#luxover

[webgottmilk]

the nonbinary urge to reread Latent Bonding of Devils at War by the amazing @luxover 🥰

[mthofferings2018]

luxover

See luxover’s existing works here and here.

Preferred contact methods: Email - [email protected] Tumblr - luxover

Preferred organizations: See the list of approved organizations here.

National Women’s Law Center

National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

Planned Parenthood

Will create works that contain:

school AUs, other movie cross-overs, non-superhero AUs, fluff, bodyswap, soulmates, amnesia, angst with a happy ending, arranged marriage, breakup, childhood sweethearts, de-aging, domestic, established relationship, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, getting together, getting back together, kidfic, telepathy, time travel

Will not create works that contain:

tentacle!sex, ABO, Regency

-- Fic or other writing --

Auction ID: 323

Will create works for the following relationships:

Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers - MCU Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - MCU Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark - MCU Pepper Potts/Tony Stark- MCU Thor/Loki - MCU Peter Parker & Tony Stark - MCU Clint Barton/Phil Coulson - MCU

Work Description:

Offering fic anywhere from 3-10k, depending on how the mood strikes (or, knowing me, maybe more lol). I'm down with all AUs, Canon!AUs and unlikely crossovers, for the most part. It would be helpful if you gave me two or three prompts to choose from. Feel free to email if you've got prompt questions.

Ratings: G, Teen, Mature

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 21 (12 AM ET) to October 27 (11:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

[ralphspina-blog1]

SAPPY PROMPTS NUMBER EIGHT

8: “Can I touch you?”

got some baberoe here, being slightly ridiculous about how head over heels they are as per usual. ridiculous and adorable.

They move forward in small, shivering increments: small because Eugene has so obviously been in over his head from the moment Babe smiled at him with just a hint of extra warmth, and shivering because even once they escape the deep freeze of Bois Jacques and start to hide in cramped, dusty basements instead of foxholes, Eugene always seems to tremble when Babe gets close.

He’s not scared. Babe knows he’s not scared, and would back off so far he’d land in the ocean if he ever thought that had changed. And it doesn’t even seem like a blushing virgin thing - at least not in the archetypal sense, though Babe wouldn’t be at all surprised if it were true in a more literal one - because there’s no shying away or coy recriminations or even nervous pleas to stop, wait, not yet.

Best as Babe can figure, Eugene just has a way of getting overwhelmed by odd things. The mannever even flinches if a mortar shell explodes a few feet from where he’s seeing to a man’s wound, but Babe shifting the grip of their intertwined hands to drag a thumb lightly across Eugene’s inner wrist is enough to make him gasp. Every time they kiss, Eugene fumbles with his hands a bit before deciding to rest one at the nape of Babe’s neck like always, as if he’s forgotten what to do with them between then and now. It’s sweet, but a little bit nerve-wracking at times, and it makes Babe move forward with much more caution and patience than he thought he could ever give anything.

Eugene is just… he’s different all the way around, and the amazing, breathtaking differences make up for the ones that cause Babe’s own confidence to stumble in its steps.

It’s the eve of the second stupid patrol over that stupid river to get more stupid prisoners and probably lose more men to stupid mistakes when Babe once again seeks out Eugene’s company. They end up in an unused upstairs bedroom this time, sitting side by side on a bed with dust-coated flounces and ruffles that make the entire scene a bit ludicrous, bodies turned inward so that they can share kiss after breathless, pulse-jolting kiss. Babe’s teeth find Eugene’s lower lip before he can think at all about what he’s doing, the morbid futility of the night’s coming events making him more urgent than usual, and Eugene gasps so loudly at the light nip that he jerks away with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Gene, I’m sorry, I didn’t - I wasn’t thinkin’,” he babbles out with what he hopes is a reassuring smile, not a panicked one. He thinks his heart might actually have stopped as he waits for Eugene to answer, but then Eugene reaches up a hand to touch the spot where Babe bit him with a deeply pensive expression, and just watching makes Babe shiver like he’s the one brushing a finger over Eugene’s mouth.

Who’s overwhelmed now? He thinks to himself. Get it together, Babe.

“S’alright,” Eugene finally says with his own quiet but rigidly firm brand of certainty. “S’alright, Babe, I -”

Babe searches Eugene’s face for some sort of answers when he falls silent again, but aside from general impressions like upset or confused or lost in thought, that face is a lock box - it’s sometimes possible to guess his emotions, but never his thoughts. “Gene,” he says hesitantly, shifting close enough that their legs press together from hip to knee, and either the sound of his name or the new point of contact snaps Eugene right out of his reverie; he looks Babe dead in the eye, expression serious as a heart attack, and says something that nearly causes Babe to pass out cold where he sits.

“Babe, can I touch you?”

For what feels like an eternity, all Babe can do is open his mouth and close it again, and he gets a very good idea of how foolish he looks from how quickly Gene’s serious expression turns amused. “C-Can you?” He finally manages to sputter out with a high-pitched, disbelieving laugh. “You’re askin’ permission? You think I’d ever say no to that?”

“I dunno,” Eugene says, right back at serious again as he considers the question. “You’re always real careful with me. Figure I oughta give you the same courtesy… right?”

This time, Babe’s laugh is warm with baffled but overwhelming affection, the sort he always feels when Eugene says things like that. “Nah, Gene, that’s just ‘cause you’re always so nervous. You don’t gotta be careful with me.”

“I ain’t nervous.”

Before Babe has a chance to respond or even react to those words, Eugene’s hands find the bottom of his coat and then the hem of his shirt, and he shudders from head to toe when he feels them press warm and soft against his bare abdomen. So soft for a soldier’s hands, but then, he’s a medic - the fruits of his labor aren’t calluses but dark red-brown lines criscrossing his palms where the blood of other men has been ground in too deep to scrub clean, and still there’s something so pure about his touch that Babe feels it right to his very soul.

Healing hands. Is this what those words mean? He closes his eyes, listens to the slow heave of his breathing until Eugene speaks again: “It ain’t a case of bein’ nervous. Everything just - feels so good. I can’t help reactin’ like I do.”

He slides his hands around to Babe’s sides, drags them partway down, then wraps his arms right around Babe’s middle to stroke the small of his back. Babe can’t catch his breath; his heart’s racing so fast he swears it’s starting to hurt. And Eugene hasn’t even really done anything that could be called suggestive.

“Was it the shakin’ made you think so?”

“Huh?” Blinking heavily, Babe drags himself out of pure sensation to focus on Eugene’s question. “Yeah, I - just that, an’ -”

A few seconds pass without Babe showing any sign that he plans to finish his thought. Eugene finally says, a smile in his voice: “You’re shakin’ right now.”

And God, he is. He hasn’t stopped since that first shudder. He pulls back just enough to capture Eugene’s lips in another kiss, one that makes his toes curl and a moan catch in the back of his throat, then shivers even harder when Eugene’s hands shift to get a solid grip on his waist and his nails bite ever so slightly into bare skin.

Eugene, of course, is the one who eventually pulls away to talk some sense: “Whatever we’re startin’ here, I don’t know that we’re gonna get the chance to finish it,” he says with genuine regret tugging at his voice. “Not how we’d like, not right now.”

“But sometime? We will?” For someone who’s always considered himself a bit of a ladykiller, Babe can’t believe how pathetically eager he sounds as he asks that question. But Eugene is different, in every single way.

“Yeah,” he says, averting his eyes with a small, shy smile. “Sometime we will.”

[harrywelsh]

luxover replied to your post “the most dangerous weapon you can wield as a californian is a car”

wtf is wrong with californian drivers?? no one gives the wave!! NO ONE GIVES THE WAVE!!!

i don’t even know what that is!

[despitethebite]

22 👀

22. who was your childhood favourite music artist?

i was raised on bollywood, so probably like sonu nigam or asha bhosle. lata was on all the time at home. when we moved to america, the first two songs i had on cassette tape were careless whisper by george michael & unbreak my heart by toni braxton. #Formative.

[nostalgicatsea]

brad/ray first meeting or brad/ray matching tattoos

“Homes,” Ray said, sprawled on the couch and clearly bored out of his mind, “I think we should get matching tattoos.”

“Absolutely not,” Brad replied without thinking. 

Sometimes Ray got like this, talking his mouth off about something stupid without really meaning anything he said, and it was like white noise to him now, just like whatever trash reality show Ray kept putting on in the background was.

Brad glanced at the screen before returning to his book, flipping a page. Punk’d. He hated that he even knew what that was.

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t want a completely original, one-of-a-kind design by yours truly?”

“I said no, Ray.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Geez, Brad, give me some fucking credit. I’m not saying we should get huge ‘I heart RP’ and ‘I heart BC’ tattoos. I’d go for something classy,” he said as though he weren’t covered in dumb tattoos.

Brad dropped the book in his lap and turned to face Ray. “And what would a Whiskey Tango social reject like yourself know about classy?” He stared pointedly at the messy bowl of nachos and guac Ray had balanced on his chest, right below his chin for easy access, because he was too lazy to sit up and eat properly like a normal human being.

Ray wasn’t letting go of this for some reason, and it was getting under his skin. Ray knew him. He was career; he couldn’t risk getting caught, especially not over some tacky gesture that only dumb pussy fucks who were insecure enough about their relationship that they needed to broadcast it to the entire world resorted to.

Ray pointed a finger at him, nearly dislodging the bowl from his chest. “I know we shouldn’t be tramp stamp twins. Hey, we can get something hot! Like a babe with a big rack to pair off with the lady on your back,” he said as though they hadn’t just debated whether he knew what classy even was. “And when you’re lying in your grave at night, lonely and horny, you can jerk one out, looking at her and thinking of your old pal Ray-Ray back at home.”

And Brad finally got it, the reason Ray was asking. It wasn’t as though Ray could send him photos of himself or even write letters that said too much. He thought that Ray might want to do that if he could, give Brad a piece of himself to get through long tours, be there with him in whatever way he could because he couldn’t physically be at his side as his RTO anymore.

“You can choose something yourself if you’re that anal about it,” Ray said magnanimously. “I’m not that picky.”

Brad thought about it, about the idea of choosing something to be inked on Ray’s skin. He didn’t know the shape of it yet, didn’t know what it would look like, just that he would pick a tattoo that was small and simple. Nothing romantic or sappy, but one that would mean something to the both of them because if they were going to do this, he sure as shit wasn’t going to go for something stupid.

It would be somewhere discreet. He would put his hand there, on Ray’s hip maybe or his back, nothing much behind the touch, just a tap, and know it was there and he was the one who put it there. He would touch it through the cotton of Ray’s shirt, and he would know what he was doing and Ray would know what he was doing, but no one else would. No one would be any the wiser; they wouldn’t know what it meant, that it meant that he belonged to Ray and Ray belonged to him.

He thought of Ray sprawled on his back just as he was now, except under him and naked, thought of the way Ray would look when he pressed down on Ray’s tattoo, indenting the skin there to the point that his nails dug into it.

He thought of the way Ray would look as he did that and the way he always looked, for Brad and no one else.

Mine, he thought.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, and Ray smiled, showing all of his fucked up teeth that Brad loved so much, as though he knew that he had already won.

[moonshynecybin]

@luxover I hate them with my Whole And Complete Being

[harrywelsh]

luxover replied to your post “luxover replied to your post “the most dangerous weapon you can...”

oh my god @ the both of you. and people say new york drivers are savages. i mean like, giving a wave to someone who lets you merge in, as a thanks/acknowledgment that they specifically slowed to let you in!! THE WAVE!!! this was literally the most upsetting thing to me when i moved out to socal

oh that makes sense

for the record the concept of waving politely in acknowledgement is NOT entirely unheard of in rural norcal at the very least, we just didn’t have a name for it