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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 wasn’t unusual for James, he’s sure that at the best of times his sleep schedule was fucked from working so many nights at comedy clubs, but he’d thought by now his body would have adjusted but clearly not. He’d come off a week in Edinburgh and had been buzzing with excitement to finally get his own bed, his own couch, his own house… and you.
You - his flatmate of a few years now, close friend’s he’d say now, luckily enough to get on well when he found you on some flatmate Facebook group he joined. You’d lived together in 3 different apartments – 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.
He’d been more excited than anything to come home to you, just to see you again – even a week away was too long in his eyes – but all he came home to was a note on the fridge and a half deflated welcome home balloon.
“Went down to Leeds to look at FROGS!!!” 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. He’s sent about a dozen of them, trying to convince himself in between bouts of pacing the hallway that he wasn’t 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. You’re wearing a pair of shorts that can barely be excused for shorts, a jumper that’s nearly drowning you, teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you stared intently at the microwave, heating up what he’s 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 he’d imagined you all along. But no, you’re 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 it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.
“Hey,” 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, “oh shit.” 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. He’s worried you’ll be annoyed, but you just seem to buffer, caught between him and the noodles he’s 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 he’s 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 – giddy with a hilarity he doesn’t 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 he’s finished cleaning the noodles, watching your hair bounce with each soft giggle that passes from your lips. You lift your head when you’ve regained your composure, lifting your gaze up, chin finding purchase on his shoulder. You’re 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.
“Hi,” you murmur, another giggle bursting from your mouth before you can stop it, the smile pulling on Jame’s 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 ‘hey’.
“Are you stoned?” 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 weren’t a giveaway everything else would be.
“Joey made brownies,” 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, “I had mine before the bus home.”
James huffs a laugh, embracing your touch now as he wraps an arm gently around his back, “is that all you brachiotologists do?” he asks, brushing her hair back into a makeshift ponytail with his free hand that falls back the second he move it away.
“Batrachology student,” you correct gently, he feels your nose scrunch up where it’s pressed against his clothed chest, “and half the camp were botany majors anyway.”
“Makes sense they’re bringing bud I suppose.”
“I brought you back some if you want,” you offer, with a lazy hand wave in the direction of your bedroom, “they’re in one of my kits.”
“I’ll steal some once you unpack,” he says with another laugh, softer now, not wanting you to get up and move away from his hold to go find them. He’s waited two weeks to be back with you, and now not only are you home, but you’re pressed up against him. If it wasn’t for the pins and needles beginning to radiate up his leg he’d stay here forever.
“Should we find a more comfortable place to perch you?” 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. “Seriously?” he asks, which only makes you pout. He sighs as if it’s a herculean task, but he knows he’s not kidding himself, he’d do anything for you, especially when you pout like that.
So he hauls himself up, ungracefully he’s 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 he’s sure you’d like, as you let him clasp his hands around your forearms and guide, more than pick, you up. Once you’re standing, you’re back against him again, with a whine of protest as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Couch?” he asks and that same sound pulls from your lips again as you cling to him tighter. He knows what you’re asking, and he’s sure he’s 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 he’s 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 doesn’t want you to think he thinks you’re heavy - he’s in heaven right now actually, holding you this close – it’s the way you’ve chosen to cling to him that’s limiting his ability to walk in anything more than a sort of sumo squat shuffle. He’s so glad you can’t see this right now.
As soon as he feels his shins hit soft couch, he’s dropping you, coming down with you when you don’t 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 doesn’t 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 he’s 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 – your tone a soft drawl that lulls him deeper into the couch, as though he’s the one who took the edibles. He keeps you on topic as much as possible, asking questions he’s 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 – 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 – promising to come to the next one now that you’re back. He tells you how it went, how good most of them were, the few bombs he had that you reassure him about – 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.
“But you know, I thought of you mostly,” 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 he’s gone.
Any anxiety that was building crashes deep in his stomach into embarrassment when you just reply with a sleepy, “I know.” He’s silent for a moment, he can feel you watching him, feel the blush rise to his cheeks, “you sent twelve texts.”
“Should’ve replied,” he says, faux accusingly, raising his eyebrows and shooting you a glare that he hopes is playful.
“would’ve if I could’ve,” you say, yawning again, “it was nice getting all twelve at once when I got reception again.”
“Nice?”
Again, you hum, leaning into his side deeper, “I like knowing you were thinking about me.”
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 he’s sure you’d be calling the landlord tomorrow and asking to break your lease early.
“I missed you,” 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.
“I missed you too.”
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 that’s coursing through James body. He doesn’t know if it’s the weed or him or what that’s making you so calm, but it’s 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 apartment’s front door.
“James,” 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 doesn’t pull back from this time. This close he can see all of you. The colours swirling in your iris’s, deep and glossy but drinking him in just as much as he is you. Lashes thick and smudged with yesterday’s mascara, that little crease between your eyebrow’s that’s grown deeper over the years he’s known you, that small little birthmark above your right temple that disappears into your hairline. His eyes can’t 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 can’t 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, “wanna see some pictures of frogs?”
Something that the men who argue that “oh I could beat a female athlete easily” bullshit is that winning a SINGULAR match doesn’t 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 you’re 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 you’ll get tired and tap out after 2 weeks.
Just a random thought but some guy at the pub was pissing me off
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I’m genuinely curious about people’s opinions on this. Why do people put “don’t interact if you’re not *insert specific gender I wrote this fic for*” in their fics?
Like I understand the, “minors dni”, 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 don’t think it’s 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 “SHE/HER’s do not engage” 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 you’re 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 can’t write a story to feel personal enough and sometimes when I’m 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 let’s 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 aren’t 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 it’s coming from the most unlikely places. Australia is producing indie, ska, punk, mob singer song writers and blues groups. It’s 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!!
I’ve loved your Schlatt x childhood friend gn reader series! I adore your writing and I’m absolutely hooked! The only thing I’ve noticed is how often fem terms come up, like she/her pronouns, “girl”, bra mention in pt 2(?), stuff like that slipping in. As a nonbinary person I’ve adored the series and having a GN reader, and I don’t wanna push you to change anything, just hopefully to keep an eye out in the future! Hope you’re well and I can’t wait to see what else you make :)
Hello anon!
Thank you for your ask this is very sweet! I’m so glad you’re 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! I’ll have a look at Pt. 2 and make some edits there - it will happen as soon as I’m 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 it’s from the perspective of a cis girl so sometimes that perspective leaks through where I don’t mean it to
I’m sorry a few have slipped through! I don’t 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 I’d 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! 💜
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
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I’ve loved your Schlatt x childhood friend gn reader series! I adore your writing and I’m absolutely hooked! The only thing I’ve noticed is how often fem terms come up, like she/her pronouns, “girl”, bra mention in pt 2(?), stuff like that slipping in. As a nonbinary person I’ve adored the series and having a GN reader, and I don’t wanna push you to change anything, just hopefully to keep an eye out in the future! Hope you’re well and I can’t wait to see what else you make :)
Hello anon!
Thank you for your ask this is very sweet! I’m so glad you’re 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! I’ll have a look at Pt. 2 and make some edits there - it will happen as soon as I’m 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 it’s from the perspective of a cis girl so sometimes that perspective leaks through where I don’t mean it to
I’m sorry a few have slipped through! I don’t 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 I’d 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! 💜
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Just watched episode 8 of season 2 of Andor and spoilers under the cut
SYRIL MY BELOVED NOOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭
It was the most satisfying, heartbreaking confrontation between him and Cass’ 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
A bittersweet reunion as Erik struggles to adjust to his new normal
Warnings: suggestive, no smut, crying, panic attack, angst
A/N: I was writing a smut but then it turned angsty, not sure how that happened lol but enjoy
This feels unreal. Like he's about to wake up from a dream and find himself back there, laid out on a sleeping bag in the safehouse, the memory of you fading as he's pulled from sleep. But you're here. He's here. And your hand is cupping the side of his face, warm, gentle, loving, touching his face, as you trace his skin with your fingers.
His breath is heaving, hands propping himself up as he hovers over you, straddling your hips as he takes you in, your face, misty-eyed and loving, staring back up at him. He's sure he looks the same, own eyes filled with emotion as he stares down at you, lips parted as if to speak, struggling to find the words as he just leans down and kisses you.
The kiss is gentle, chaste. Nothing like the ones you shared when he first walked in, when he couldn't stop his mouth from devouring you, desperate. Now he's not desperate. He's nervous.
As his lips press against yours, soft and shy, he can't help but sigh into your mouth when he feels you move against him, your hands trailing down to the side of his neck to hold him close as your lips move against his, guiding him, teaching him again how to kiss you.
How to love you.
He lets you lead, following you as he kisses you, his body slowly remembering that this feeling is what his normal was, what it will be again. You, under him, invading his senses.
All he can feel is you; your lips on his, your soft breath on his lips each time you pull away slightly to breathe, minty and sweet, your delicate hands on him, the soft plush mattress under his shaky hands. He hadn't even realised he was shaking until your hand is trailing down his arm, gently finding his.
"You're shaking," you whisper against his lips when you pull away, eyes fluttering open to look up at him. He just swallows hard, looking down at you as he struggles to find the words to say, sitting back slightly on his knees, he lets you take his trembling hand in yours. "If you're not ready yet..." you trail off, fingers trailing across his cracked knuckles as your eyes trace down his arm.
He swallows hard, before it breaks, the tears trickling down his face, as he sits there frozen, almost embarrassed, as he turns his head and looks away. He hears your breath catch as you watch him cry, he squeezes his eyes shut tighter at the sound, as he tries to rid his chest of the ache that settles deep in there, the hollow feeling that he's trying to let you fill.
He lets your hands find his shoulders, lets you gently pull him down to you until he collapses, hands working their way around your waist as he pulls you into him, holding you with bruising force as he sobs into your neck. He feels your hands around his shoulders as he heaves, breathing out gasps as he lies atop you, his weight pressing into you as he pulls you impossibly close.
"I've got you, baby," you murmur into his temple as your lips find root there, soft and gentle against the side of his face, his heart aching with how gentle your words are. He feels stupid, he feels weak, he feels pathetic. Finally, after all this time, he's back here with you. He has you under him, in your bed again, after all this time away, the way he dreamt about every night, and all he can do is cry.
The feeling is suffocating, closing in on him as he drowns in it all. All the emotions he's been holding back, everything he saw, the feeling of you against him. The good and the bad. It all overwhelms him. He just sobs.
"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice horse and stuttering, "fuck I'm sorry, god this is fucking stupid."
"Don't say sorry," you say firmly but gently as you hold him, easing him down off your hips onto the bed, cradling him against your chest, "you have nothing to say sorry for."
