Jschlatt x nb!reader
Summary: Schlatt get's home from a trip and just happens to walk in on his dream fantasy - how can he be expected not to make the most of this?
Warnings: male masturbation, dub!con, schlatt is a perv, peeping tom, non specific reader underwear and genitalia, kinda light incel schlatt
A/N: first time writing smut in so long so... please tell me if it sucks. It's not as pervy as the pictures I used make it seem but they were the best I could find
He had intended to surprise you, honestly - coming home a few days early with some cute plushies he saw in Japan that made him think of you, schooling his excitement when he took the stairs two at a time, thinking of the excitement in your eyes when he surprised you. He hated how much it melted him, but your excitement was one of the few things that always did.
As the front door clicked open when he turned the key, that school boy crush is the last thing on his mind as the unmistakable sound of your moans flooded the air and shot through his veins like magma.
Desperate. That's the only way to describe them. Desperate, barely muffled whine's coming from the hallway leading to your bedroom, unmistakably you. He could hear the bed creaking, rocking back and forth with movements as your whimpers grew muffled. He could imagine the way you must've shifted in bed, face down surely, ass up, biting into your pillow as someone fucked you from behind. His hand went to palm his cock through his jeans before he even realised he was doing it.
The relief at the touch was instantaneous, a groan almost spilling freely from his lips before he chokes it back and rips his hand away from himself, dumping his bag at the door. He knew he should announce himself, leave even, but his body had a mind of it's own. He knew his erection wouldn't go down without relief, and who was he to deprive himself of this one, horrible, self satisfying fantasy. He was such a good roommate after all, he deserved this didn't he?
His body seemed to decide on it's own, even as his brain struggled with the choice he was making - hand going for his belt, feet carrying him down the hallway, towards your room - those beautiful, muffled moans a siren's song.
He stopped at your door just as he slipped his hand into his boxers, under his jeans, hips rutting against his palm despite the awkward tightness the angle posed, forehead dropping to rest on your door as he panted desperately instead of moaning like he wanted to.
He could hear you, your heavy breathing, your whining invading his senses, your arousal lewdly squelching with each thrust. God he could nearly taste you it was so clear how wet you were. He let his eyes flutter shut, mouth hanging open in a deep pant as he palmed his cock, picturing you perfectly.
He could imagine how tight you were, wrapped around the cock pounding into you from behind as you gripped the pillows. What he'd do to tangle his hand in your hair and force your head up, watching you drool as his thick length stretched you, unobstructed by the pillow as you moaned his name.
He's surprised whatever lucky bastard was fucking you stupid wasn't doing the same. He'd never live with himself if he got that chance and didn't get to hear the sweet moans of his name from your lips. Unless you were alone.
The thought made his stomach clench, cock twitching in his palm as he finally wrapped his hand fully around his acking length, slick with precum as he began to stroke in short, confined strokes. You must be alone, all he can hear is you. You're touching yourself.
He so desperately wasn't to crack the door open and see. Watch you pound yourself with a toy, struggling to keep to a pace that keeps you satisfied as you desperate push yourself towards the edge. He wants to see your juices drip down the toy, your body rock back against it when your hand gets tired. He wants to help, to take the toy away and bury his face in your gaping hole and lap you clean until you cry.
He fishes his cock out finally, free hand coming up to cover his mouth just in time to muffle the moan of relief that spills free. He was throbbing hard, so close to the edge already which only worsened when your moans grew louder, no doubt shifting your position so your moans weren't muffled.
He's sure you had started riding the toy, based on the way the springs were creaking now instead of the whole bed shaking. The thought alone had his thighs shaking, a string of precum leaking from his aching tip and smearing across his wrist as his hand moved faster. Faster, in time with your moans. You sounded so fucking wet it's almost like he could feel it, imagining the slickness in his palm the feeling of your tight heat around him, the wetness dripping down his neck your tongue and not his drool.
Your moan's peaked far too soon, a desperate cry spilling from your lips far too early for his relief, gorgeous and wrecked with pleasure. Pleasure he's sure he could double if you'd just give him a chance. Just one chance and he know's you'd never want anyone else.
The silence that follows your orgasmic bliss is deafening to him, sending the reality of what he's actually doing crashing over him, the primal desire far outweighing the tiny voice of guilt in the back of his head as he keeps his hand pumping his length.
It's not until he hears the unmistakable sound of your dresser drawers opening that his eyes snap open, fear flooding his nervous system but not enough to soften his weeping cock. He makes a split decision, waddling down the hallway as quiet as he can, pants awkwardly around his upper thighs as he forces his cock back into his boxers - a decision he's thankful for when he manages to slip into his office just as your bedroom door opens.
His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears, drowning out your footsteps that were moving down the hallway. Getting quieter. Oh thank god, you were going to the bathroom.
The sound of the bathroom door shutting is enough reassurance in his depraved state to give him the go ahead again, hand wrapping around his still hard cock once more as he peeks past the doorway to make sure the coast was clear. The light coming from the crack in the bathroom door, and the sound shortly after of the shower running was all the reassurance he needed that you weren't going to come back and catch him.
He didn't have long, but he knew he could make himself cum. The close call had pulled him away from the edge, but it didn't take long for him to work himself back up as his feet carried him towards your room. You left the door wide open, of course thinking you were alone, and he just waltzed right in, standing like a fool in the middle of your room as he jerked his cock.
He didn't wanna shut the door, couldn't risk not hearing you turn the shower off. He couldn't sit on your bed, no matter how badly he wanted to bury his face in your pillow and breathe in your scent, he knew it was too risky messing up your bed sheets. He could however, pick up your underwear.
Black, cotton pair tossed haphazardly on the floor, no doubt in your desperation to make yourself cum - he had no problem in the state he was in picking them up and bringing them to his nose. His cock pulsed with need as he inhaled deeply, groaning into the fabric as your sweat and musky arousal invaded his senses. The underwear were damp, cool and sticky against his faces as he pressed the fabric against himself. He's sure by how wet they were that you'd been aroused all day. Walking around all day with a throbbing ache between your legs, that no one knew about except yourself and him right now. You were just as much of a pervert as he was, he tried to convince himself.
His tongue darted out to drag against the fabric, moaning embarrassingly desperate as he tastes your desire on the cotton, hand moving faster and faster as he lets himself get lost in the fantasy. What he wouldn't do t be able to have seen you like this today, to slip his hand under your clothing and feel this desperation against his fingers as he touched you. He'd make you feel so good he knew that, you'd be begging for him.
His orgasm crashed into him rapidly, balls tightening, stomach clenching as he folded over, moaning unrestrained and unashamed as he held the cotton underwear in his palm. Stroking himself with one hand as your name spilled from his lips, he wrapped the fabric around the tip with his palm, feeling himself pulse as he came, hard, coating the fabric in the evidence of his depravity. All he could think about as he came was slipping these underwear back into your drawer, praying you'd slip them on tomorrow morning without seeing the mess he left, and walk around all day with his cum pressed against you.
As he stood there, panting, throbbing, cock leaking pearlescent beads of cum he tried as hard as he could to keep the guilt down in his post nut clarity, wanting to act on his one last fantasy before he felt the anxiety hit. It hit all too soon when he heard your voice behind him.
HELLO! hes on your request list but idk if youve written for him but can you please write something fluffy for james acaster! im fem, she/her - if you could maybe write about like a student reader or something. im studying biology and am doing a research paper on frog populations near me and am stressed!! so i would love something about that! im a big reader, stoner, music, pottery person if you incorporate any of that stuff id love you! no rush, very excited! ily!!!
Here you go anon, I hope you like it!
I've never had a request in this style that's been like a "here's me, can it be about me and x" but i quite liked it! lmk if anyone likes this sort of thing and i'll gladly do more explicit self inserts.
This was such a nice one to get back into after so long not writing - pretty subtle romantic stuff but i hope you liked anyway
James Acaster x fem!roommate!reader
Summary: Just a cute, romantically charged moment between James and his flatmate after a few weeks apart. I imagine James is a bit earlier in his career in this, probably mid 20s. Hope you like anon!
Warnings: pot brownies mentioned. Fem reader, she/her, long hair and makeup user briefly metioned.
A/N: It's good to be back!
It was fairly late at night when he padded out of his room, feet bare, hitting the cold wooden floor that creaked under him. Insomnia wasnāt unusual for James, heās sure that at the best of times his sleep schedule was fucked from working so many nights at comedy clubs, but heād thought by now his body would have adjusted but clearly not. Heād come off a week in Edinburgh and had been buzzing with excitement to finally get his own bed, his own couch, his own houseā¦ and you.
You - his flatmate of a few years now, close friendās heād say now, luckily enough to get on well when he found you on some flatmate Facebook group he joined. Youād lived together in 3 different apartments ā a dozen shit neighbours, 4 landlords that never replied, what felt like hundreds of failed dates under both your belts, and just as many days he hit himself for holding back from telling you how beautiful you were.
Heād been more excited than anything to come home to you, just to see you again ā even a week away was too long in his eyes ā but all he came home to was a note on the fridge and a half deflated welcome home balloon.
āWent down to Leeds to look at FROGS!!!ā with a crude little drawing of a frog with a top hat, that James immediately took off the fridge and put in his bag sandwiched between the pages of his notebook.
That was about a week ago now, and as usual you were horrible at replying to his texts. Heās sent about a dozen of them, trying to convince himself in between bouts of pacing the hallway that he wasnāt being too obsessive. You were somewhere rural he was sure, doing some research camp for your honours, but even if you were closer to service, you had a habit of not replying to your texts anyway.
The last thing he expected to see, as he padded down the hallway now, at 3am, was you, standing in the kitchen, bleary eyed and messy hair. Youāre wearing a pair of shorts that can barely be excused for shorts, a jumper thatās nearly drowning you, teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you stared intently at the microwave, heating up what heās sure was instant noodles.
He watches you for a moment, heart stuttering as he sees you for the first time in 2 weeks now, he was starting to think heād imagined you all along. But no, youāre here, and so beautiful even in your sleepy haze. James takes a step forward, his feet, moving on auto pilot as he steps towards the counter. He watches as you take the cup out of the microwave, stirring it like itās the hardest thing youāve ever done.
āHey,ā says lamely, wincing when he watches you jump in surprise and the cup of boiling noodles fall out of your hands and onto the floor, which you luckily step back from before getting scolded, āoh shit.ā He grits his teeth, hurrying around the counter and dropping to his knees to sop up everything with a tea towel, murmuring apologies, softer now to not startle you again. Heās worried youāll be annoyed, but you just seem to buffer, caught between him and the noodles heās cleaning up, not really doing anything.
Until you laugh. A soft, giddy giggle that turns into howling laughter that has you doubling over, squatting down to the floor next to where heās kneeling, forehead coming to rest on his upper arm as you laugh. Your warm breath hits his arm, your trembling frame wobbling as you perch yourself unsteadily on your toes, using him as a counterbalance as he sits back against his heels, holding you steady. Your laugh is beautiful ā giddy with a hilarity he doesnāt think the situation deserves, but too infectious for him to prevent his own laughs bubbling up from.
You just sit there for a minute, laughing together as you lean into him, letting him keep you steady, until eventually your laughs die down. His hand remains on your waist, fingers flexing against the soft fabric, subconsciously pressing into the fabric to try to feel the warmth of you underneath.
He turns his gaze to you when heās finished cleaning the noodles, watching your hair bounce with each soft giggle that passes from your lips. You lift your head when youāve regained your composure, lifting your gaze up, chin finding purchase on his shoulder. Youāre so close James automatically shifts his head back a bit, so he can see you without his eyes blurring. Your cheeks are flushed, lashes thick with tears from crying, eyes glossy.
āHi,ā you murmur, another giggle bursting from your mouth before you can stop it, the smile pulling on Jameās lips automatic as your warm breath softly hits his face. His hand comes up, gently wiping a tear from the corner of your eye before it can fall fully as he murmurs back a āheyā.
āAre you stoned?ā he asks softly, mouth pulled up into an amused smirk, as his eyebrows shot up. Another bubble of giggles fell from her mouth as her head dropped into the crook of his neck, hair tickling his nose as he leant into her this time. He could tell without her even confirming it; she was touchy, clumsy, giggly. If the glossy, bloodshot eyes werenāt a giveaway everything else would be.
āJoey made brownies,ā she murmurs into his neck, between giggles, moving now to sit flat on the floor, legs crossed and pressed against his as she wedges herself half between his bent knees, āI had mine before the bus home.ā
James huffs a laugh, embracing your touch now as he wraps an arm gently around his back, āis that all you brachiotologists do?ā he asks, brushing her hair back into a makeshift ponytail with his free hand that falls back the second he move it away.
āBatrachology student,ā you correct gently, he feels your nose scrunch up where itās pressed against his clothed chest, āand half the camp were botany majors anyway.ā
āMakes sense theyāre bringing bud I suppose.ā
āI brought you back some if you want,ā you offer, with a lazy hand wave in the direction of your bedroom, ātheyāre in one of my kits.ā
āIāll steal some once you unpack,ā he says with another laugh, softer now, not wanting you to get up and move away from his hold to go find them. Heās waited two weeks to be back with you, and now not only are you home, but youāre pressed up against him. If it wasnāt for the pins and needles beginning to radiate up his leg heād stay here forever.
āShould we find a more comfortable place to perch you?ā he asks, shifting slightly so he can push up more onto his knees with a groan, trying to stand without jostling you too much. You hum, soft and content and reach up expectantly for him as he raises. He raises an eyebrow, hiding his racing heart as he looks down at you making grabby hands at him. āSeriously?ā he asks, which only makes you pout. He sighs as if itās a herculean task, but he knows heās not kidding himself, heād do anything for you, especially when you pout like that.
So he hauls himself up, ungracefully heās sure, as he tries to steady himself like a baby deer learning to walk, and leans down to assist you. You help him more than heās sure youād like, as you let him clasp his hands around your forearms and guide, more than pick, you up. Once youāre standing, youāre back against him again, with a whine of protest as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. āCouch?ā he asks and that same sound pulls from your lips again as you cling to him tighter. He knows what youāre asking, and heās sure heās about to make a fool of himself.
He wishes it was like the movies, as he lifted you bridal style to carry you off into the sunset, but heās sure he looked more like an old west cowboy just off his house, as he hauls you up into his arms, hands finding your plush thighs, as you wrap yourself around him like a koala. He doesnāt want you to think he thinks youāre heavy - heās in heaven right now actually, holding you this close ā itās the way youāve chosen to cling to him thatās limiting his ability to walk in anything more than a sort of sumo squat shuffle. Heās so glad you canāt see this right now.
As soon as he feels his shins hit soft couch, heās dropping you, coming down with you when you donāt let go of your arms around his neck, awkwardly leaning over you with an arm bracing himself on the back of the couch so he doesnāt crush you. You just giggle again, tugging him closer, and closer, and closer, as if you want him in your lap.
Choosing the safer option, he decides the cushion next to you on the couch is the better choice, letting you keep yourself wrapped around him as he sits down. The rambles fall from your lips as soon as he sits, before heās even found a position that is comfortable and maintaining his composure as much as he can.
He listens intently, drinking in every word as you talk about your trip, about the frogs, about camping, about your thesis ā your tone a soft drawl that lulls him deeper into the couch, as though heās the one who took the edibles. He keeps you on topic as much as possible, asking questions heās genuinely interested in every now and then when he can tell a tangent is starting that will take you three topics away from your trip. Because he wants to know about it all. Everything you did. All the exciting stuff you got up to while you were apart. While he was missing you.
You do the same back, asking about his trip, his shows ā telling him how sad you are to have missed them, despite having seen the show a dozen times both in your living room and on stage ā promising to come to the next one now that youāre back. He tells you how it went, how good most of them were, the few bombs he had that you reassure him about ā basking in the warmth that spreads through him at your earnest pride in him. He tells you about catching up with his mates, about how nice it was to see everyone, turning on his performing voice a bit when he tells you a story from his trip to the pub a few nights before coming home, making a joke out of it.
āBut you know, I thought of you mostly,ā he says with the same rhythm he told the joke, as though it was the punchline, but it feels like falling off a cliff the second he says it. He never really tells you these sorts of things, his feelings, this vulnerable side that tries to leave his body and rush back to you whenever heās gone.
Any anxiety that was building crashes deep in his stomach into embarrassment when you just reply with a sleepy, āI know.ā Heās silent for a moment, he can feel you watching him, feel the blush rise to his cheeks, āyou sent twelve texts.ā
āShouldāve replied,ā he says, faux accusingly, raising his eyebrows and shooting you a glare that he hopes is playful.
āwouldāve if I couldāve,ā you say, yawning again, āit was nice getting all twelve at once when I got reception again.ā
āNice?ā
Again, you hum, leaning into his side deeper, āI like knowing you were thinking about me.ā
The air leaves his lungs as he feels you curl into him, lips parted as he tries to speak but fails to. You like knowing he was thinking about you? Why? If you knew the full extent of the ways you invaded his mind heās sure youād be calling the landlord tomorrow and asking to break your lease early.
āI missed you,ā he says, with a shrug this time, coy in his tone despite his efforts to play it off this time, trying to dismiss the idea that it means anything more than just a check in from a friend. He just feels you laugh against him, more than he hears it, feeling a blush creeping higher up his neck to his ears this time as he looks away.
āI missed you too.ā
The room is quiet again, the only sound James can hear over his thrumming hearbeat is your breathing next to him. Content, peaceful, no trace of the anxiety in it thatās coursing through James body. He doesnāt know if itās the weed or him or what thatās making you so calm, but itās doing nothing to cure his nerves. He feels you lift your head again, gaze looking at the back side of his head as he keeps his own locked firmly on the apartmentās front door.
āJames,ā you murmur, voice soft and breathy as you silently ask him to look at you. He does, turning his gaze and finding your eyes, your noses brushing gently from the proximity that he doesnāt pull back from this time. This close he can see all of you. The colours swirling in your irisās, deep and glossy but drinking him in just as much as he is you. Lashes thick and smudged with yesterdayās mascara, that little crease between your eyebrowās thatās grown deeper over the years heās known you, that small little birthmark above your right temple that disappears into your hairline. His eyes canāt pick somewhere to focus on, darting across your face as he takes you in this close.
Hair falling gently over your forehead, frizzy from being slept in, eyebrows raised in what looks like shock, maybe awe, he canāt tell, strong bridge of your nose leading down to the dot where your nose piercing used to sit, empty now, the deep crease that leads from your nose down to chapped lips, parted gently, breathing soft and warm against his own. There they stay, locked on your lips, watching as your tongue moves against the inside of the bottom one, jutting it out a bit more, in a way that makes his own mouth feel dry.
For a moment you sit there, together, and nothing else exists, except the two of you, staring at each other like this. Just as quickly as that look of awe fills your eyes does it vanish, as you turn your head and look away, āwanna see some pictures of frogs?ā
Something that the men who argue that āoh I could beat a female athlete easilyā bullshit is that winning a SINGULAR match doesnāt make you a good athlete.
Like can you perform to an insane high standard consistently? Can you perform to this level under pressure, against people of your same level or better, with your career on the line?
Can you recover from injuries or train and play through them? Can you be disciplined enough to get up at 5am everyday with the hope you might go to the Olympic in 5 years time?
Can you eat well everyday? Can you be disciplined? Can you be consistent? Can you play when youāre tired and feel like shit? Can you be a young athlete working and studying and training and playing all at the same time?
People will diminish it down to these stupid basics when being an athlete is so much more than that. Like dude start acting like an athlete today and I promise youāll get tired and tap out after 2 weeks.
Just a random thought but some guy at the pub was pissing me off
Iām genuinely curious about peopleās opinions on this. Why do people put ādonāt interact if youāre not *insert specific gender I wrote this fic for*ā in their fics?
Like I understand the, āminors dniā, but like, I write fics and specify the gender I write about, but if you fall outside of that gender and wanna read it and mentally change the pronouns or whatever go nuts! I do that too sometimes with stuff I read! I donāt think itās inherently like a fetishising, or harmful thing?
I get asking people to not request certain pronouns if you exclusively write for some. But telling people āSHE/HERās do not engageā is so interesting to me. Cause like to me, engaging means liking, reblogging and commenting, which are all super nice things!
Is there a reason people ask this? I understand having spaces that are specifically for you and your audience but I feel like you can respectfully engage with a fic even if youāre not within the gender of the reader yk?
to all the lovely people who've been asking me for updates and to write more I see you and i thank you so much. i don't want to get anyone's hopes up by saying when i'll be back because i'm not sure and don't want to make promises I can't keep. but i haven't forgotten you all, and the love means so much
I miss writing so much but some days i feel like im just paralised by fear and unable to breathe without thinking that im doing it wrong
the weight of the worlds struggles makes me want to make me cry for our brothers and sisters who cant anymore but it feels like my brain is choking me too hard to get any sound out
i know im preaching to the choir. none of you know me and know my struggles and you all have your own lives to deal with and theres always a thousand people who have it harder but fuck sometimes i just want to scream about how shit last year was and how im drowning a slow and painful death of my own making and the making of everyone that came before me and everyone whos touched my life and blame them and blame me but it still feels so unfair when their are children being bombed in palestine and what right do i have to be sad
so instead ill crash out here instead cause its so hard to not feel lonely. and i put my stupid little stories out onto the internet and hope someone likes them and 3 months later i realise i accidentally used 'she' when i said the reader was gender neutral and i send myself spiraling thinking maybe i'm actually a horrible person who hates trans people deep down and i'm just tricking myself into thinking that's not true. i'm fooling myself into the false belief that im a good person when this random person on tumblr who doesnt even know you can see youre actually a horrible piece of shit
and i have to beg myself to believe thats the ocd talking but as anyone with ocd knows that never works
i dont want this to discourage anyone from calling me out on that shit cause i need you to! i promise i'll change it and i'm sorry i keep messing up. i'm really trying. I write for me first and foremost so my pronouns come out because otherwise I canāt write a story to feel personal enough and sometimes when Iām editing some spots just slip through. But I am trying and I am sorry
everytime i leave tumblr for a month i come back on and i see that 99+ activity notification and i hate the dopamine it gives me because it means nothing at the end of the day and yet i still like it. and i want to be the kinda person who can write just for myself and not care what others think but i so badly want my stuff to be liked and im scared its never enough.
and suddenly i remember its been like 8 years or some shit since i made this blog and started writing and i remember the tween whos favourite thing in the world was harry potter who didnt know that her idol was a terf and who devoured every fic she could with a gumption that i havent had for years and sometimes i think shed be disgusted with me. that im sad and lonely and using again when she would always say as soon as she moved out things would get better.
maybe the house is only part of the problem when your brain is broken.
and i hate feeling this way so much. i just want to feel normal again but i feel so deeply, unmovabley stuck and im beginning to think this will just be my life. i'll feel this way everyday and then ill die.
im probably gonna delete this eventually cause this started as a genuine update post and spiralled a bit lol. it's nice to get this weight off my shoulders.
i hope you all know if any of you are feeling alone that my messages and inbox are always open. it takes a village and i'll gladly be a villager if anyone needs it
stay safe, take care of yourself, be kind and ill come back to writing eventually
the hottest 100 has been shit for years as triple j has gone down the shitter but OMG YAY PLAYLUNCH!!
Number 4 boys letās go!!!
It makes me so happy that everyone has rallied behind this small band to give them the love they deserve
The song is unapologetically fun and Aussie and it makes me so happy to see it up there. When for about a decade the trend has been to sound American and before that to sound British the fact that there are still songs being made that arenāt trying to hit the america top 100 is so nice.
I could go on and on about how the Aussie music scene has declined since the 90s because of the desire to appeal to other countries but this year in Aussie music has given me hope that there is in fact a voice and itās coming from the most unlikely places. Australia is producing indie, ska, punk, mob singer song writers and blues groups. Itās making me very happy. The Aussie music scene is alive and thriving if you know where to look for it, and fostering it like this is the way to go
Fuck triple J and Australia Day but on ya PLAYLUNCH!!
Iāve loved your Schlatt x childhood friend gn reader series! I adore your writing and Iām absolutely hooked! The only thing Iāve noticed is how often fem terms come up, like she/her pronouns, āgirlā, bra mention in pt 2(?), stuff like that slipping in. As a nonbinary person Iāve adored the series and having a GN reader, and I donāt wanna push you to change anything, just hopefully to keep an eye out in the future! Hope youāre well and I canāt wait to see what else you make :)
Hello anon!
Thank you for your ask this is very sweet! Iām so glad youāre liking the series!
It is on a bit of a hiatus as you can probably tell haha but I will be back to writing more in the new year!
Thank you for bringing this to my attention! Iāll have a look at Pt. 2 and make some edits there - it will happen as soon as Iām able to sit down and update it
This is something I do try very hard to be mindful of! I do try to be gender neutral most of the time, especially when specified gn reader, but unfortunately sometimes it slips through because like most fanfic writers I am writing for myself (if that makes sense?) and in my brain when I imagine this stuff itās from the perspective of a cis girl so sometimes that perspective leaks through where I donāt mean it to
Iām sorry a few have slipped through! I donāt have anyone or all the time and resources to edit my writing for that sort of stuff but I really appreciate you letting me know! For anyone who notices this stuff I will never be offended if you drop an ask or a comment and lmk where I missed - pronouns, clothing, appearance or anything else. If anyone has any advice too Iād love to hear it
Sorry very long winded response anon lol I just finished a 12 hour shift so my brain is fried but thank you for being so lovely! š
Update! I have gone through and editted every chapter so hopefully now it's all the correct pronouns and that. Again thank you anon for bringing this to my attention and if anyone notices anything I missed please lmk :)
Also I could not for the life of me find where I wrote bra, I hunted every chapter and ctrl F'd that shit and couldn't find it lol so if i did miss it and anyone happens to catch it please lmk like the sentance or something so i can fix it
Iāve loved your Schlatt x childhood friend gn reader series! I adore your writing and Iām absolutely hooked! The only thing Iāve noticed is how often fem terms come up, like she/her pronouns, āgirlā, bra mention in pt 2(?), stuff like that slipping in. As a nonbinary person Iāve adored the series and having a GN reader, and I donāt wanna push you to change anything, just hopefully to keep an eye out in the future! Hope youāre well and I canāt wait to see what else you make :)
Hello anon!
Thank you for your ask this is very sweet! Iām so glad youāre liking the series!
It is on a bit of a hiatus as you can probably tell haha but I will be back to writing more in the new year!
Thank you for bringing this to my attention! Iāll have a look at Pt. 2 and make some edits there - it will happen as soon as Iām able to sit down and update it
This is something I do try very hard to be mindful of! I do try to be gender neutral most of the time, especially when specified gn reader, but unfortunately sometimes it slips through because like most fanfic writers I am writing for myself (if that makes sense?) and in my brain when I imagine this stuff itās from the perspective of a cis girl so sometimes that perspective leaks through where I donāt mean it to
Iām sorry a few have slipped through! I donāt have anyone or all the time and resources to edit my writing for that sort of stuff but I really appreciate you letting me know! For anyone who notices this stuff I will never be offended if you drop an ask or a comment and lmk where I missed - pronouns, clothing, appearance or anything else. If anyone has any advice too Iād love to hear it
Sorry very long winded response anon lol I just finished a 12 hour shift so my brain is fried but thank you for being so lovely! š
Thank you to all the lovely people who have reached out asking for updates and sending their concern!
I promise I havenāt abandoned tumblr, Iāve just been having some health problems Iāve been dealing with that has made me put my witting on hiatus
I am having a surgery this coming week, which is fairly intensive (and expensive š) but Iām hoping that this will mark the end of this stupid chapter
The recovery is fairly intense but Iām hoping that once the surgery is done Iāll be able to start writing again while I canāt work
I am sorry for everyone who has made requests that I havenāt gotten to! I see you, I promise I will get to them!
Thank you all for the patience, I will be back with vengeance, I miss writing for you all!
Just watched episode 8 of season 2 of Andor and spoilers under the cut
SYRIL MY BELOVED NOOOOOOOOO ššš
It was the most satisfying, heartbreaking confrontation between him and Cassā and so gut wrenching watching him realise the part he played in all of this
He is such a tragic tale of centrism and male rage and the flaws of right wing extremism and cognitive dissonance
