OBSESSED With The Way You Write Blue Jones Actually These Are The Fics Have Me Going God Hes The Fucking

OBSESSED with the way you write blue jones actually these are the fics have me going “god he’s the fucking worst” while giggling and twirling my hair. he sucks so bad and he is my favoritest guy ever. i do have a request/question: do you think he’d be Weird about a girl around his height/taller than him (especially since those club outfits Demand heels)

No, actually, I do not. I think he would like having a tall gf because he is a Little Man. I think he would approach it like worship, as in he just sits on the floor and beams up at her and bats his eyelashes while his tummy is doing somersaults because !! She's so tall and pretty and he can smush his face in her chest and hug her like a koala.

Not that he would do that in front of other people because he still needs to be scary.

He'd be very proud to have a tall gf because she has so much power and goddess energy and he can sit there and gloat like all for me look at all that lovely woman and she's all mine

I think Blue prefers tall women. He seems like he enjoys smaller, docile girls but I think he l o v e s having somebody that can exude power over him. Badass, strong tall women have his heart forever. He is intimidated x100 but hella into it.

(nsfw)

maybe not a pain kink but def a degradation kink. If you demean him and talk to him in a baby voice he'll get so unbelievably hard. Especially when he knows you are stronger/have more power over him. Huge turn on. Won't admit it but his favorite part is when he can curl up in your lap and get some head scratches afterward as a reward.

has an oral fixation, will kiss any part of you in reach (even if he can't reach your mouth, he's perfectly content to suck on your neck or shoulder)

has an insane temper, but if you stroke his head or put your hand on his back he is immediately relaxed

gets frustrated when he's needy so he'll throw temper tantrums until you suck him off or give him any shred of attention.

worships you as I said above - hopelessly devoted to taking care of you. You have him wrapped around your finger.

He would absolutely ask his gf to fuck him in heels. The highest, sharpest stilettos imaginable. Makes him feel small and wanted and absolutely wrecked.

Sometimes I think he likes to have a bit of a lift over you so he might put platforms in his boots (shush it's a secret) because he likes to have the ego boost around other men. But in private he's just a little baby Blue.

i kinda wanna write a fic about it now (although I am Short so idk if I can correctly describe it oh well)

tags: @krakenkitty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @twwcs @ominoose

hc for moonknight boys ( pigging off of the preferences hc a little..) with neighbor!reader who is thick as fuck and has a big white cat named Osiris and one day the Boys hear her opening her door in the hall and calling for her cat, the boys being like ⁉️ HUH and then they go over and meet the cat and like they have a huge big fat crush on her

AWW anon this sounds cute.

reader is fem (uses she/her) curvy, fluff, pining, dual POV. no y/n

Summary: reader moved in a week ago and her cat is adventurous. not exactly the way you asked but it mutated hehe

song recs: anything by stephen sanchez or frank ocean

Things had progressed nicely. The furniture arrived yesterday, and you'd got it done in a flash - hopefully the neighbors weren't too concerned with the loud thumps and scrapes. You were most glad that Osiris' cat tree had arrived so he'd stop shredding the carpet.

"Ozzy," you whistled. "Breakfast, bubba." You scraped the rest of the tin into his bowl and waited for the excited jingle of his collar.

Frowning, you peered into the living room. Even in dead sleep, Osiris woke at the prospect of a snack. Part of why you got along so well.

"Osiris?"

Hoping you hadn't shut him in a closet, you set down his meal and knocked on all the doors, checking the shelves and any tricky-to-reach spots. Ozzy often forgot his size and got into places he couldn't easily get out of.

It wasn't a huge apartment, only two bedrooms and a bathroom. You'd done two rounds before nervously figuring that he'd gotten out.

How? The door was closed and locked - you double checked, always.

Your hands fluttered nervously, lip stuck between your teeth. He was a lovely boy but he didn't know the area. You didn't know the area, where would you look? There was one floor below you until the busy street...

"Shit," you muttered, hurriedly pulling on your shoes. The cold air had started yesterday. I'm comin', buddy, don't worry, you thought nervously. You were dressed in a comfy sweater and sweats. Hopefully you didn't look too much like a crazy person.

Slamming your door behind you, you looked both ways down the hall, eyes squinting for a flash of white fur.

"Osiris?"

Marc had enough. Somewhere, a tiny trilling bell was jingling. It was driving him fucking insane. He'd poked through the stacks of books and under the mattress. His phone - Steven might've installed some crazy alarm - but no dice.

He peeked out his door. The hall was empty, but-

"Oh," he said, crouching. "Hey there, little guy."

Steven, now awake, snorted. Not very little, though, is he?

The roundest, whitest cat he'd seen in his life was sat patiently in front of his door. Brilliant green eyes blinked up, and a soft meow carried through the hall. Marc had never been good with cats.

His headmate shoved to the front, greedily reaching out for a pet. "He's so soft," Steve breathed, scratching under the cat's chin. A titanic purr radiated out of the fluffy monstrosity, reveling in the attention.

Steven was in love. He gently picked up the cat, snuggling its warmth. Marc grimaced, tapping on Steven's shoulder. You don't know where that's been, man. Wash your hands.

He waved him off, eyes glued to the cat. It was cold out; the poor thing was probably starving. Closing the door against the cold air, Steven happily set his new friend on the ground.

"Would you like some food, then, little man?" He cooed. The cat meowed again and ran off curiously. Steven watched as it poked and sniffed through his flat, purring the whole way. He noticed a slight jingling sound follow the furball. Aha, he was the culprit.

Means he's got a collar, Marc noted, so he's got an owner, I'd bet. Steven pouted slightly; he wouldn't mind keeping the little bugger. Jake hissed when the cat started wiggling into the closet.

Ay, if that thing steals my gloves I'm takin' it out back.

Steven gaped at the hostile behavior of his friends. "Alright, fine," he relented, "but I'd like to feed it first. It's cold out, y'know."

Whistling gently, Steven knelt down in front of the wardrobe. "Here, kitty," he said softly, clicking his tongue. A fluffy tail tickled his nose. Giggling, he caught the cat in his arms.

"Okay now, hold still for a smidge, lemme look at you-"

The cat squirmed as he felt around for a collar. Truly, the amount of hair on this thing was insane. Jake sneezed.

A little gold tag glimmered. Steven squinted. "O...Osiris? Innat funny, Marc? His name's Osiris!" He dropped the cat in favor of rambling about the deity, hands moving excitedly. Jake frowned.

Isn't that the death guy?

Steven sighed at Jake's vocabulary. "Underworld, mate, very different." The alter snorted. My bad, of course.

Could be an omen, Marc quipped.

"Why're you all being so grumpy?" Steven groaned, raking his hand through his hair, "it's just a cat."

Did the tag have an address? Jake wondered, back on track. The cat had curled up on Steven's lap, so he tried gently to get closer without disturbing him.

"Uh...yes?" The numbers were smudged to hell, so he couldn't really read it. The cat couldn't have gotten too far in the cold, his owner lived close. Steven's disappointment at letting go of his friend was quenched by the intrigue of meeting someone who was interested in Egyptology.

He fed the cat a few pieces of cheese and scooped him up. "Alright, off you pop, let's find your owner, yeah?"

The cat purred in his arms, snuffling into his jacket. Steven whistled aimlessly, locking his door and setting off.

He lived on the third and highest story - so he'd work his way downwards. He paused.

Marc sat back knowingly. See, in order for this to work you've actually got to talk to people, Stevie. Steven faltered. He looked sheepishly in the reflection of the doorknob.

"...Marc?"

Rolling his eyes, Marc slipped in to front, jostling with Osiris. The cat noticed a switch, and curiously sniffed the new alter. Jake backed out; claiming allergies. Grimacing, Marc reached for the knocker on the neighbor's door.

No luck. Nobody on his floor had seen or lost a cat named Osiris - though he did encounter a tearful little boy looking for his hamster. Internally, Marc wondered if the cat had found the rodent first. Steven would switch out every few minutes to stroke Osiris lovingly, before hiding in the headspace if someone approached.

The cat seemed to get used to the different men, eventually falling asleep.

Marc sighed, taking the elevator down to the second floor. This cat was heavy.

He nearly ran smack into someone else as he stepped out. Osiris yowled and he stuttered an apology, blinking at the impact.

A very shocked woman was staring at him, mouth open.

"You've got my cat!"

He blinked again, looking at Osiris. "Your...he's yours?"

You nodded, reaching out for him. Marc clumsily handed him over, still reeling from the coincidence. You thanked him profusely, gently scolding the cat.

You beamed at him. "Thank you so much, sir, I thought I'd never find him. Ozzy's a bit of a pill when we find a new place, I appreciate is so much."

Marc was stunned stupid. Once he'd gotten a look at you, you were really pretty. There was a nice, calming energy radiating off of you like a halo. A flush had brightened your eyes and cheeks from the cold, coloring you like a cherub. The fluffy cat rubbed itself on your legs, tail winding around your supple curves.

Ay, amigo, Jake whispered, you haven't said anything.

"Yeah," Marc stammered, wiping his brow. "Yeah, for sure, it's...it's no problem." Fuck, he sounded like Steven.

The poor brit was in the same sinking boat, brain gone offline in shock. Oi. Oi Marc, don't fuck this up holy shit do you see her earrings? She's got little moons on-

Marc had to mentally mute his friend's babbling, too preoccupied with not looking like an idiot. You were busy cooing after your pet. A cute smile adorned your round cheeks and he had the urge to reach out-

"Hey, d'you want to come in? I've got some coffee or tea inside," you offered, gesturing behind you. Marc had a feeling that was a bad idea, seeing as how fast his heart was beating, but Steven was doing flips with excitement, so he accepted.

Your apartment was lovely. You'd clearly just moved in, the furniture was clean and new. Incense burned at the window, filling the room with a jasmine scent. Marc inhaled deeply, catching whiffs of your shampoo. It made his chest feel a little gooey.

Steven needed a tranquilizer, he was so elated. A small shrine to Ra was on your vanity, with a plate of dates and gold coins. Your bookshelves, unlike his, were neat and organized. Most of the books were on Egypt or horticulture. That explained the houseplants on every flat surface.

If we were mentioning omens...Jake murmured suggestively, nodding to the abundant moon decor and Egypt references. Marc pushed him away, too enraptured with watching you.

You were humming quietly, grabbing mugs and sugar and cream. That wonderful halo was burning brighter the longer he stared. The sweater you were wearing was a lovely shade of blue that brightened your face like the sun. Fitting that she likes Ra, Steven breathed, she looks celestial.

Jake agreed silently, having swallowed his own tongue. He was excited about the coffee, smelling warm and rich from your kitchen. You handed them a cup, gesturing to the milk and sugar.

"Help yourself to either," you said cheerily, patting Marc's shoulder. holy fuck your hands were soft. He watched you disappear into the hall, mesmerized with the sway of your hips.

Don't be a creep, Steven scolded, as if he hadn't been mentally planning a wedding. Marc murmured something unintelligible, awestruck by your lovely figure.

He gulped his coffee too fast to hide the flush on his face when you returned.

"What's your name?" You asked, sitting across from him. You told him yours, voice musical and light.

"M-Marc," he said around a burnt tongue and a lovesick heart. You asked him questions about where he was from, which he tried to answer, though in truth your sparkling eyes and lovely scent were really difficult to think around.

Your curves were quite distracting, and he kept being drawn to your movement, face aflame. His dignity was in tatters now but he'd never seen a person so gorgeous before. Osiris wound around his feet, an almost-smirk on his face.

Marc's gaze was glazed as you continued talking, words going in one ear and out the other. That was okay - he could catch up once he asked you on a date. Currently he was too preoccupied with imagining your soft skin and supple hips and-

Marc.

He scowled at himself, shameful. Jake shook his head, sighing. he didn't show it, but a hot rush of desire was also snaking through his chest. Steven was sat and totally absorbed in your conversation like a child at storytime.

Before he left, he slipped his number onto your kitchen table for you to find later. You caught him as he left and pulled him into a hug.

what.

He'd completely glitched when you pulled him into your soft body. Trembling with restraint, he carefully hugged you back, nose pressed greedily into your sweet-smelling hair. You fit perfectly in his arms, waist wonderfully soft and perfect to hold. Marc's mouth was dry as the desert. His heart was thundering, and he held on for a bit longer than necessary. He couldn't let go, he just wanted to hold you and squeeze and kiss you and oh god he's gonna embarrass himself like a teenager with how hard he's getting-

You waved goodbye and shut the door, leaving him awestruck in the hall.

"I think I've been drugged," he breathed to nobody. Steven had passed out, and only Jake was left to numbly agree.

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@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty

I got one of those big hoop earrings today and remembered why I never got one before it was like my worst nightmare

my chronic inability to shut up is interfering with my writing

writing tips - appropriate phrasing

it's really difficult to differentiate between your voice and the appropriate voice for your story.

But it really affects the quality and atmosphere. Like the person who requested this post (@ryns-ramblings) mentioned, Fourth Wing is a good example. Fourth Wing uses slang like 'getting laid' or 'smashing' in a juvenile tense, even though the characters are adults and the setting is supposedly in a very medieval era - aka, in a time where this language wasn't used.

Though you don't need to write in Olde English, understanding character voice and context is crucial. I have posted about this before in my 'character continuity' post but I'm happy to explain again.

When writing a character or a story that takes place in a setting different from modern day or in a way that is intentionally separate from expectation, you have to keep the language consistent. It's part of the difficulty of writing characters of different ages - understanding how their use of language will change depending on their maturity.

Fourth Wing - still a nice story, I'm not hating - doesn't do this very well. Overall the book is still sorta good but this issue really hampers the maturity of the text. Especially in this case, when the author deals with adult violence and content, the use of immature language and underdeveloped research removes a lot of the important context.

The result? A novel that reads as juvenile and is shallowly entertaining.

But this isn't a book review so I'll regroup to the writing aspect.

When you choose to write about something mature, you need to handle the language appropriately. You are introducing your audience to something that is likely upsetting or controversial. Research becomes essential in order to prevent misrepresentation and sloppy explanation.

Colleen Hoover is another example. She writes at about a YA level (14-18) of comprehension, but her content is mature adult (19+). This is a problem, as discussed at length in the media, because younger adults are exposed to what she's writing but not with the caution and proper handling of tricky subject matter (i.e abuse).

I also talked about this in this post.

How to avoid this:

research. research research research. Look up interviews with people that have experienced what you're writing about. Read journal entries, news clippings, as many direct sources as possible. If those are unavailable, get access to multiple perspectives, explanations, and authors. Combing over one single source gives you a lot of one-sided info.

Examine yourself as a writer. Do you feel like you have the tools and the awareness to write about that topic appropriately? If not, discuss with other experienced writers about how to approach it carefully.

Beta readers/draft editors that aren't friends or family. Absolutely share your work with loved ones, but that friendly bias might erase helpful feedback.

Understanding language

You know how teens talk. You've heard children babble, you've listened to older folk tell stories. There are explicit differences in grammar, range of vocab, and sentence quality. If you don't write those differences, the characters all sound the same.

Pay attention to common phrases you've been using and how they fit with the story and the characters. Like I said, it doesn't have to be Olde English, but a woman isn't going to be joking about sex with her boss.

Kids won't be quoting Ray Bradbury in the 30s cause he wasn't published yet. Little contextual timelines that add a lot atmospherically.

happy writing! xox comment for more!

AI