as Gaius and therefore might prioritise Merlin's integrity as a person over the (sometimes selfish) instinct to ensure Arthur's survival at any cost.

I imagine they'd have a huge fight about this because from the outside Lancelot sees how much Merlin and Mordred really have in common and his instincts would tell him to protect Mordred as well as Merlin by making Arthut finally see the good in magic. Merlin on the other hand might argue that it's too soon, that Arthur still only trusts him when it suits him, that Arthur isn't ready.

And I am thinking huge fight here btw. There'd be angry whispering and then angry yelling, then Arthur would chime in demanding to know what the hell they're fighting about. Merlin would blame Lancelot for putting even more pressure on him when he's already being pulled in all kinds of directions; Lancelot would argue that he's doing this because he knows all of this and sees how Merlin is running himself into the ground and for good measure he'd throw the four letter L word in there which Merlin would not take well because doesn't Lancelot know he can't do this - can't risk anything - when the prophecies and destiny basically dictate every breath he takes. Arthur'd be furious at this point because what the hell and what prophecies and why doesn't he know anything about any of this and why is Merlin crying? Lancelot would keep pushing though because helping Merlin hide for a long time was the best he could do for him, but that is no longer true and now Lancelot would be crying too because he'd hate being the one to put Merlin into distress like this even if it's necessary. And Arthur "no man is worth your tears" Pendragon would not know what to do with any of this, the situation is obviously much more complex than anticipated. Eventually things would calm down, but Arthur heard what he heard and after gathering every bit of courage he has left Merlin would drop the bomb.

This would obviously lead to more arguing because Arthur, from his point of view, has once again been betrayed by the people closest to him and Lancelot not only knew, he helped Merlin the entire time, conspired with a sorcerer. Almost a decade of friendship between the three of them and all of that based on lies and deceit? Lancelot would stand steadfast by his decision to protect Merlin, he'd remind Arthur that he himself had wondered if the old religion was actually the evil he'd thought it to be only minutes ago and ask him what he thinks Merlin should've done instead of lying about his abilities? Hearing this from someone who doesn't have magic themselves might actually help Arthur believe that Merlin has only ever lied to him to stay alive. They'd eventually end the discussion for the night to give everyone a chance to cool off and sleep off the exhaustion.

In the morning Arthur would have to step in front of the Disir again with a decision that will seal his fate. And there'd still be a lot to figure out for Arthur, he might still end up executing Kara, he might still end up dying in Camlann, but he would make a different decision in front of the Disir.

[bylerlipglances]

my byler world came crashing down yesterday thanks to you @greenfiend & @strange-anni😅 i wish you were wrong! just this time! But, objectively speaking, I know you’re right. now that you've explained it a bit, I can see why it makes sense.

David :

S1: Killed by some other queer.

S2: Focus on Ragen-Bush (mishandling of the aids crisis), Will's hospital visits and doctors offering superficial care without real treatment, paralleling the AIDS crisis, homosexual, bisexuals as HOST of virus, Infection. Mike sleeping by Will’s side mirrors how gay partners would care for each other during the epidemic until one passed away. Imagery like transfusion drips, the mention of a virus, the Mindflayer as a metaphor for AIDS, and hazmat suits.

s3: The SPREAD continues, with mice symbolizing the so-called "gay plague" and more hospital references.

s4: unnamed hero agent could perhaps symbolized individuals who died during the AIDS epidemic and were buried without their bodies being claimed or given proper funeral services. Eddie, the "freak," and Reefer Rick, the outcast, reflect societal alienation.

s5: Lettergate: letters to willy(tombstone) The Imitation Game letter tragic scene, Will's Alan turing project, as well as the recurring theme of letters. Churchgate: religious and political conservatives harshly condemning gay people and those affected by AIDS.

*************************************************************

I completely agree, it’s the Duffer’s story, and they havent really spoon-fed the audience so far, which is part of what makes them great. It’s their narrative, and I expect nothing less than honesty from them, staying true to the vision they’ve always had.

However, the thought of two best characters of ST meeting a tragic fate is really going to hit me hard. Mike, fighting every battle to save his beloved Will and doing absolutely anything to bring him back from death, will ultimately lose his own battle next season, no matter how bravely he fights. And Will, that resilient, sensitive soul who always put others first, even giving his toy to a crying girl because she deserved it more, his acts of kindness ending as he succumbs to the virus.

But just for today, I'll choose delusion and optimism because I can't handle such a devastating ending. I want our zombie boy, the chosen one, our Harry Potter, to return and triumph ONE LAST TIME, to become a little selfish and fight for himself. I want Mike’s bravery to carry more weight than just tragedy, I want him to evade the virus like he did when he escaped that fall from the quarry cliff. How about a Magic Johnson miracle? Something unbelievable? yes please!

Perhaps in another dimension, Fairyland where they can live happily ever after.

Hugh Everett’s Many-Worlds Interpretation : Instead of one reality, where things happen in a single way, many realities exist at once.

The splitting of worlds in Many-Worlds Interpretation : the universe "splits" into multiple versions, These parallel worlds exist simultaneously, but they don’t interact with each other, meaning we can never "see" the other versions. To us, it just looks like a random outcome, but in reality, all possibilities happen, just in separate worlds.

Mr. Clarke: where none of this tragic stuff ever happened

It’s very much overlooked just how pretty much the entire cast were crying A LOT while reading the final script. And how the executives at Netflix apparently did the same as well when they were pitched the ending…

Yeah I’m sure Byler is “endgame” this isn’t about Mlvn vs. Byler. That whole “love triangle” is a distraction.

Are you guys sure though that it’ll be a truly “happy” ending? Or will it be a lot sadder than you think?

[bad-traffic-smp-ideas]

Cast Life; it’s just Grian stealing the premise of Witchcraft SMP

Scott & Cleo: 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️

[kingandqueenofgoodtime]

Do you think about this scene at least once a day like me or are you normal?

(this scene needs to be posted as a video too because gifs can't do Margo's anguish justice)

[gayestcowboy]

oh my god cazador’s legendary action is NASTY i’m never actually attempting true honor mode because i could not possibly survive this in one try

[loregoddess]

Unicorn Overlord continues to be the wildest srpg I've yet played, I just recruited a character's sibling, I know these siblings start off wanting to kill each other, but the new recruit sibling's class specifically states she works VERY WELL with her brother's class, and I'm already planning a unit to force them together so I can unlock those rapport convos as quickly as I can

[mars-ipan]

had an absurd amt of fun doodling cal last night so take the other dnd character i've been playing this semester (her campaign just ended </3). her name is pellet (full title sir pellet the rambunctious) she is a spores druid and she is Stinky (i love her dearly)

[drizzileiscool]

hey guys did you know that the max number of tags a post can have is 30. totally not related to the tags I have explaining what would happen if a drizzile and rindo kanade fought to the death

I'm curious let's go

[ihaveaskeleton]

A Self-Indulgent Scene from a Fic That Will Probably Never Be Written.

MCU!Loki and Sigyn marrying.

Inspiration was taken from here. The idea was inspired by learning that comics!Loki despised Sigyn in at least a few issues, as well as watching Loki (spoilers in the tags but not the actual scene).

Sigyn had always imagined her wedding to take place among her neighbors and friends. As she accepted her groom's ancestral sword, she glanced out at the hundreds witnessing the act. Among them, her grandfather's face was the only one she knew.

The sword she presented the prince of Asgard was less ornate than the one she received but equal in quality. Her grandfather's thousands of years of mastery was evident in its blade, and the snake engraved in the leather wrapping its hilt had been carefully etched by herself after he had told her of her betrothal to the Snake Prince of Asgard.

Servants in finer clothes than she had ever dreamed of wearing placed the wedding bands on the hilts of their swords to be exchanged. As Loki took his ring, she warmed her smile with her silent wish that their marriage become a friendship. His own smile faltered. As their eyes met, his expression became colder than the deserts of Jotenheim. Though the moment was brief, it left her with a lingering sense of dread.

The prince thrust his sword into the soft dirt between them. He wrapped his hand on its hilt and looked at her expectantly. She hesitated. She was tempted to flee before their vows bound them eternally, but to do so would be a grave insult against the prince and, by extension, King Odin himself. She wrapped her hand around the hilt, her fingers accidentally brushing against Loki's. The strange cold of his skin only intensified her worry that she had not married a man but a monster.

[wtfforged]

my campaign hiatus has gone on for too long so to cope ive combined my interests at their maximum potency and had some dnd-strawhats thoughts

thoughts in depth under read more... :)!

this is SO self indulgent. their designs literally did not change. but i am a firm believer that dnd doesnt have to be european high fantasy. and also one piece literally IS fantasy. no changes are necessary to fit into dnd. ive already imagined plenty of campaign/oneshot ideas inspired by one piece. so this was basically just an exercise of trying to replicate their canon abilities in dnd 5e as much as possible without totally homebrewing everything. well. aside from luffy. you just cant take away or change his stretching.

LUFFY: (human monk. drunken master subclass. outlander)

the only plain human of the crew to balance out with the fact that he still has rubber powers. obviously a monk. but drunken master subclass specifically because i think the flavor(not the fact that its about being a drunkard) and abilities both fit him really well. this line in the subclass' flavortext especially fits him: "A drunken master often enjoys playing the fool to bring gladness to the despondent or to demonstrate humility to the arrogant, but when battle is joined, the drunken master can be a maddening, masterful foe."

ZORO: (tiefling fighter. samurai subclass. bounty hunter)

a fighter with the samurai subclass is so very incredibly obvious... but i actually had a lot of fun geeking out while comparing the abilities to what he can do in canon; Fighting Spirit, Rapid Strike, and Strength Before Death especially! tiefling is also pretty on the nose for his demon pirate hunter shtick and asura form, but i thought he'd be really human-passing for a tiefling and theorized about his tail getting cut off at some point or another before joining the strawhats. initially wasnt gonna give him a feat, but i gave sanji a feat so i thought itd be unfair to not give him one as well, so sentinel fits the bill pretty well i think!

NAMI: (tabaxi rogue. arcane trickster subclass. criminal)

cat burglar -> full grown literal humanoid cat. this one is INCREDIBLY self indulgent... i love... cats... theres nothing deeper to this and no other reasoning. i took cat burglar and ran with it. can you tell that i love izutsumi dungeon meshi? rogue for the aforementioned burglar-ing as well, and the arcane trickster subclass for when she picks up climatact! the mage hand will be very useful for her pickpocketing. in the future as she levels up with timeskip, i can totally see her multiclassing into wizard as well! weather wizard!

USOPP: (lightfoot halfling artificer. artillerist subclass. urchin)

I HAD SO MUCH FUN THINKING ABOUT HIS CHARACTER SHEET. halfling's Naturally Stealthy ability lets him hide behind his crewmates since theyre (almost) all bigger than him, so its perfect for hiding behind zoro or sanji all the time. Lucky is also perfect for him, and I think Brave fits pretty well too when he puts on the sogeking mask. artillerist artificer is also very fun! tinkering and making magic items for his crew, and i think Eldritch Canon or Arcane Firearm could both be easily reflavored as kabuto or any of his inventions. for emphasizing his sniper-ness, the spell sniper feat was also necessary. i think hes my favorite of all the concepts. big ears and long nose combo is so cute to me.

SANJI: (half-elf monk. drunken master subclass. guild artisan (cook!))

race was mostly based on vibes i wont lie. squints. and that vinsmoke balogna or whatever too ig. but mostly vibes. along with the idea that i think a dwarf zeff raising him would be really funny and cute. monk is also obvious, and same subclass as luffy for mostly the same reasons. though the flavor fits him much less, i think the abilities still fit him perfectly, and this blurb specifically; "Your martial arts technique mixes combat training with the precision of a dancer." i really wanted to give him a different subclass from luffy, but i dislike all the other monk subclasses a lot and i found none of them fit him as well anyways, so to try and give them SOME differences, i gave him the crusher feat.

CHOPPER: (awakened deer(shifter statblock) cleric. life subclass. hermit)

this ones definitely a mouthful im sorry. awakened deer for obvious reasons, but due to magic instead of devil fruit stuff. when i was struggling with his race, i looked a lot at shifter because of his forms, but it occurred to me that itd be super cool if he could shift between all of the different shifter options instead of being stuck with just one to replicate his rumble balls. something like heavy point/guard point=beasthide, horn point/arm point(?maybe?)=longtooth, walk point/jumping point=swiftstride, and brain point=wildhunt. hed definitely need some kind of nerf though to balance out that homebrew... and cleric for class. duh.

ROBIN: (high elf wizard. order of scribes subclass. criminal)

robin is definitely the one i struggled the most with just because of her class. elf came pretty easily- shes very elegant and i think shed look cute with super long ears- and i landed on high elf instead of wood elf for the int-based abilities. i was really on the fence between sorcerer and wizard for her because i knew shed be a full spellcaster, but i didnt feel that any of the subclasses really fit her. i ended up going with wizard for order of the scribes since it focuses on texts and knowing everything. but also because robin with a flying talking sentient book would be crazy cool. it could also be similar to how she spawns mouths and eyes places to talk to or watch people. my "fuck it, why not. this would be rad. its my house" mindset kicked in with her i will admit. also the One with the Word ability made me cackle out loud when i read it. thats the funniest ability ever. anyways, i cant really think of a way to replicate her powers, but maybe we could just reflavor a bunch of spells to be her limbs or clutch; hold person, maximillian's earthen grasp, or evard's black tentacles. thatd probably work okay, and theres a handful of spells to replicate her ability to spawn eyes or mouths. unrelated, but i imagine nico olvia to be a drow. why? her hair is white. i am a simple man!

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - NINE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of leukemia; death; pregnancy; abortion.

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe had been through a ton of traumatic bullshit by the age of fourteen. 

His mom had been battling leukemia since he was ten, it started off as an infection—but it turned into one of those long, drawn-out wars that tricks you into thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.

It would go away for a bit, just enough to make everyone think the fight was over, and then it’d come slamming back worse every time.

When he was fourteen, it finally took her for good, when he’d been silly enough to believe she might pull through. 

To be fair, he was only a little kid waiting on a miracle, praying she’d wake up one day magically cured.

Now, when he looked back on it, he hated himself for being so naive. The signs had been there all along, the nurses whispering in the hallways, Ward turning into this void of a human, who looked at him like he didn’t know how to fix it anymore. The talks his mom would have with him about how “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

That phrase haunted him for years.

Her death didn’t wreck him; it tore him apart and left him in tiny pieces that didn’t fit together the same way. He wasn’t the same kid afterward, not even close.

He got angrier, distant. 

He didn’t recognize who he’d been before it all—some kid who really believed in happy endings.

He didn’t believe in much after she died, people let you down, life ripped everything good out of your hands. Why bother holding on to anything at all?

It wasn’t just the grief; it was the guilt.

He’d get mad at her, sometimes, for being sick. He’d slam his door and cry into his pillow because he just wanted a normal life, a mom who wasn’t always tired or in pain or hooked up to some machine.

He hated himself for that. 

The day of her funeral, he remembered everything, even though he wished he didn’t. The church smelled like old wood and lilies, that smell that never left you once it sank in.

People kept coming up to him, patting his shoulder, saying things like, “She’s in a better place now,” or “Stay strong, buddy.” 

He wanted to yell at them, shake them, make them shut up. She wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been here, alive, laughing at his dumb jokes, or rolling her eyes at him for leaving his shoes in the hallway. It wouldn’t be six feet under, locked in a box, shoved into a hole in the ground like she never existed.

He didn’t cry, not when they opened the casket for everyone to say their final goodbyes, not when his dad stood up and choked through some half-assed speech that was mostly apologies and memories, not when they lowered her into the ground, the ropes creaking as her casket disappeared into the earth. 

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even present. Inside, though?

His his chest was on fire. 

He refused to let even a single tear fall, it felt pointless, it wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fix anything. And deep down, he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, if he’d been stronger if he’d prayed harder, or been a better son, she’d still be alive.

The sound he remembered the most was the thud of dirt hitting the coffin after the service. It was final, loud, the earth itself mocking him. People around him sniffled, hugged each other, wiped at their eyes, but Rafe just stood there, staring down into the hole, fists buried in his pockets until his nails dug into his palms. 

He kept thinking about how wrong this all was, this wasn’t where she was supposed to end up, and none of this was fair.

She should’ve been there.

She should’ve been standing next to him, arm around his shoulder, telling him to stop slouching, whispering something to make him laugh in the middle of all this sadness. Instead, she was in there, soon the dirt would cover it up, and that’d be it. 

Gone. Just like that.

After the service, Rafe didn’t try to stick around for the house gathering, he wasn’t going to survive that. All those people crowding the living room, balancing paper plates of casserole, acting like they gave a fuck about his mom. It was fake, all of it. 

They’d forget about her in a week.

He slipped out when no one was paying attention, cutting through the side yard and heading to the only place that felt halfway normal—the old skate park behind the rec center. It was run-down as fuck, but he and his friends used to hang out there all the time, sitting on the busted ramps, talking trash, or just doing nothing.

When he got there, it was empty, which was exactly what he wanted. He climbed up on the old half-pipe, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement below. 

He couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head, the casket, the dirt, the stupid better place comments. His chest felt like it was breaking in a million tiny pieces, but he still couldn’t cry, his body just wouldn’t let him. 

Instead, he just sat there, wishing the world would leave him alone for five minutes.

That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.

He thought about running—didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially not now. But then you spoke.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

He didn’t look at you right away, just exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well, congrats. You win the prize.” 

He wasn’t in the mood to be nice, even to you.

But you didn’t flinch, you never did. That’s one of the things he liked about you—you didn’t get scared off when he got like this. You just climbed up next to him and sat down. 

You didn’t try to say all that comforting bullshit people had been feeding him all day, and he was grateful for that.

“You okay?” you asked eventually.

He snorted. “Do I look okay?”

"Sorry, stupid question."

He sighed, hating that he was being asshole to his best friend, "It's fine."

When he finally glanced at you, you were watching him, trying to figure out what to say. It made him nervous, the way you looked at him. You always did that—you cared about what was going on in his head, you saw more than what he let people see.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you’re feeling,” you said finally. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Rafe. You know that, right?”

If only you knew what you would be going through just three short years later.

He wanted to snap at you, tell you to leave, he was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stared down at the pavement again, “Feels like I do.”

You didn’t say anything, just moved closer, close enough that your arm brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel…something, less alone.

Rafe didn’t know how long you both sat there, could’ve been ten minutes, could’ve been an hour. Time didn’t feel real anymore, you didn’t push him to talk, which he appreciated more than he’d ever admit, you didn’t throw out any of those awkward “it’ll get better” lines. You just sat with him. 

“You can talk to me, you know.” 

He shook his head without looking at you. “There’s nothing to say.” His voice was rough, flat. “She’s gone. That’s it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t suck."

He clenched his jaw, staring at the pavement like if he looked at you, everything would break.

“What’s the point?” he muttered. “Crying’s not gonna change anything. It’s not gonna—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back.

“Rafe.” You sighed, and this time “You don’t have to hold it together for anyone, okay? It’s me.”

That broke him, actually broke him. His chest felt tight, suddenly he couldn’t keep it in.

His breath hitched, his shoulders shook, and before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. He tried to stop it, to hide it, scrubbing his hands over his face, but it was no use.

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice cracking once more.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, and before he could pull away or do something stupid like tell you to leave, you scooted over.

He froze for a second, unsure what to do, but then he remembered the funeral, the whispers, the dirt hitting the casket, all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about—he just let it all out.

The first sob ripped out of him so suddenly it startled him, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, as if he could physically stop himself from breaking. But it didn’t work.

Another sob followed, and then another, and soon they were pouring out of him—loud, messy, completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop it, and he hated it.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and just cried. When he felt your arms instantly wrap around him, pulling him into a hug as if you’d been waiting for his permission, he shattered completely.

“She’s—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to stop, gasping for air as the tears kept coming. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” He broke off.

It was ugly and loud and nothing like how he’d pictured himself breaking down, but he didn’t care. You didn’t tell him it’d be okay or try to make him stop, just held him, your arms tight around him. 

“I miss her,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely sounded like him. “I miss her so much, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this, and part of him hated how exposed it made him feel. He hated crying in front of people—anyone. But right now, with you, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 

“I know,” you nodded, your hand moving in small circles on his back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I—” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t—it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” you didn’t want to scare away the fragile pieces of him that were finally surfacing. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”

He couldn’t stop shaking or gasping for breaths that hitched in his chest. The more he tried to push it all backdown, the harder it fought to claw its way out. For years, he’d kept it buried—buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with it.

“I hate it,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a jagged mess. “I hate that she’s gone. I hate that I didn’t—” He stopped, gripping his hair harder. “I didn’t do enough. I should’ve been better, done something—anything.”

“Stop. You can’t do that to yourself.”

He shook his head violently, “But I did. I gave up on her. I stopped believing she’d get better, I—I got mad at her for being sick. What kind of son does that? I didn’t even say goodbye the way I should’ve. I just—I left the hospital because I couldn’t take it anymore, and then she—” His voice cracked again, and his hands dropped from his hair to his lap, clenched into fists “She’s gone, and I left. I wasn’t there when she—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re a kid. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is.”

“But it feels like it is,” he shot back, “I should’ve done something, anything. I just feel so—” He stopped, letting out a shaky exhale. “Empty. Like nothing I do matters anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way you said it, so certain—He didn’t know why, but it cut through the noise in his head just enough to let him breathe again.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” he admitted, “I don’t know how t-to live without her.”

Growing up, Rafe had always been a momma’s boy. 

She was his safe place—the one person who didn’t make him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he didn’t have to try so damn hard to be tough, or perfect, or whatever the hell his dad wanted him to be. 

Ward wasn’t the kind of dad who let his kids cry on his shoulder or told them he loved them every day. No, Ward was the kind of dad who believed in rules.

Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t show weakness. Men didn’t mess up—or, if they did, they sure as hell didn’t admit it.

He expected Rafe to follow those rules like they were gospel.

The worst part? His rules about what it meant to be a man stuck with Rafe, even when he didn’t want them to. When his mom got sick, he found himself choking back tears in the hospital bathroom, staring at his reflection and hearing Ward’s voice in his head: “Crying doesn’t solve anything. You’ve gotta be strong, for her, for your sisters.”

He had this idea in his head of what Rafe was supposed to be—strong, dependable, successful. He didn’t yell or lose his temper like some dads back then, he just made him feel like shit in this fucked up way.

Rafe tried, shit, he’d tried, but it felt impossible.

Every time he looked at his mom, pale and tired but still managing to smile at him like he was her whole world, he felt like he was dying too, then he’d feel guilty—for being so weak, for wanting to break down when she was the one fighting for her life.

It didn’t help that Ward had always had a soft spot for Sarah. Everyone could see it, even Rafe. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the one Ward went out of his way to protect. 

If Rafe screwed up, it was a lecture or a punishment, but if Sarah did? Ward would just shake his head and say, “She’s still young. She’ll learn.”

It used to piss him off more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he hated her—she was his sister, and he loved her. But how could he not resent her? He felt invisible when she got all the attention and the understanding, while he was expected to man up and deal with it.

After her funeral, things changed.

Rafe became quicker to snap, to walk away from anything that felt too hard. He was only himself around you, behind closed doors, never for preying eyes. Sarah grew colder, retreating into her own world where everything was controlled and distant.

Every time they spoke, it ended in shouting matches, slamming doors, or long stretches of silence that neither of them attempted to solve.

Except when you were there.

Ward got even colder, the grief had frozen whatever part of him used to care. He threw himself into work, making sure Sarah was okay, and barely even looked at his son. When he did, it was usually to tell him to pull it together, or to stop being so “moody.”

Rafe started to wonder if he even cared that he was falling apart, if he ever noticed the nights Rafe stayed out too late or came home smelling like booze. If he saw the way he avoided talking to him, how he flinched whenever Ward brought up his mom. But if his dad noticed, he never said anything. 

He thought it was just Rafe being Rafe—angry, unpredictable, a disappointment.

Fast forward to the present, and he hadn’t felt this helpless since that day at the funeral, not even when Ward’s died four months ago. 

You weren’t in his life anymore—hadn’t been for a while and you were possibly pregnant. 

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it made sense, everything lined up with that possibility. He thought back to everything you’d been through together, the times you’d been there for him when no one else was, how you’d seen the pieces of him no one else cared to.

Now, you were having his kid—and he was hearing about it from Topper?

Rafe spent the first hour after Topper dropped the news pacing his bedroom like a caged animal, his heart wouldn’t stop racing and he felt like a ticking time bomb. 

The Rafe—the one who flew off the handle, yelled, broke things, and pushed people away—was begging to get out. But Topper’s voice kept replaying in his head, he had to act right, be calm, for your sake. To prove himself.

The problem was, that staying calm wasn’t his strong suit. 

He’d spent years burying every emotion he couldn’t control under layers of anger, and now he was supposed to sit with the hurricane in his chest and figure out how to make things right. 

For the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t even know where to start.

That night, he locked himself in his room, ignoring his phone, his friends, everyone. None of it mattered anymore, the only thing he could think about was you—and the baby. 

He spent hours pacing, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of what the fuck he was going to say.

What was he gonna say after everything he’d put you through? After the fight, the distance, the way he’d shut you out when you’d been nothing but good to him until that point?

He sat down on the edge of his bed, head still in his hands, and let himself feel everything he’d been avoiding. The fear, the regret, the anger at himself. He thought about you—how you used to look at him like he wasn’t just a mess of a person, you’d stuck by him even when he’d given you every reason to leave.

You weren’t here anymore.

He’d pushed you so far away you hadn’t even told him about the situation yourself. Why would you anyway? He ghosted you and the next time you saw him he was with someone else. He could still see the look on your face when you saw him that night—arms slung casually around Sofia, while you sat in your car, eyes wild, you hadn’t tried to step outside, hadn’t yelled or made a scene, you simply drove off. 

It wasn’t until an hour later and terrible text message to you, that drunk and pissed at himself, he realized just how badly he’d screwed up. But by then, the damage was done, and he’d been too much of a coward to fix it. What followed was a sea of bad decisions and nights he couldn’t remember, trying to drown out the ache of losing you. 

He’d been drinking for Ward’s death until that point, now he did it for you.

Everything was catching up to him—the way he let his dad’s voice in his head drown out his own, making him let you slip through his fingers.

He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.

By sunrise, Rafe was still wide awake, sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by half-crumpled pieces of paper. He’d been trying to write down what he wanted to say to you, but everything sounded wrong. He’d never been good with words, not the kind that mattered.

He wasn’t a dad, wasn’t even close to being the kind of guy who could be a dad. 

What the fuck did he know about raising a kid? Changing diapers? Teaching someone right from wrong? Being patient? But the thought of you—of you carrying his kid—hit him differently.

At first, it had been pure panic. You hated him, what if you didn’t want him involved? What if he was just like Ward—cold, distant, always expecting too much? What if he screwed the kid up the same way he felt like he’d been screwed up? 

He pictured it without meaning to: you holding a tiny bundle in your arms, your face soft in a way he hadn’t seen in so long. A kid with your smile, your laugh—but his eyes. Or his messy hair. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she doesn’t even want to keep it?

Rafe hadn’t let himself go there at first, it was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea that there might not even be a child to fight for. 

The thought of you going through this, struggling to make a choice that he couldn’t help with, made him feel useless. 

Frustrated, he grabbed his keys and headed out, needing to clear his head. The island was silent this early, the kind of calm that used to make him feel trapped, but now, though, it was a relief. He drove aimlessly for a while, the salty air whipping through the open windows, until he found himself parked at the beach.

He didn’t know why he’d come here—well, you’d always bring him here when he spiraled. He sat there, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling a weird sort of clarity that he hadn’t felt in months. 

Perhaps it was the silence, or the way the ocean didn’t care about all the fucking mess in his head, but something about it made him stop spiraling for a second.

He started to think about what Topper had said—not just about staying calm, but about proving to you that he still cared. That wasn’t something he could do with words alone, not after everything. He’d have to show you, he’d have to be the version of himself you used to believe in, the one who wasn’t ruled by his worst impulses.

Rafe knew the first step before he could even think about talking to you: he had to end things with Sofia. They weren’t official, but they might as well have been. 

People talked, made assumptions, and sure, he’d let them. It was easier that way—less explaining, less having to deal with the uncomfortable truth that he’d only been with her to fill the empty space you left behind. It was cruel, but at the time, he hadn’t cared. 

Sofia wasn’t you, but she was there, and more importantly, she didn’t expect anything from him. Keeping things going with her wasn’t just a bad idea; it was disrespectful. To you, to her, to himself. He couldn’t pretend he cared about her like that—not when his heart had never really left your orbit.

When he showed up at her place that morning before work, she didn’t seem surprised—not even a little. She’d seen the writing on the wall for weeks now, but tonight, seeing him standing there, just confirmed what she already knew.

She watched him like she was waiting for him to get to the point, but not impatiently—just resigned, she already knew what he was about to say.

“Can I come in?” 

She let him in without a word, she wasn’t mad, not really. If anything, she felt sad—mostly for him, a little for herself. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without sounding like the worst person alive?

“You okay?” she asked quietly, she wasn’t being polite—she was trying to read him, figure out where this was going.

Rafe didn’t sit, didn’t take off his jacket. He stayed standing, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something. 

She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “Be honest.”

“This...this isn’t fair to you,” he started, his words tumbling out fast, “I should’ve been real with you from the start, but I wasn't," He swallowed hard, “You deserve better than me using you to forget someone else.”

Sofia didn’t say anything at first, just crossed her arms loosely, not making it easy for him, but she wasn’t making it harder, either.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” he continued, forcing himself to look at her. “It feels wrong and it’s not because of you. You’re great. You’ve been...you’ve been more patient with me than I deserve.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that wasn’t quite happy but wasn’t cruel either. “But you’re still in love with her.”

He didn’t know why it shocked him—Sofia had always been perceptive—but hearing her say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I—” He hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I knew,” She nodded like she’d been waiting for that confirmation. “I figured. I told myself it didn’t matter because—because I thought maybe you’d move on. Maybe I could help you move on. But you didn’t, and I—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her arms tightened around herself.

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 

“Because I really like you,” she admitted, “I knew. The party? When you got blackout drunk after seeing her leave? Or the country club, when you nearly started a fight defending her? I know you drove her to the hospital too. I kept hoping—God, I kept hoping you’d see me, that you’d let me be enough.”

He’d known she cared—he wasn’t blind—but hearing her saying like that made him realize just how he fucked up. She wasn’t wrong. He had been trying to numb himself, to drown out the reality of losing you, and she had been the collateral damage.

He looked away, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No,” she agreed, her tone firm but not unkind. “It wasn’t, but I don’t think you meant to hurt me either, you were trying to hurt yourself. It's still stupid of me to try, knowing you need to figure your shit out, but you don’t have to end things. I know what I signed up for, Rafe. I’m not asking you to choose me over her—I’m just asking you to try."

There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness—just exhaustion. It made him feel like a piece of shit because she deserved to feel angry, to lash out at him. But instead, she was still trying to give him a way out, a way to make this easier on himself.

“I’ll take whatever part of you I can get.”

It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was resigned. She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help saying it out loud.

Rafe shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”

“Why not?” she pressed, her tone insistent.

“Because all of me already belongs to her,” Rafe admitted, his voice breaking at the end. “It always has, it always will.”

Sofia blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t look hurt—just...sad. She nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I hope she knows what she has, and I pray you show her," She stood up and motioning toward the door. “We both deserve better than a guy who drinks himself to death after seeing her at a party. So do you.”

Rafe didn’t move right away, unsure if he should say something more, apologize again, explain himself better. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

“Don’t thank me,” she replied, “Just do better.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he confessed, “I just—I didn’t know how to stop.”

Her expression softened just enough to show the tiniest sliver of empathy. “For what is worth, I think she still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now.” She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around, “Next time, please don’t do this to someone else, and don’t do it to her again, either.”

She still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. The faint possibility, that you might still love him, it meant he had a chance but it also meant he could screw them up even worse.

He stood slowly, “Thank you,” he repeated,“For...everything.”

She didn’t look at him, but she nodded, opening the door and holding it for him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and it wasn’t cold or angry—just sad.

By the time he got back to his car, he knew she wasn’t wrong, about any of it. 

She hadn’t screamed or cried or made him feel like the asshole he knew he was, that made it worse. If his mom was here, she would’ve smacked him across he head for hurting two amazing women at the same time. 

He hadn’t been ready to deal with his feelings for you—not when he started whatever the fuck it was with Sofia, not when he ran into you at that party, not when he defended you at the country club.

He’d been running, hiding, trying to bury everything under distractions that only made him feel emptier.

He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and for a moment, it was like he was fourteen again, sitting on the edge of his mom’s hospital bed while his mom teased him.

“Come on, sweetheart” she’d said, her voice playful, even through the weariness. “You’ve been talking about her birthday for weeks. I think you like her more than you’re letting on.”

Rafe’s head shot up, and his ears burned red. “Mooomm,” he groaned, dragging out the word, “it’s not like that, she’s my best friend.”

“She’s your pretty best friend,” she’d corrected, smiling at him in that knowing way only she could. “You’re gonna pick out something nice for her, right?”

“I already did,” he mumbled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and holding it out like it was some great secret. Inside was a delicate bracelet he’d saved up for, something special, something he thought you’d like.

His mom’s smile had softened, the teasing fading into something more tender. 

“She’s lucky to have you,” she’d said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are a little knucklehead sometimes.”

He’d ducked away, embarrassed but secretly pleased, tucking the box back into his pocket.

“M’m not a knucklehead,” he complained, but she just laughed, and it was one of the last times he remembered hearing her laugh like that—free, unburdened, just his mom.

“She’s a good one. You’ve got good taste.” Her smile softened, and the teasing faded into something gentler. “I hope I’m still around when you get married. I’d love to see you happy like that.”

The words were a punch he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say to that? He wanted to argue, to tell her she would be, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

She knew. She always knew.

He just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Me too.”

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said without thinking because he meant it.

“When you find that person—really find them—don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

He nodded again.

Years later, standing in a stupid fucking car alone, those words haunted him. He’d found that person, he’d had her and he’d let her go.

“God,” he muttered, the self-loathing reaching a new high, “I’m so sorry, mom.”

As terrifying as it was to think about being a dad, to think about raising a kid when he was still trying to figure out his own life… the idea of losing this chance—of losing you, or the baby, or both, for good —scared him even more.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something close to hope, but it was tainted in so much fear and uncertainty, that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The rest of the day, he forced himself to slow down. 

He went back home, cleaned up the disaster of a room he’d been holed up in, and tried to think like a normal guy instead of a walking disaster. He even let Topper come over, though his patience for his relentless commentary wore thin fast.

“You’ve got one shot at this, dude,” Topper said, perched on Rafe’s desk like he owned the place. “If you go in there guns blazing, she’s just gonna think you’re the same old Rafe. And honestly? You can’t blame her.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, Topper was right, as annoying as it was to admit.

He spent the evening coming up with a plan—just enough to make sure he didn’t go in blind. He practiced what he’d say in his head, pacing the kitchen while the sun sank below the horizon. Every time he started to panic, he forced himself to breathe, to remember why he was doing this.

By the time 24 hours had passed, he didn’t feel ready, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The thought of you sitting somewhere, thinking he really didn’t care or that he wouldn’t step up?

That was worse than any fear he had about facing you. So he grabbed his keys, and headed out, this time, he wasn’t running away.

Rafe stood by your door, he’d gotten in the property using the gate’s code, one he’d hoped you had changed to keep him out, but you hadn’t.

He’d never been good at patience, never needed to be—not when he could push his way into anything. But this was different, you were different, always had been.

The wood under his hand was cool, in a way that pissed him off because it reminded him that there was a barrier between you and him, again, always.

He wanted to scream, kick the fucking thing down like the old Rafe would’ve, or instead use the keys you’d given him years ago. Instead, he stood there, swallowing his pride because you were worth it, even if it was tearing himself in half.

His knuckles dragged down the frame, fist clenching as if the pressure would ground him, keep him from losing his shit. He wasn’t here to fight, wasn’t here to make your life harder, no matter how much you thought he was. 

The door rattled slightly when he pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut. “Five minutes. Please.”

Nothing.

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the words he wanted to say but couldn’t, not if he wanted you to open the door. He couldn’t do this anymore—the back-and-forth, the lies. He wasn’t sure what broke first—your resolve or the knot in his throat. 

When you didn’t answer again, he sank to sit on the porch, back against the door like he could still feel you on the other side. You were there—close enough to touch if there wasn’t this fucking door between you.

That was his fault.

He used to be the guy you’d let in without thinking twice, shit, there was a time when he didn’t need to knock.

He was in, part of your life, part of you.

Now, you were holed up, scared of him. Yeah, that ate him alive. He’d earned that fear—every cold shoulder, the slammed door, he deserved it.

He should’ve been different, been better, been someone you didn’t have to lock out. You were scared, and it killed him because it wasn’t just fear, it was him. He was the reason you didn’t feel safe enough to let the secret out, the reason your voice cracked when you told him to leave.

He had put that look in your eyes, the one he couldn’t unsee, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He could almost hear you breathing, shakily, like you were preparing yourself to outlast him.

He wanted to push. Fuck, he wanted to shove the door open, make you look at him, make you tell him everything—but that was the old Rafe, he took what he wanted, and bulldozed through whatever stood in his way.

Where had that ever gotten him? Nowhere but here: on the wrong side of a door, the wrong side of you.

He exhaled, long and slow, hand falling limp to his side.

What the hell was he doing? Forcing his way in, forcing answers—that wasn’t going to fix this. It never did. You’d push harder, build the walls higher, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of you hating him more than you already did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I get it.”

He didn’t know if you could still hear him, perhaps you were blocking him out completely. Maybe you were curled up with your hands over your ears. He hoped you weren’t crying, though the thought twisted and turned something deep in him.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, hating how defeated he sounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He ran a hand down his face, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together.

“I just... I just want you to be okay.” He hesitated, then pressed his palm flat against the door, wishing he could reach you somehow, without scaring you, “Baby or not.”

He waited, hoping for something—a sound, a movement, anything, but the silence was absolute.

His heart clenched as he pushed off the door and took a step back, his shoes scraping against the porch. He didn’t want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, almost to himself, "I'm so sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long, okay?”

He stopped halfway, looking back, hoping—praying—for some sign. A light flicking on, the sound of the door creaking open, your voice calling his name, anything.

But the house stayed still, it had already moved on from him. 

He didn’t remember deciding to drive to Poguelandia; he felt it in his gut, in the pit of his chest, this pounding certainty that Sarah knew something he didn’t. You wouldn’t tell him—but Sarah? You’d chosen her to drive you home from the hospital just a few days ago.

She was the only person that could lie to his face properly, he couldn’t fucking figure her out, she was always deflecting shit wherever they talked.

By the time he pulled up to the pogues’ little hideaway, the sky had darkened, the place lit only by the glow of string lights and the hum of voices inside. He sat in the truck for a second, staring at the house, willing himself to calm down.

Barging in—loud, pissed, impulsive—wasn’t going to get him what he needed. But fuck, it was hard not to.

He climbed out, slamming the door behind him with just enough force to feel better for half a second. The screen door creaked as he stepped up to the porch, and he could already hear them inside—Sarah’s laugh, JJ cracking some dumbass joke, the rest of them chiming in like they didn’t have a care in the world.

He hated this, hated how they all looked at him, as if he was some ticking time bomb ready to explode. They weren’t wrong.

Rafe knocked, hard and sharp, the laughter inside cut off instantly. Footsteps approached the door, hesitant. A second later, it swung open, and there she was, his sister, looking at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.

“Rafe,” she said, one hand still gripping the door. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Her brows pulled together, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Now? Seriously?”

“Yeah, now,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the others’ attention. “Don’t make me say it in front of them.”

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the voices in the living room. “Rafe, I don’t think—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than he meant. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to soften, to keep it together. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

She glanced back again, then sighed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He was already pacing, hands twitching at his sides, hardly able to contain the energy inside him. 

The way she looked at him—wary, guarded—only made it worse.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, crossing her arms, like she was already bracing for a fight.

“My problem?” he barked out a laugh, sharp. “You really wanna play dumb right now? You’ve been keeping something from me, Sarah. I know you have.”

Her brows knit together, feigning confusion, “Dude. What’s this about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he hissed, stepping closer, “Don’t lie to me. I already know, okay? I know about the baby.”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t confirm a thing, just stared at him like he was some wild animal.

“Where did you get the idea that she’s pregnant?”

His mouth opened, then closed. It felt wrong to snitch on Topper when he’d been one making him pry a little more.

“Well?” she pressed, “Answer me. How did you come up with that?”

Saying it out loud felt like admitting he’d been just as reckless and intrusive as everyone expected him to be. His hand ran over his face, trying to stall.

“I didn’t just make it up.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “No shit. So where, Rafe?”

He glanced away, then back, his voice defensive. “Topper said something, okay? He heard—he thought—” Rafe stopped, knowing how weak it sounded.

 “Topper? You’re taking life advice from Topper now?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Rafe was quick to defend him, “He just... he mentioned some things, and it got me thinking. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Sarah repeated, “You barged over there because Topper mentioned ‘some things’ ? Jesus Christ.”

His hands flew up in frustration. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t hear it? Ignore it and hope it went away? I needed to know!”

“No, you didn’t,” Sarah shot back. “You wanted to know. There’s a difference, and it’s the difference that keeps getting you into this shit.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe pointed a finger in his direction, “Like I’m crazy or something. I’m not stupid.”

"You’re just not worth the energy right now."

Instead of crying like he wanted to, he let out a dry laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Right. Sure. I can see it all over you, just say it."

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither does Topper.”

“Stop lying!” His voice rose, loud enough to echo into the dark yard. “Just stop. You know something.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rafe thought he’d finally cracked her. Except instead of giving him what he wanted, she just let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that made him feel like a child fighting for his favorite toy.

“You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.

She stepped forward so they were only inches apart. “The truth is, you don’t deserve to know. Not yet.”

Everyone kept telling him the same thing, couldn’t they see he was already trying?

He staggered back a step. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, that whatever you’re looking for, whatever answers you think you deserve, they’re not yours to take. Not until you can handle them without breaking everything you touch."

He flinched, her words striking something inside him, “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, almost desperate.

“I’m not deciding anything,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ve spent these last few months making everything about you. Your pain, your anger, your needs.”

He glanced away, “So, what? You don’t trust me?”

Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

“You don’t,” he murmured, the realization bitter in his mouth.

"I don’t," she agreed, “You’re still not the person she needs you to be, and until you can prove you can do that—without me, without anyone holding your hand—you’re better off not knowing.”

“I’m trying. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“She’s scared you’re going to hurt her again—whether you mean to or not. You’re dating someone else, for god’s sake.”

“I ended it. This morning.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Doesn’t change the past, Rafe. And it sure as hell doesn’t make everything better overnight.”

Rafe flinched, the words sinking into him like stones. "Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I don’t want to hurt her—I can’t do anything if she won’t even talk to me."

Topper still had that number. 

You hadn’t hidden it well enough, he hadn’t done anything with it, but it was tempting. All he had to do was call, just to confirm, he told himself. Not to pry, simply to know for sure.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. This isn’t something you can force your way into. She would never forgive you, please be smart.”

His first instinct was to lash out, fire back some venom-laced retort that would sting as much as her tone. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” He dragged a hand through his head, “I know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I need to... I need to show her I can do better. That I am better.”

“You need to crawl through hell to understand a fraction of what she’s going through; you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about her.”

His hands fell to his sides, limp, the fight suck out of him. She was right—he hated that she was. This wasn’t about him anymore; it never had been.

 “What can I do?”

Her expression softened, not with forgiveness but something sadder—she wanted to believe he could. “You start by fixing yourself, then you wait. Until she’s ready, if she’s ready. You’ve got to mean that, Rafe, you screw this up again..."

"I won’t," he said firmly, cutting her off. "I can’t."

“Okay.”

“What if she’s not ready?”

He had no right to demand more.

“You keep going, keep trying. Not for her, not for anyone else—just for you.”

By the time he got back in his truck, the hurt in his body hadn’t lifted. His mom’s words echoed in his mind one more, “When you find that person, don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

Maybe that started with learning to be the person who deserved to hold on.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

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[humanityinahandbag]

Steve would absolutely be down to play D&D with Hellfire. The only condition is that he gets to be whatever character he wants (with Eddie's help crafting the sheet, of course), and Eddie is so completely enamoured and excited that he agrees wholeheartedly.

Turns out, Steve didn't really understand the concept of fantasy characters and assumed that it included all kinds of fantasies. Elves, Dwarves, Mages.

And naturally the lineup of Steve's 1987 Fantasy Basketball League.

The rest of Hellfire is ultimately accepting of it, and even gets into the character as time goes on. But those first few sessions were confusing as hell. Especially because they weren't quite sure what to think when Steve's only supplies and weapons included sports bars, tiny shorts, and a basketball.

Eddie though?

Eddie's been having a goddamn field day with the chaos his beloved hath wrought.

"Alright Steve. Roll to attack."

Steve rolls and lights up. "Eighteen!"

The other players cheer.

"Good luck," said Will sullenly after his magic missile failed to take the villain down. In fact, so far, nearly every attack from each member had failed to do enough damage to even make a dent.

Eddie writes down a note behind his DM shield. "Alright so the ghost approaches you. What are you..." He pauses. "Wait. Sorry what's your name again?"

"Larry Bird," says Steve helpfully.

"Right. What are you, Larry Bird, going to do to the Ghost?"

"I'm going to dribble across the enchanted bridge and hit him with a hook shot."

"This is the weirdest thing we've ever done..." Dustin whispers.

He's shushed by everyone else who has become absolutely invested in the fate of their resident Point Guard Paladin.

(the best part is that the end of the campaign in what was meant to be a difficult and long battle, in which almost every single Hellfire character dies a gruesome death, Steve effectively ends it by rolling a single D20 and dunking a zombie's head into the Boss' face.

Hellfire is elated but isn't sure how to explain to future Hellfire members that a kill shot was once carried out by the small forward of the Boston Celtics.)

[abandoneddinosaur]

Do you ever think of how, to Arthur, Merlin is a clumsy, idiot of a servant with no care for tradition, but he makes Arthur laugh and gives the best advice and somehow, without Arthur even noticing, has become his best friend in the entire world, the person he wants to face every battle with, not only so he can protect Merlin but also so he can have Merlin’s support and approval

And then it turns out that Merlin doesn’t need protecting, and he’s the most powerful sorcerer to exist, he has magic, and has actually been the one protecting Arthur this entire time

And Arthur has to face their entire relationship being turned upside down, because okay you have magic, he’s had his suspicions about magic not being evil for a while now and of course Merlin isn’t evil, but it’s more how dare you not tell me, after I’ve came to you for everything and I thought you did too, I thought I noticed when things were wrong and put a smile on your face but this whole time you’ve not trusted me

And in a matter of hours he has to relearn their entire friendship and try to understand why Merlin has done this and why he keeps doing this and make sure that everything else about our friendship is true please say the rest was true

And by the end, because he is dying and the end is so very near, it doesn’t matter anymore because he is Arthur and he is Merlin and it doesn’t matter that they’re also the Once and Future King of Camelot and Emrys the Most Powerful Sorcerer Ever to Live

No, they’re just Merlin and Arthur in their last few minutes together and they both know it and this is his last chance so it’s not you betrayed me and I need time and how could you do this to us, instead it’s it’s okay and hold me and thank you because if this is his last chance to protect Merlin then of course he is going to take it, that’s always been his job and neither death nor magic is going to change that

[100jewels-between-teeth]

A semi-comprehensive list of every pre-established lore inaccuracy in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Please note, this isnt me saying you cannot enjoy the game for what it is. This is not me saying you shouldnt play the game. But as a long time Dragon Age fan (started with Origins, has consumed all extra media including books/shows/novellas/etc..) the way Veilguard has fumbled the lore is, to someone who cares, infuriating. I shall keep the list under a read more to avoid spoilers for Veilguard. This will also be added to with more points that are given for people who wish to add

But without further adieu;

Bioware Kind of Forgot...

Bioware kind of forgot...

That Solas, after you choose to drink from the Well of Mythal (whom in Veilguard is confirmed either a lover/mother figure) is fucking pissed

That Solas was not bringing down the Veil to move the Evenuris and put them somewhere else, but to establish the ancient elves once more

The fucking orbs

That the elves were currently, at the end of inquisition, beginning the elf uprising and following Solas

the Elvhen Language

Solas having an extensive spy network that never gets brought up

That most of the Elves would be on board with Solas's plan

Brialla and how she controls Eluvians too

That in Inquisition, it is stated that barely any working Eluvians exist and that the one in Skyhold and the one in the temple of Mythal are extremely rare

The Valaslin and how if all of what happened is common knowledge, that the elves arent currently freaking the fuck out that they are wearing slave markings

Solas does not abhor the use of Blood Magic

That the Evanuris were trapped/locked in the Black City specifically and not the fade in general, so Solas would have to open the Veil either at the doors of the Black City or travel. The gods would not be wandering around the Fade

Using the lore/logic confirmed in Veilguard, the ancient elves being spirits that, with the help of lyrium, were made into elven form, that Cole should technically be one of the most powerful creatures known to man since they gave themselves a human body without the assistance of Lyrium. Bioware kind of forgot...

Slavery in Tevinter (really now there are no slaves shown in Minrathous?)

Varric hates the deeproads/dwarves so why is he so okay with Harding's magic

Hawke in general

Varric is a world famous author so someone would have mentioned his death at some point?????

how the fucking Blight works (seriously the entire party is infected with the Blight)

How spirits work

Morrigan never wanted to become a vessel for Mythal and despises the thought

The Antivan crows bought/tortured child slaves and children from brothels, to be trained as crows, basically nullifying all of the trauma Zevran had gone through

Fenris freeing slaves, still

In the final battle they refer to the head of the Imperial chantry as the "Divine" when it should be the "Black Divine"

That Thedas has two moons

More shall be added with discovery