#neither side is right or wrong

[bobgoesw00t]

I wanna take a moment to talk about a few things in regards to the comments and discussions this post on twitxter has brought up, as basically 99.99% of the comments are all the same thing over and over and over again.

A. First off, if you plan on boycotting the final season because of the various things Noah Schnapp has been up to in his personal life/social media when it comes to the conflict in Gaza...don't even fucking bother. Stranger Things is on its final season now so there's literally NO POINT IN BOYCOTTING IT AS IT'S ALREADY AT THE FINISH LINE!!!!!!! If this happened even before the last season, then I would understand the need to boycott it, but we're not...we're on the FINAL SEASON....so if you don't want to watch it, please SHUT THE FUCK UP, DON'T WATCH IT, AND LET THOSE OF US WHO WANT TO SEE HOW IT ALL ENDS ENJOY IT!!!!!

B. Seeing as how all of this "boycott the final season" crap is stemming from Noah's stance on the Gaza conflict and that he's a Zionist, all of you dumb fuckers are forgetting one VERY CRUCIAL ASPECT: THE CONFLICT IS ONE OF THE LONGEST (if not THE LONGEST) TUG-OF-WARS BETWEEN RELIGIOUS GROUPS IN THE HISTORY OF OUR PLANET!!! This debate over which religious folk deserves the land has been happening for centuries now, and there are SO many layers to it that it's gotten to the point where unless someone builds a time machine to go back to when the core issue of the conflict happens, witness it and bring back irrefutable proof for all to see...the only real "answer" (if there even is one right now) is that both sides are neither right nor wrong...just in some sort of weird purgatory. Hell, even if someone DID use a time machine to go back and bring proof, there would be a good chunk of people who would disagree with what was brought forth.

C. Noah Schnapp isn't a god...HE'S FUCKING HUMAN AND HUMANS ARE NOT PERFECT!!!!!!! Everyone, AND I MEAN EVERYONE makes mistakes and has their own thoughts on various things that are a part of the world we live in today. Just because ONE PERSON says or does something you don't agree with, and/or their friend/s agree with them or remain friends with them, doesn't mean it's the end of the world. In the event it happens to be a celebrity of a wildly popular show on Netflix, feel free to say your stance on the issue, then please SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! No one is FORCING YOU TO WATCH THE SHOW/MOVIE OR SUPPORT ANYONE WHO WORKS ON IT. Not to mention EVERYONE IN ENTITLED TO THEIR OWN OPINION.

My personal stance on the crap that's happening in Gaza is that as someone who doesn't have all the facts but believes humans should learn to accept one another regardless of any differences we may have...I don't actually have a stance, rather I'm very neutral and find both sides to be at fault. Same thing with Noah Schnapp, I don't know him personally, and the only time I really hear anything about him or other celebs is if they're trending on tumblr and I just randomly happen to check that part of the website. Therefore, I can't agree with his actions, but I also can't condemn them as I don't have all the facts and I really don't care that much about what he does in his personal time.

More people need to learn how to separate celebs from other aspects of life and remember that they're human just like the rest of us, they make mistakes and either learn from them or don't. ...I also feel like people need to avoid social media more often as it tends to be a place where negativity festers into something that can consume you until you're nothing but a toxic husk of who you once were.

Now despite what I first said, feel free to boycott the final season of Stranger Things if you want to, I won't stop you just like you can't stop me from watching it to see how the journey all these characters have been on concludes. Let people make their own decision on if they want to boycott or not, and if they decide not to, respect their decision and don't harass them about how, "THEIR SUPPORTING GENOCIDE" especially when BOTH SIDES ARE GUILTY OF THAT!!!

[nonbinarylesbianherb]

I love you guys but some of the extremists in this fandom got me cracking up. Like I’ve seen both very extreme team green and very extreme team black,

most recent I saw a team black who was like “I hate team green, those rapists, killers, etc etc” and then proceeded to say they loved daemon 😂

The hypocrisy from the extreme sides is always so crazy, acting as if daemon (show) didn’t groom rhaenyra and doesnt abuse her mentally/physically . + all the terrible things he’s done to others who weren’t rhae

Like, c’mon now 😭😂

you see a post and it’s like “I hate this character!!!” and it’ll say daemon or otto and im like yass!! and then right after it’ll say rhaenyra or alicent and im like wait a minute, hold up

[dreamspring]

sigh. people putting oversimplified batman no kill rule discourse on the dash again...

[chaoticace2005]

Are you a water is wet believer? (no judgement either way but i thirst for knowledge)

Oof… uh… asking the real questions here.

I like to think of wetness as something having moisture. A towel becomes wet when water is on it. You hands become wet when you touch a liquid. Wetness is the feeling and often spread of moisture that is adhering to some substance.

In that case… like a molecule of water independently isn’t wet. Like we see with H2O gas. Ice isn’t wet either. Only when it does it stick to other things: The second it contacts another substance that it sticks to THAT substance becomes wet. In that sense I guess water molecules can make other water molecule wet, but that’s because they’re touching. Not because they are innately wet. Wetness isn’t constant. It’s a state of being.

To clarify: a group of H2O molecules in liquid form? Wet. A single isolated one? No.

(Apologies I am severely out of it right now but these are my thoughts.)

[ettadunham]

sometimes i remember the hunger games and how nobody actually paid attention to what was in those books

[luesmainblog]

for those wondering why i have been mostly quiet regarding israel and palestine: most of the pro-palestine stuff i come across is dismissive of hamas' horrors, blatantly antisemetic in parts, and generally conflates the israeli population with their government. or worse, treats them as a monolith; it is true that there are many israelis mocking the people their soldiers are destroying. it is NOT true that all of israel doesn't care and is just totally cool with what's going on. i will share what i find of israel's atrocities, but i will not make my jewish followers feel unsafe for shit they had nothing to do with. most of the stuff i've seen that *does* acknowledge the horror is jewish bloggers who have spent much of their life advocating for palestine, now having to struggle against antisemetics coming to them, furious that they DARE to be upset at the lost israeli lives. as though they are not allowed to mourn for both sides. as though they are not allowed to be horrified by what has happened; that they can ONLY be worried for palestine and how the attack was the perfect excuse for israel to double down. i refuse to send even more hatred their way by spreading their grief further into the void; you never know Exactly who's following your follower's followers. i am glad, at least, that nobody i follow was outright celebrating. but i know that people WERE, and now they're trying to act like that never happened. so incase this wasn't clear, cheering on the deaths of Israelis does not fucking help palestine.

I am truly disgusted with the blatant racism and colonialism that manifests israel's very core. it is an attempt at a violent ethnostate, intent to not only destroy the people it seeks to replace, but fully erase them from history. i am also disgusted with the way that the left is happy to celebrate genuine terrorism if it's committed "for the right side", as if parading dead bodies and raping people does fucking ANYTHING good. as if that doesn't fuel the israeli government's chances for propoganda. as if it hasn't traumatized your jewish neighbors. there are no fucking winners in war. free palestine and protect your muslim AND jewish friends in this time, they are BOTH getting their shit kicked in by ignorant people who want to take out their anger on some random kid in ohio. we are all posting in anger here. but let's check ourselves before we post; misinformation and antisemitism weakens our voices. Edit for clarity: this post is for my mutuals. I am specifically asking my mutuals to think carefully about what they post; i am aware that i've been too quiet, and i am trying to remedy that. i am also warning my jewish and muslim followers that if you've been using my blog as a safe spot to not think about it for a little bit, you're gonna wanna block the tags below. 'horrible things' will usually do it. i am also venting about how every jew i follow is getting hit with the "die you stupid zionist" shit from coward anons who can't tell the difference between supporting israel and just being fucking concerned for your family over there. it's fucked.

[quartzskies]

random but is anyone else into yosurise but in a doomed kind of way. like kind of one sided. like a yosuke is into rise in a puppydog kind of way and rise keeps trying to find a relationship but can’t and finally decides to give yosuke a try because at least he’s a friend and she knows he won’t try to take advantage of her being an idol etc. And yosuke is ECSTATIC and wants to give her the world but in an unsustainable kind of way, a desperate “i don’t deserve her but she’s giving me a chance and i need to do anything i can to keep her happy” kind of way. And rise is so flattered and like yosuke is nice but she can’t match that dedication, no one can or should, but it’s all so one sided and she feels so guilty about that but she doesn’t want to break his heart or be “mean”. all while yosuke is becoming almost self destructive by trying to give her “what she deserves” but it’s an unhealthy level of dedication and it’s honestly hurting both of them

[punkshitposts]

something I think is actually hilarious is that if you go left enough you start having more stances in common with (individual) conservatives, and if you go right enough you start agreeing with (individual) leftists. like i have a pretty close friend who's self described as "just far enough right that I hate politicians" , whom I hard disagree with his overarching political stances. but the finer details of it... yeah we agree with each other. gun control/gun rights opinions taxation opinions pro-small government opinions slight separatist opinions anti two party opinions anti-corporation opinion ect ect ect.

we stand on opposite sides of a standard political compass but I genuinely think if I were to count stats, I'd agree with as many of his stances as I would a liberals/democrats stances. my hs gov teacher described the difference in right vs left to us as "everyone's goal here is the betterment of mankind, they just think the best ways to do it are different" and that's literally the best way, to me, to describe what the difference in right vs left is regarding anarchism specifically. we got ESSENTIALLY the same opinion but the ways we think are the best ways to go about enacting said opinion are what makes us different. and something abt that is really painfully funny to me. envisioning a world where an-something is the major world thing, not capitalism.... and there's STILL right vs left... but The Anarchist Versions. christ.

sorry for the book i wrote in the tags. ignore typos I am NOT retyping any of that to fix them xoxo

[rhaenryas]

i’d like to kill hbo for this team black/green marketing

[poisonedfate]

wip merlin afraid of change? oh BIG shock

[glacierreblogs]

tags via @cutebisexualmess

hey so we put your morally grey character in a fandom. yeah half the fanbase makes them into a perfect angel who did nothing wrong and the other half depicts them as a cartoonishly evil villain who hurts people for fun. no we dont know how to explain that people can do bad things for good reasons or good things for bad reasons. sorry man

[victory-cookies]

nothing like a little friend drama to spice up the morning. lord

[solxamber]

You Try to Sleep on the Couch after an Argument with: Housewardens

Other Parts: Vice-Housewardens; First Years ; Cater, Floyd, Silver, Rollo

Riddle Rosehearts

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood and the rustle of fabric as you flopped onto the couch with all the grace of a cat forcibly denied its favorite sunny spot.

The argument still hung in the air, an unspoken tension that neither you nor Riddle were willing to breach—at least not yet. He wasn’t wrong, not entirely, but he wasn’t right either. The impasse was as thick as the silence between you.

Determined to make a statement, you yanked the blanket off the couch arm and cocooned yourself in it, defiantly turning your back to the door. No way were you crawling back to bed tonight. Your pride wouldn’t let you. Let him stew in his perfectly fluffed, oversized bed.

Meanwhile, in his room, Riddle’s impeccable composure was fraying at the edges. He lay stiff as a board under his duvet, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all his mistakes. His pillows seemed unusually hard, the blankets too suffocating, and no matter how he adjusted, something felt... wrong.

It didn’t take him long to figure out the culprit: you weren’t there.

He groaned softly into the darkness. Guilt clawed at his insides, sharp and relentless, each tick of the clock making it harder to bear. He’d handled things poorly—he could admit that, now that the heat of the argument had ebbed. And worse, he couldn’t bear the thought of you being upset, out there on the couch, all because of his stubbornness.

With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, he threw off his blanket and shuffled into the living room. His breath caught when he saw you.

There you were, fast asleep, your cheek smushed against the arm of the couch, one arm dangling off the side. The sight was far too adorable for the emotional train wreck he’d become. His guilt doubled.

Riddle knelt by the couch quietly, determined not to wake you. But as he crouched there, the exhaustion hit him—of the argument, the guilt, the restless tossing and turning. Maybe just sitting here would suffice. He wouldn’t disturb you.

A few minutes turned into an hour. Before he knew it, he’d slumped sideways against the couch, head lolling onto his arms, fast asleep in what had to be the most uncomfortable position imaginable.

When you stirred awake, the morning light was peeking through the curtains. Groggily, you rubbed your eyes, the previous night’s anger feeling like a distant shadow. That was when you noticed him—his normally pristine figure curled up on the floor, head resting uncomfortably close to your dangling hand.

Your chest ached at the sight. The idiot. The sweet, guilty idiot.

You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly against his hair. “Riddle,” you whispered. “Hey… wake up.”

He stirred, blinking up at you with sleep-clouded eyes, disoriented but instantly softening when he saw your face. Without a word, he shifted closer, arms wrapping around your middle as he buried his face against your stomach.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, voice thick and quiet.

You freeze but quickly recover, leaning into his embrace. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your blanket. “I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand.”

Your throat tightened, and you found yourself carding your fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry too,” you whispered. “Let’s not fight like that again.”

For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped up in quiet forgiveness. When he finally looked up at you, there was a hesitant, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Will you come back to bed now?” he asked softly.

“Only if you promise to use it too. No more couch-floor accommodations,” you teased, pinching his cheek lightly.

“Deal,” he murmured, and together, you made your way back—closer than before, warmth filling the space where anger once was.

Leona Kingscholar

The argument had been sharp, biting, and the kind of fight where you both refused to back down. Storming out of the bedroom felt dramatic enough to match the vibe, so you grabbed a blanket, stomped to the living room, and threw yourself onto the couch with the weight of your indignation. “Fine,” you muttered into the cushions. “Let him have the stupid bed. I don’t care.”

And at the time, you didn't. You were replaying his snarky remarks and cursing his stubborn attitude. But the couch was lumpy, the blanket too short, and sleep came grudgingly after what felt like hours of stewing.

When you finally woke, disoriented and achy, something felt...off. For starters, you weren’t on the couch anymore. You were in the bed, wrapped snugly in the comforter that still carried Leona’s scent.

Blinking against the sunlight, you sat up, confusion clouding your thoughts. At the foot of the bed was the blanket you’d dragged out last night, now neatly folded like some taunting symbol of Leona’s existence.

And Leona himself? Missing.

You slid out of bed and wandered to the living room, where the answer to your mystery lay sprawled across the couch. The sight of him, however, made your irritation waver.

Leona was far too large for the couch. His long legs hung over the edge at weird angles, and one arm was slung over his face to block the light filtering through the curtains. He looked wildly uncomfortable, but his usual arrogance softened in sleep, his face peaceful and unguarded.

It didn’t take a genius to piece it together. He must have carried you to bed sometime in the night, only to exile himself to the lumpy couch. The guy could be maddeningly stubborn, but this... this unexpected gesture had you torn between wanting to yell at him or simply kissing him awake.

Ultimately, you decided to settle for the middle ground.

Crouching next to the couch, you reached out and brushed the stray strands of hair from his face. Before you could withdraw, one eye cracked open, and a lazy grin spread across his lips.

“Caught ya,” he drawled, voice rough from sleep.

You raised an eyebrow. “You moved me to the bed, didn’t you?”

He huffed, clearly uninterested in owning up to the sentimentality of it. “Couldn’t leave you out there whining in your sleep.”

“I wasn’t whining!” you protested, even though your cheeks were burning.

“Sure you weren’t,” he replied smoothly, grabbing your wrist before you could retreat. With a sharp tug, he pulled you down, practically pinning you against him. “Don’t see the big deal. You’re mine, aren’t ya? ‘Course I’m gonna take care of you.”

The casual way he said it didn’t make it any less sincere.

You sighed, melting into his warmth despite yourself. “I hate how sweet you can be when I’m trying to stay mad at you.”

His smirk widened, and he tucked you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Didn’t mean to piss you off,” he murmured against your temple. “But you’re not leaving this couch till we make up. Deal?”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice softened. “Deal.”

As the tension melted away and his arms tightened around you, the couch didn’t seem quite so lumpy anymore. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad place to be.

Azul Ashengrotto

The argument had been tense, the kind where you both said things you probably shouldn’t have. Frustrated and too stubborn to stay in the same space as Azul, you grabbed a pillow and marched out to the couch. He’d barely tried to stop you, his pride seemingly keeping him rooted in the bedroom.

But pride was a fickle thing, and now you were left trying to fall asleep on the stiff cushions. Every creak of the floorboards made you feel a little guilty, knowing exactly who it was.

You didn’t even need to look; you could feel Azul’s presence lingering in the doorway, his usual composure clearly absent. The sound of shuffling footsteps returned to the bedroom, and you thought maybe he’d finally leave you alone—only to hear those same footsteps inch closer again a minute later.

"Azul, I know you're there," you muttered, cracking an eye open and turning toward the doorway. Sure enough, there he was, peeking out. His glasses caught the faint glow of the hallway light, and he immediately froze like he’d been caught stealing treasure.

“I-I wasn’t...” he started, before trailing off, clearly scrambling for an excuse.

You sighed and sat up, your frustration ebbing in the face of how uncharacteristically sheepish he looked. This was Azul Ashengrotto, the calculating businessman who could sell ice to Yetis—and yet he couldn’t even apologize without peering at you like a child who’d been scolded.

“If you’re just going to lurk there all night, we’re both going to lose sleep,” you said, finally beckoning him over with a wave.

Azul hesitated for a fraction of a second before his composure cracked, and he shuffled toward the couch. “I didn’t mean for things to escalate...” he started, sitting next to you, his head ducked low, voice soft.

You smirked despite yourself. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, you know that?”

He bristled, his dignity rallying as he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I am not—”

“You’re very cute,” you interrupted, and the smallest flicker of a pout crossed his lips.

Azul looked away, a hint of color dusting his pale cheeks. “You’re the worst.”

“And you still love me,” you countered, pulling him down beside you. “Truce?”

He glanced at you, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. “Truce.”

Apologies came in murmured exchanges after that, both of you acknowledging where you’d gone wrong. You knew you’d both let pride get in the way—typical for two people as headstrong as yourselves.

Eventually, Azul’s head rested on your shoulder, his warm weight grounding you. You leaned back against the couch, and despite its discomfort, it felt perfect with him there.

“You know,” you whispered, running a hand gently through his hair, “for a guy who’s made half of Twisted Wonderland sign contracts, you really can’t stand your ground for the life of you.”

Azul huffed, turning his face into your shoulder to hide. “Do you want me to apologize again?”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Nope. I think I’ll just enjoy this.”

And with that, the two of you finally let the tension of the argument melt away, falling asleep together on the couch in an imperfect, perfectly “you and Azul” sort of peace.

Kalim Al-Asim

The argument had been uncharacteristically heated—rare for someone as sunny and easygoing as Kalim—but even he had limits, and so did you. When your stubborn streak flared, it ended with you grabbing a blanket and storming off to the couch.

“No, Kalim, I’m fine. You sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep here,” you snapped, cutting off his attempts to follow you. His face fell, but for once, he didn’t argue, retreating to the bedroom with a defeated slump of his shoulders.

You burrowed into the couch cushions, determined to stay mad, but as sleep started to claim you, the anger dulled into annoyance. It didn’t matter. He started it, you thought stubbornly, clutching the blanket tighter.

A soft rustle of fabric woke you, tugging you from the edges of sleep. Blinking groggily, you turned your head to see Kalim crouched beside the couch, carefully tucking another blanket over you. He had his tongue poking out slightly in concentration, his touch so gentle that it was clear he didn’t want to wake you.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

Kalim flinched, looking at you like a startled puppy caught raiding the kitchen. “Oh, I—uh—I just thought you might be cold, so I…”

He trailed off, clearly expecting you to brush him off again. Instead, you sighed, your irritation melting as you realized just how ridiculous he looked, trying to coddle you even while you were angry at him.

“Come here,” you said, sitting up and pulling the blanket back a bit.

“What? No, I don’t want to—”

“Kalim.”

His protest crumbled immediately, and he slid onto the couch beside you, tucking his legs up awkwardly. You wrapped the blanket over both of you, and after a moment of stunned hesitation, Kalim relaxed into the embrace, resting his head against your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice small and earnest. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You sighed, tilting your head to rest on his. “I’m sorry too. I overreacted.”

He perked up slightly at that, his usual cheer trying to peek through. ���So… does this mean you won’t sleep out here alone again?”

“You’re lucky I’m even letting you under this blanket, Asim,” you teased, though your smile softened the words.

Kalim beamed, his arms wrapping snugly around your middle. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me forever!”

You rolled your eyes fondly, leaning back into the cushions. The couch wasn’t exactly built for two people, but the warmth of his presence made it easy to ignore. Slowly, you both drifted to sleep, Kalim murmuring sweet nothings even as his breaths evened out.

Maybe next time, you thought sleepily, you’d just let him win.

The argument left both of you simmering in silence, which for Vil was a rarity. Instead of his usual icy composure, he seemed genuinely rattled. You, however, weren’t in the mood to care. Grabbing a blanket with theatrical flair, you stomped to the couch.

“You can have your perfectly fluffed pillows and skincare routine in peace,” you muttered, tucking yourself in with a spiteful sense of triumph.

Once comfortably cocooned, you scrolled on your phone, trying to drown out the lingering annoyance. That’s when you heard it—sharp, purposeful footsteps marching toward you.

Before you could react, Vil appeared like a vengeful storm god, looking every bit as flawless as a deity would while furious. With a huff that could make kingdoms tremble, he reached for your arm and began dragging you back to the bedroom.

“Vil, what are you—let me go! I’m fine out here!” you protested, but his grip was firm, his annoyance palpable.

Once you were unceremoniously deposited by the bed, he turned to you, pointing at your neatly made side. “You are sleeping there,” he declared.

You folded your arms. “I’m sleeping on the couch. Deal with it.”

He tilted his head, his expression a dangerous blend of frustration and disbelief. “Absolutely not. You’ve ruined my entire evening, and now you expect me to suffer further by sleeping alone?”

“Ruined? Seriously?” you shot back.

“Yes! I require my beauty sleep, and I can’t possibly get it knowing you’re out there, sulking on a couch. It’s impossible to relax without you next to me—so you, are going to have to take responsibility!”

The sheer audacity of his statement left you blinking. It was so dramatic and entirely Vil that you couldn’t help it—you laughed. Not a little chuckle, but a full-bodied, slightly wheezing laugh that made you clutch your sides.

Vil crossed his arms, arching an offended brow. “I fail to see what’s funny.”

“You,” you said between giggles. “This whole ‘it’s your fault I can’t sleep because I love you’ nonsense. You’re ridiculous.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he sighed, and once your laughter subsided, he gestured to the bed again, this time more softly. “Please. Don’t make me sleep without you.”

You relented, sliding under the blankets. As you settled in, Vil switched off the lights, the room going still.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly after a moment. His tone was sincere, lacking the sharp edges from earlier.

You shifted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him gently against you. “I’m sorry too.”

Vil let out a contented hum, nestling into your hold. With your body heat mingling and the earlier tension dissipating, it didn’t take long for both of you to fall asleep—together, as it should be.

The argument had been rough—sharp words, bitter edges, the kind of fight that left your chest heavy. It didn’t matter how much Idia stammered his way through an apology or tried to explain his side; you weren’t ready to hear it yet. So, in an act of frustrated finality, you grabbed a blanket and retreated to the couch, refusing to spare him another glance.

Sleep came in patches, your mind replaying the fight in a loop. At some point, the dull ache in your bladder forced you to stumble toward the bathroom. On your way back, you froze, hearing quiet, panicked murmurs drifting from Idia’s room.

“Ortho, what do I do? I think I really messed up this time,” his voice wavered, thick with worry. “They probably hate me now. Like, actual hate—no respawn, no restart. I mean, who else would put up with me? I’ve completely blown it.”

You sighed, anger ebbing as guilt trickled in. You hadn’t meant to push him that far, and his usual self-deprecating spiral sounded more frayed than usual.

Pushing the door open, you caught the tail end of Ortho’s voice. “Big Brother, you should—oh!” His robotic eyes darted to you, scanning the scene. A moment later, he gave a tiny thumbs-up and practically zoomed out of the room, leaving you and Idia alone.

Idia froze when he noticed you. His shoulders hunched as if he could shrink his already wiry frame. “I-I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Sorry for being pathetic. Again.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you stepped forward and opened your arms. “Come here, you dramatic dork.”

His eyes widened, hesitation etched into every inch of his posture. When you didn’t move or drop your arms, he finally shuffled over, nervously slipping into your embrace. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him securely, and his entire body seemed to deflate as tension drained out of him.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder.

You huffed softly, rubbing his back. “Idia, I wasn’t leaving. Just... needed space to cool off. And honestly, hearing you lose your mind over it made it hard to stay mad.”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” he mumbled, the words tumbling in an embarrassed rush. “Um, does this mean...?”

“It means I still love you,” you interrupted gently.

His grip on you tightened for a moment before he pulled back, pink dusting his cheeks and his hair glowing pink at the ends. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost missed it.

“I’m sorry too,” you replied, kissing his cheek and earning a startled squeak.

Together, you made your way back to bed. As you settled under the blankets, his fingers tangled hesitantly with yours. The argument seemed miles away now, replaced by the steady warmth of simply being with him.

“I’ll try to be better,” he murmured into the quiet.

“You’re already enough, Idia,” you replied, squeezing his hand.

And as you drifted off to sleep, you felt his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles, grounding both of you in the quiet comfort of reconciliation.

The argument left both of you tense, and you were too mad to deal with Malleus' brooding silence. Grabbing a blanket, you stormed off toward the couch, refusing to even glance at him. "I'm sleeping on the couch," you announced. "Goodnight."

Malleus stood frozen for a moment, processing your declaration, and you could feel his pout even with your back turned. "You do not need to sleep on the couch," he finally said.

"I'm not changing my mind," you shot back, tossing the blanket onto the couch for emphasis.

There was a brief, sulking pause. Then, he went quiet—suspiciously quiet. You peeked over your shoulder just in time to catch him crossing his arms with a look of smug triumph spreading across his face.

“Malleus—”

Before you could finish the thought, a flash of green lightning struck the couch, reducing it to a pile of ash with alarming precision. You stood there, jaw dropping as the faint smell of charred upholstery wafted in the air.

"Well," Malleus said, ever so matter-of-factly, "it seems the couch is… out of commission. A most unfortunate turn of events."

You turned to him, dumbfounded. "Did you seriously just smite your own couch?"

He looked at you expectantly, his lips pressed into an overly calm smile. "The bed is still available," he offered, gesturing toward the bedroom as though that solved everything.

Your anger reignited—if that was even possible after witnessing such sheer audacity. Without a word, you dropped your blanket onto the floor, flopping down dramatically as if making it your personal mission to out-stubborn a dragon fae.

He stared at you in bewilderment, clearly expecting a different outcome. For a long moment, he didn’t move, as though trying to process your act of defiance. Then, with an audible sigh, he finally caved.

“Alright,” he said softly, crouching to your level. His eyes held a rare vulnerability. “I… overreacted. I apologize for upsetting you.”

You bit back a smirk, pretending to be unimpressed even as you felt your resolve softening. "I wasn’t thrilled about it, yeah."

Malleus tilted his head, something of a pout returning to his expression. “Will you come back to bed, then? The floor hardly befits someone so precious to me.”

“Only if you promise not to zap anything else," you teased, finally relenting as you reached out to take his offered hand.

He helped you up gently, his grip firm but careful, as though he feared breaking you. “I cannot promise to never act rashly in defense of my love,” he murmured, leading you back to the room.

Settling into the bed together, you couldn’t resist poking at him one last time. “You really destroyed your own couch just to keep me near you, huh? You know they make couple’s therapy for this, right?”

He chuckled softly, pulling you close. “I would smite an entire castle if it meant you stayed by my side.”

“Noted,” you said, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t hide the warmth in your chest. As you both drifted off, tangled in the sheets, you couldn’t help but think how absurdly lucky you were to be loved by someone so dramatic—and so utterly devoted.

Masterlist

[crushmeeren]

omg but imagine secretly giving the mha boys aphrodisiac chocolate and seeing how they react..

No but you’re RIGHT…. ( ੭ ˙ᗜ˙ )੭

𝛏 Master List Link 𝛏

Katsuki would stare at you with narrowed eyes when you hold your hand out and offer the piece of chocolate to him, your gaze wide and innocent until he pops the candy in his mouth.

Katsuki would be in a meeting not too long after, jaw clenched and teeth creaking when his uniform pants get too fucking snug for no reason. His cheeks will flush bubblegum pink, biting the head off of some hero he can’t remember the name of when asked what’s wrong.

Why the fuck can he only picture you face down and ass up in the air?

Why does he have to sink his nails into his thighs to hang onto his last thread of self control and restrain himself from palming his stiff cock when he thinks of your pussy split open for him?

Why the hell is sweat running down his temples and along his jaw like a goddamn river??

He doesn’t know.

What he is certain of, is his plan to tackle you to the bed as soon as he gets home. To cum the second he slides his achy cock inside your tight pussy, and then to fuck you until neither of you can stand to climax one more time.

Eijirou would happily accept the chocolate, humming in delight once he begins chewing.

Eijirou would then be relaxing with you on the couch, using every ounce of willpower to concentrate on the movie you’re watching together. His cheeks would turn as scarlet as his hair and he’d try to hide his face with the loose strands when you glance at him.

He’d squeak out that’s he’s fine when you ask if he’s feeling feverish. He’ll clumsily cover his cock with large hands, knees knocking into one another when he tries to close his legs.

Eijirou would whimper in your ear “fuck, I’m sorry baby, I need your pussy. I can’t stop myself,” as he gives in to the heat churning in his belly and bends you over the armrest of your couch to fuck you like a dog.

You’ll babble and gasp it’s okay, crying out his name when he makes you orgasm for what feels like the hundredth time — only for his dick to remain hot and full after he’s already cum inside you so much that you’re sure you’re going to get pregnant.

Shouto would take a bit more convincing. He doesn’t ordinarily eat chocolate, but he’s willing to try it if you’re the one presenting it to him.

Shouto would be leisurely walking alongside you in the grocery store, occasionally making noises of agreement as you tell him about your day.

Shouto would suddenly freeze mid stride, becoming rigid in the middle of the aisle. He’ll blink owlish eyes at you several times when you turn back to question what he’s doing.

You’ll snap your fingers to get his attention when he starts to stare at the swell of your tits for way too long instead of listening to you, cheeks filling out with a blush when he meets your gaze.

The next thing you know, your half full grocery cart is abandoned in the aisle and you’re yanked by the wrist back to your car in the parking lot.

Shouto would mutter breathlessly “sorry baby, I can’t seem to control myself,” when he gets your pants off, leaving the material to dangle from one ankle before tugging you down to straddle his lap in the backseat.

He’ll unbutton his pants and shove them down far enough to free himself, not bothering with your panties and sliding them to the side as he sits you down on his cock and let’s out a low moan.

Shouto will match your every move, thrusting upwards harshly each time you sit down. He won’t give a single fuck if someone walks past the car, he just knows he needs your pussy to keep swallowing his cock until the insatiable burn in his lower belly subsides.

It takes…awhile.

[hell0mega]

idk, there's an argument to be made for both sides, and the conclusion my brain is landing on is "a mix of both is important"

fictional media and "make believe" 1000% have an impact on society's general morality. if it didn't, movies with political messages wouldn't be made. copaganda shows wouldn't be so plethoric. there's nothing that says that this doesn't happen on a much smaller individual scale within something like a ttrpg

generally, no, there aren't many "real world" consequences if you just talk about, or even roleplay, "the most fucked up insane evil stuff" but you can really get a handle on who someone is and how they think and reason based on their rped actions. I'm very adamant about staying "in universe" and make that clear with any "fucked up" decision or discussion i have, and if it makes someone uncomfortable, I'm not quick to dismiss their real world feelings. if someone dismisses your hesitancy or uncomfortableness that readily, don't play with them. all that said...

in my experience, people who are more willing to do and discuss "fucked up evil" topics are worse people in real life. this isn't true across the board but i see where screenshot tags person is coming from. however, the pro make believe argument is that, yes, generally, fictitious indulgence of certain otherwise taboo subjects is a typically safe way to explore those topics. this is the argument for writing and other art depicting heinous acts, and is generally paired with the dead dove tag. though, there's always the chance that these things become normalized because the brain is really bad at discerning real from fake (that's why fiction works in the first place) and if you're playing with someone who is constantly asking about or roleplaying a subject that is otherwise taboo, it does make you wonder about them. still, statistically, if those people "had absolute power with no consequences" they probably wouldn't become evil dictators that make everything bad legal.

prev tags is right, it's always best to discuss what people are cool with exploring. those ARE "real world consequences" even if they're on a personal scale. that's all this really comes down to. i think both camps can lean towards the middle

people really live like this huh. yeah there's no consequences because you're playing a game of make-believe..?