...As if part of him was left behind in Starfall Forest. ✨ Sideblog for the Love and Deepspace brainrot 🌠 pfp and banner art commissioned from @LenacchiArt
what's up i'm Lumina and I’m old and gay. have you heard the good word? It’s my Xavier pussy agenda 🤲✨
💓 KINKTOBER PROMPT LIST
MY FIC ⋄ MY EDITS ⋄ YAPPING (aka meta) ⋄ soft xavier hours
“Soft Xavier Extremist” title used not to dismiss Xavier’s duality, but rather as a response to the over-popularization of Western heteronormative gender standards placing him into a box of performative masculinity that tends to result in portraying him with empty aggression or an uncharacteristically controlling persona. Sure, Xavier is strong and intimidating, intense sometimes during intimacy, but the extremities this is taken in fandom elude me. In contrast, I beseech you consider the following for a refreshing change of narrative: Aloof Xavier calling you to pick him up from a Situation™ he's found himself in[1], Xavier with brainfog[2], Xavier performing non-sexual intimacy[3], Xavier embracing his femininity at your suggestion[4], Xavier embracing his creativity[5], Xavier's easygoing nature in the face of his stoic immortality[6]. Remember, all these sides of Xavier belong to only us!
Tag Directory (📱 MOBILE) ⋄ Tag Directory (🖥️ DESKTOP)
BLUESKY ✦ TWITTER
little pancake by @stardustdusting
Just a silly little drabble since I'm not gonna have time for a proper fic this week! Also the banner for this is taking me out lmao SYLUS 😭😭😭
Bad Hair Day
(or, 'literally the best day ever!!' ~ Luke and Kieran)
Sylus x gn!Reader, 650 words.
“Did it hurt, Sylus?”
“When I fell from heaven?”
“When you got struck by lightning.”
Sylus frowns. You snap a picture as he looks up from a data pad, mid-peruse of the news. He’s only mildly perturbed, mind you, not outright confused; the distinction has always been sacred. Confusion implies he’s in the dark, and—morning affairs in digital fine-print before him— Sylus is never, ever, in the dark about anything.
“Lightning, sweetie?” he fishes idly. “I’ll bite. You… felt a spark when you looked at me, hm? There’s electricity in the air?”
You rest your chin in your hand. “Why’re you so convinced I’m making a pass at you?”
“Every word from your mouth is a pass at me, kitten. I’ve learned to live with it.”
“He says, in a whorish silk robe.”
He tuts as he sips at his coffee. “It’s sophisticated.”
Is it sophisticated? “It’s halfway down your shoulder, Sylus.”
With a flicker of a sideways glance, he regards the wine-red silk bunched precariously at the top of his arm. Silk that slips another few centimetres when he shrugs. “Oops.”
Your lips are a thin line as you raise your own mug up to them, making Sylus chuckle. It’s a rich, self-indulgent sound— so hedonistic, so pleased with itself. Silently, you press a few quick buttons on your phone, then thrust it towards him:
The picture you’d taken.
Sylus’s chuckle cuts out like someone has gripped his throat and squeezed.
In the image and in life, his hair is a mess: points jutting out every imaginable angle. It looks deliberate— fixed with gel, spray, or perhaps a spontaneous desire to be a talking point at breakfast— but his eyes are sharp with curiosity as he pats at his head. Is his hair really—? Yes, he can feel it under his hand.
Now that’s confusion, soft-bellied and exposed. You don’t know when you’ll have this chance again, so you take the shots you can, rapid-fire, no mercy:
“You look like you fell asleep in a washing machine. Like you were practicing alchemy, and it blew up in your face. Ooh, ooh! You look like a toilet brush that’s been used to scrub seven million toilets.”
Sylus hums as he pokes a hair tuft. “How… colourful.”
“Seriously, Sy. I know you’re a deep sleeper, but you’d think something was nesting in there, the way that—”
You gasp.
A little preoccupied, Sylus misses the ember. By the time he gazes up, sensing warmth and danger, it’s too late to stamp on it. He tries, anyway. “No. No. Kitten? No.”
…
“Hold still, Sylus!”
Mephisto wobbles on Sylus’s head, hunkering down for stability with a chirp.
“Take your time, sweetie,” Sylus grimaces, claws in his scalp as you take so many more pictures than necessary.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m almost done… try, uh… try to look really grumpy, yeah? Like you wanna kill me. Can you do that, Sy?”
He can’t, actually. He might be bleeding, ridiculed, but there’s light in his eyes as he watches you laugh and fuss over the composition of his downfall. When you say something about the rule of thirds, you catch his lip quirking; he’s trying not to smile.
You lower your phone, grinning. “Okay. I’ve got it.”
Sylus lifts Mephisto from his head— plonking him down on the kitchen counter, then finally, finally, tending to his hair. He mumbles as he smooths it back down, guiding silver-white curls with his fingers: “The things I do for you, kitten. Just make sure the twins don’t see it, hm? I couldn’t care less what they think, but the headaches, oh, they’d never let me hear the end of—”
Across Onychinus’s base, someone shrieks with laughter. Sylus flinches.
You glance up from your phone, where your group chat with Luke and Kieran is open. “Hmm? Say that again, Sy, sorry, I missed it.”
