Blueoswald - Untitled

#cat #tetris

Aww look at this cutie ♡

Yes he is def delusional but it is also because we are used to seeing guys dress a certain way from ages, i believe with fluid fashion, men's makeup, things are going to change so much and not all are ready for it.

i think f1nn5ter makes a lot of people more uncomfortable than drag does because they cant dismiss what he does as ironic and therefore nonthreatening. it isnt a parody of femininity, its legitimately looking like a woman while being fully a man and it scares people.

he represents all the fears cis people have of not being able to tell if somebody is trans, and hes living proof that humans are not nearly as dimorphic as they like to think.

please write anything w grumprry x sunshine. Ik I’ll love it no matter what🙃

thank u for your request! this trope never ever ever gets old | grump!harry , fluff

Harry sleeps on his front with his arms stretched underneath his pillow and the sheets resting low on his naked waist. You stand in the doorframe of his bedroom, excitedly holding a tray of breakfast made just for him, trying to decide the best way to wake him up. Gently placing the tray on his dresser, you grin as you climb onto the bed and straddle his waist.

He stirs slightly, groaning into the pillow but not waking up. You lean over and kiss up his spine, hair tickling his skin. “What’re you doin’?” He grumbles, voice thick and gravelly. It makes your body tingle.

“Rise and shine!” You bury your face into his neck and bite down softly. Harry groans again but doesn’t move, secretly amused by your odd behaviour. Biting him isn’t exactly a new experience. “If you don’t wake up right now, the chomp monster is going to keep biting you,” you giggle, angling your head slightly and biting him a little closer to his shoulder.

Harry shifts, turning so you fall onto the mattress and your game is over. His tired eyes watch your face as he holds his body up above you. “Stop being such a menace,” he grouses, voice slower than usual.

“But I was having fun,” you pout, hands smoothing over his shoulders and into his hair. Your teeth marks on his neck fade quickly. Harry dips down and nips at your bottom lip hard. You squeal and lift your knee up, nearly catching him in an unfortunate place.

“See?” He says, face hovering centimetres from yours. “S’not very nice, is it?”

But you don’t want to give in. “I don’t know, I kinda liked it.” You bring your legs up around his waist and try to pull him into you. Of course he doesn’t budge.

“You kinda liked it?” He does it again, even harder, and you’ll admit it hurts a little.

“Okay! I don’t like it, ow.” You pull away frowning. “I didn’t bite you that hard.”

This pulls a wry smile from Harry. “Shouldn’t start something you can’t finish, my love,” as he finally gives you a proper kiss, the way he intends on waking up every morning. You try to pretend you’re upset with him but it doesn’t last, not even for a second, as he smooths his soft lips against yours and down your jaw to your neck. You melt into his touch, hands threading through his hair lovingly and feeling the world around you disappear.

He lets you reach that fuzzy place, chest swarming with satisfaction at every content sigh that slips from your mouth. And then he squeezes your waist. Enough to make you jump—and your mind isn’t quick enough to piece together what he’s doing until he’s squeezing again and you’re writhing under him, tortured laughs being forced from your mouth. His hands move all over your body, familiar with every part of you that is ticklish. Glimpses you catch through your clenched eyes show that Harry barely looks affected, curled lips the only indication that he’s having fun. It makes it all the more agonising as you suffer under his hands whilst he shows no sign that he’s doing anything.

You grasp at his hands desperately. “Please! Stop—please!” You’re laughing but it’s your body betraying you. Harry doesn’t look like he’s going to listen but then you remember the reason you woke him up in the first place. “I made you breakfast!” It comes out almost like a sob—a breathy, sad sob as all the air in your lungs is sucked out of you. His hands halt and you breathe in heavily, mouth turned into a frown.

“Did you now?” Harry hums, sitting back and letting you relax. He scratches at his chin and looks down at you, eyes thoughtful. You get up, pout still present as you present him with the tray. “Look at that.” He smiles again, reaching his eyes. “Treating me the way I deserve, huh?” Harry teases, accepting the tray as he sits back against the pillows.

You scowl. “Not anymore.”

“You started it, love. Bit me like a needy puppy.”

“You bit me and tickled me!” You huff, sitting on your knees next to him with wide eyes. He thinks you look so sweet—and a little bit pitiful.

“Mm, but you still started it, didn’t you?” Harry takes a long swig from the cup of coffee that’s cooling down fast.

“But breakfast,” you gesture to his lap and his eyes soften, knowing how happy it makes you to show your love this way.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Your eyes immediately sparkle and he holds a slice of toast in front of your mouth for you to take a little bite.

“But tell the chomp monster that I can be very mean when I want to be.”

sleepover tag!

#asexual #love #story

I love your writing. If you want to, could you write something about an asexual hero x incubus/succubus.

"How come you're not trying to seduce me?"

"Excuse me?" The incubus turned to face them. He really did look like the kind of fairytale that ended up in broken hearts; too beautiful to be quite believable.

The protagonist swallowed. "How come you're not trying to seduce me?"

"...you're asexual. You're not going to be seduced by me. You're not going to be dinner."

"Some asexual people are very sex positive, I'll have you know. Big libido. All the kinky fantasies. Love all the incubi fun times."

"Are you one of those asexual people?"

"I'm just saying, it would be nice to get a bit of effort. I'm supposed to be your date tonight."

The incubus blinked.

"Just forget it!" the protagonist snapped.

"Are you feeling neglected?"

"I said forget it."

"Because I can certainly try and seduce you." The incubi's voice switched tone entirely; a rough octave drop perfect-made for silken sheets and slips. His hand pressed warm against the protagonist's waist, drawing them in, strong and sure.

The protagonist's breath caught because - well, sex was sex, but this. The electricity. The possibility. The giddy, intoxicating feeling of being the only thing that those eyes wanted to see, above everything else in the room.

The incubus could have anyone they wanted. It was stupid. It was embarrassing. They never should have said anything.

God, they wanted more of it.

They wanted the incubus to pick them out of a crowd and lead them onto the dance floor. They wanted the dips and the romance; the roses and all of their thorns.

They wanted everyone's eyes to stop skimming over them, the second they heard the word 'asexual', and they knew that was wrong but...

The incubi's lips dragged hot against their throat, pressing against the shell of their ear.

"The problem," the incubus murmured, "is that I rather like you, and I'd rather not kill you."

It snapped them out of the fantasy to - to the incubus's eyes, warm and amused and something else entirely. To the kindling-curl of the incubus's lip, dragging the protagonist's mouth helplessly up into a matching smile.

"You like me?" the protagonist managed.

"I invited you here."

"I just thought you wanted a buffer. Someone who didn't helplessly throw themselves at you."

The incubi raised a brow. "And that pique of...whatever that was...was you being totally cool and not desiring me in anyway whatsoever?"

The protagonist opened their mouth. They closed it. They wanted the floor to swallow them. "Well, I still don't want to sleep with you!"

"Well, thank god," the incubi replied. He flipped the protagonist's hand, pressing a kiss to their knuckles, holding their eyes. "Now come dance. We've got a scheme to foil, don't we, my hero?"

My hero. They could get entirely too used to that. The incubus looked like he knew that.

"You're a bastard," the protagonist said.

"Mm. And you're seduced." The incubus's grin was a wicked, entirely delighted thing.

"Such a bastard."

The incubus winked, and dragged them out onto the dance floor.

At least for the night, for five minutes, the protagonist felt like the story they'd always wanted to be.

“Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”

— Rumi