#sgtjamesrogers

[astromechs]

📂📂📂 three pls :)

1) han solo is a huge gossip, a bitch who lives for drama, and the biggest shipper of people around him. he's like constantly 👀 at his surroundings, trying to figure out who's together and who's not.

2) adrian chase, as vigilante, murdered people for taylor swift eras tour tickets.

3) related to the above, he and eagly had a nice time at the show :)

send me a 📂, get a random and useless headcanon!

[handwritten-verse]

Handwritten | Niall/Harry | 31k | Explicit

University of Manchester AU

Read here on Ao3.

[astromechs]

AHHHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAY i can't believe i didn't wish you one when i saw your post earlier bUT I HOPE IT'S EXACTLY THE BIRTHDAY YOU'D LIKE IT TO BE!!

thank you!!!! 💞 i did have to go to work but i'm minimizing my working ghfhf

[astromechs]

first potential prompt for your kinktober challenge, maybe butcher and hughie, praise kink directed at hughie, with hughie topping? and second potential prompt- annie and maeve, with maybe body worship directed at maeve? sorry both of these are the boys prompts lol

ok! so i took the annie and maeve route because kinktober desperately needed some wlw content in this joint 😂 i've also literally never written for this canon before lmao help

full fic under cut; also on ao3!

If you'd asked the Annie of five years ago to guess where she'd be by now, pretty much everything about her current status wouldn't have even made the list. Back then, beyond some far-flung dream that she's now not sure had ever been her own, she couldn't have imagined ever being a member of the Seven, much less being a former member — and active target of Vought. She couldn't have imagined the darkness of that world, the struggle to try to keep bringing the light against it, the days in the shadows and the nights in safe houses.

But maybe most of all, she couldn't have imagined that she'd ever be sitting here, drinking cheap root beer on a battered couch with the woman who'd been her hero.

No, Annie thinks. Still is.

Because she hates to even use the word, tainted by a bunch of stupid Vought propaganda now, but what Maeve had done during the whole… thing with Soldier Boy and Homelander, and how she’d endured long before that, truly had been brave. She’d put her ass on the line, had lost an eye for her trouble, and deserves, maybe more than anyone, one of those absolute fucking fairytale endings.

Only that’s not how the real world works, is it? Not while Vought maintains its grip over it. As long as that’s true, heroes — real heroes — continue to get shit flung at them as long as they can still stand up to take it. Even officially, legally dead, Maeve is still taking it; there’s something about the way she carries herself, head just a little bowed and shoulders sagging, and Annie can swear that she sees a glint of sadness in her one remaining eye whenever she catches a glimpse.

And besides, if she wasn’t? She certainly wouldn’t be here, sweltering in this mousehole with no air conditioning, drinking what’s barely a grade above piss.

Annie doesn’t ask, though; she doesn’t dare ask anything at all. In fact, after a silence has lingered between them for an hour, at least (it’s hard to tell how long, exactly), Maeve is the one to break it first.

"Where's that twink of yours?"

With root beer halfway down her throat, mostly out of shock at hearing Maeve’s voice say anything at all, Annie coughs. It takes her a minute to recover and clear her throat. She turns, slowly, and is even slower with the follow up. "You mean Hughie?"

In lieu of actually answering, Maeve tips her bottle up to her mouth for another swig. But just when Annie thinks the silence will stick around forever, there’s more. "I don't think I've ever seen you without him following you around like some fucking puppy."

"He's...." Annie blows out a long breath through her mouth. Stalling. She knows she’s stalling, just like she knows she’s been dodging actually saying anything when anyone asks for weeks now. Shady behavior — learned from shady people. She sighs again. "Somewhere halfway across the world. With Butcher." A beat; she swallows. "We're taking a break. Figuring things out."

It feels like she’s been hanging on to that slowly ticking bomb for weeks, but when it finally detonates, it doesn’t make her feel any better.

Maeve, for her part, has the decency not to say anything to that. Instead, she presses her lips together, hums faintly.

They could leave the conversation there. For a lot of reasons, it’d probably be smarter to. But  — Annie lifts her eyes, fixing her gaze on Maeve. Asks: "Where's Elena?"

It’s hard to miss the way that Maeve’s jaw clenches.

"We're taking a break," she ends up saying, a humorless imitation, completely devoid of emotion. "Figuring things out." This time when she tips the bottle back up, she downs the remainder of its contents in a single gulp.

"Oh." Something, a horrible, sick feeling that half feels like guilt, claws into Annie’s throat. She drops her eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She hears, more than sees, Maeve lift a shoulder in a shrug. "It's not your fucking fault. Just have some shit to deal with."

And that should be that; she’s done more than enough damage, anyway.

Maeve seems to agree, from the way she stands from the couch, sets her empty bottle down onto the shitty coffee table in front of them, stretches her arms over her head, and says, “It’s late. I’m going to bed.”

Yeah, Annie’s just going to let this one go; that’s what’s best for everyone here. Only….

“Wait.” Annie stands, too, in just enough time to reach out for Maeve and grab her by the arm. There’s something buzzing under Annie’s skin; not electricity, no, because she knows exactly what that feels like, but something that won’t stop buzzing until —

She surges forward, pressing her mouth to Maeve’s.

If you’d asked the Annie of five years ago to guess what the fuck she’d be doing now, this definitely wouldn’t have made the list. At least not a realistic list; this would’ve been confined to a list of idle fantasies good Christian girls don’t talk about that would never happen in a million years, anyway.

Maeve is surprised, too, clearly, from the faint noise that she makes against Annie’s lips, but she… doesn’t push her away. No, after just a second of hesitation, Maeve dives in, parting Annie’s lips with her tongue, drawing a gasp out of her before she’s rendered completely breathless.

The grip on Maeve’s arm tightens, nails digging into skin, and it’s the only thing that keeps Annie’s knees from buckling under her. They break apart only to pull shirts over heads and toss them to the floor, to unfasten jeans and send them toward the same fate, with panties soon to follow.

Under her skin, she’s buzzing, buzzing.

And at just the moment Annie believes she might actually tip over, Maeve oh so heroically lifts her off of her feet, lowering her back onto the couch, straddling her. It’s a scene playing out, right in front of her eyes, that had definitely been in a fantasy or two once upon a time.

But —

“No.” Voice hoarse, Annie shakes her head, but then quickly follows up with: “Let me. I —” She swallows, wetting her lips. They still taste like Maeve, she realizes; something warm pools in her core. “I wanna….” She still can’t figure out how to say it. Fuck; she knows she’s going red all over, like some stupid teenager who’s never done anything before, and making a total fucking fool out of herself. But, she considers, Maeve could’ve pushed herself up off of the couch and left at any time — and she’s still here. That counts for something.

So, after inhaling a deep breath, and flicking her gaze up to meet Maeve’s one good eye, Annie finishes, voice as steady as she can manage: “Let me.”

Even if she doesn’t exactly have the words to finish the thought, the message gets across just the same. She could swear that she sees a smile tug faintly on Maeve’s mouth as she pulls away, giving Annie just enough space to move. With some shifting, and some maneuvering on this old, beat up couch, she lowers Maeve down onto her back, careful not to bear too much weight as she positions herself on top of her.

Fuck, Annie thinks. Even in this light, even with all the depressing dinginess around them, Maeve is so fucking beautiful like this, with her hair splayed all over the couch’s old throw pillow, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. There are scars scattered over her skin; a map of reminders that a body should leave behind, without Compound V getting in the way. They make her even more beautiful, a sight better than anything she could’ve possibly ever dreamed of.

With the real thing in front of her, she’s not going to waste any more time.

Diving in to press her mouth to Maeve’s neck, with a hint of teeth and tongue, she dips a hand between her legs — and a finger past her folds. The effect is immediate; she feels Maeve arch against her touch, hears a moan claw out from her throat. Encouraged, she presses on, kissing a slow line down the other woman’s chest, before rolling her tongue over a nipple.

That’s where she remains, taking her time, appreciating just as Maeve deserves. Adding another finger, she begins to fuck her with them — slowly at first, then harder. Faster.

Above them, she’s vaguely aware that the lights have dimmed; electricity hums through Annie’s skin instead, spreading to her fingers. Jolting into the connection between them. Moans turn, and —

She lifts her head just in time to watch Maeve come apart.

It’s her face, mostly, that makes this a sight she can’t take her eyes off of, one that she won’t forget as long as she’s alive — however long that may be. All the edges and the harsh lines that come with seeing too much are all but disappeared; it’s a good look on her, Annie thinks.

For the moment, she can ignore the need building in her own core; she’s content just to be here, with the privilege of getting to witness something like this.

The air is silent between them, save for a chorus of mingling breaths. At least until Maeve cracks open her one good eye, lifts a brow, and asks, with more than a twinge of disbelief:

"Where'd a God-fearing girl from bumfuck nowhere learn how to do that?" Annie allows the faintest smirk to tug on her mouth. "Oh, you haven’t seen half of what I know how to do."

[astromechs]

7 and 27 for that movie meme!

7. a guilty pleasure

i don't apologize for anything, but maybe i should apologize for how many times i've watched the room. YOU'RE TEARING ME APART LISA

27. a movie you hate

avatar (2009), like. girl bye. don't give a shit about that sequel.

film questions!

[astromechs]

for the fic trope grading-

fake dating, waking up married in vegas, and a very general 'fated by the universe soulmates/soulmarks' trope since it's been done so many times in different ways

fake dating — A; cannot get enough of that trope. why haven't i written more of it. it's my weakness!

waking up married in vegas — A! another classic. never gets old.

soulmates — this one is so widely variable for me that i'm gonna give it a C. some authors have done a really neat job with it (shout out to this fic for having a particularly interesting take on the concept!), but other times i'm not that into it. it really just depends!

fic trope grading

[astromechs]

🌹🌹 please have two for the indignity of me not sending this last night thank u

But that’s neither here nor there; he has more important things to focus on. Like —

“Dude, what the fuck?” His eyes are narrowed as he peers up at Adrian, because, well, what else is he supposed to do in this situation? “Why would you try to kill a ghost? It’s already fuckin’ dead. Total waste of ammo.”

send me a 🌹 and i'll give you a sentence excerpt from a wip i'm writing!

[perlaret]

45, 54, and 74 for the writing ask meme!

45. Do you want to break your readers‘ heart or make them laugh?

i mean, ideally both! looking at my own oeuvre, think i am stronger at heartbreak in general, because of the specific ways i love digging into the emotional meat and consequences of things presented by canon, and often that leads to content that often leans heavier. that said, i think any good run at breaking a reader’s heart often require moments of levity and catharsis, so i try to break it up 😌 however i do really enjoy more comedic concepts too, especially scenarios where i can play crack straight. (my one Poe Dameron/Original Male-Presenting Starship That Gains Sapience And A Human Body fic comes immediately to mind)

54. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

if we are interpreting this question as strictly the writing process, then probably the puzzle aspect of aligning where stuff fits in relation to canon and getting things spaced and paced properly. there’s nothing more satisfying than picking things apart and piecing them back together until it just WORKS

if we are including the overall experience of fanfic writing, then absolutely finally publishing and reading comments and getting people’s reactions after i’ve posted something i’m proud of 🥰 the interactive/community part of fanfic is one of the biggest draws of it for me

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

hmm i tend to be light on setting and visual details - this is usually what i go back and edit in through multiple passes. run-on sentences galore. characters who are feeling one thing, thinking another, and then actually saying a third different thing all at once. avoiding emotions or creating distance by focusing on extraneous or external details. oftentimes i’ll try to bring the start and end of a story full-circle in some way.

Ask me writing questions!