#felsfic
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u-andcloud.bsky.social
thread for my #ffxivwrite2026 entries! links will mostly be to ellipsus for now. excited to try this for the first time :)
#felsfic
A gpose screenshot of Lysander in a deep red lab coat, paging through a book, with the text FFXIV Write 2026: u_andcloud.bsky.social in the space beside him.
September 2, 2026 at 2:04 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
surely no one is going to overreact in this situation, right, Beatin?

Beatin/OC | T | 4k words #felsfic

🎆 archiveofourown.org/works/91665396
ao3 screenshot: Heartwood by u_andcloud. Summary: in the midst of Gridania's preparations for the Rising, Sylvien goes missing. Surely there is no need to panic.
August 30, 2026 at 6:38 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
weird little drabble about Beatin punching a wood wailer? (with a whiff of pre-relationship sylvbeatin) #felsfic

ellipsus.com/read/7AVWmF8...
that may not help the rumors | Lev | Ellipsus
Ellipsus makes it easy for anyone to write together.
ellipsus.com
July 13, 2026 at 4:22 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Rarepair Week Day 5: Mentor/Sprout

Germinate [G, 1.3k]
🌱 archiveofourown.org/works/86649531

#xivrarepairweek #felsfic #felspose
June 13, 2026 at 3:58 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Rarepair Week Day 4: Denial/Indulgence (A little of both?)

Beatin/oc | 1.5k | M
#xivrarepairweek #felsfic

🔨 archiveofourown.org/works/86611976
ao3 screenshot reading: the tools and the ways by u_andloud. Summary: Not all wood calls for hammer and nails.
June 12, 2026 at 11:34 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
+close-up and snippet
#felsfic
When Irienne's Scion colleagues began to fall into the same stupor that had claimed her brother moons previously, Sylvien was moved to the Rising Stones. Beatin cannot get away to visit him as frequently as he had when Sylvien had lain at Stillglade Fane under the watchful eyes of the conjurers. Gairhard had remarked that it might be for the best—for what could Beatin accomplish sitting at his bedside, staring uselessly at the even rise and fall of his chest? It was better for him to keep busy than to waste away in uncertainty and grief—Sylvien, surely, would say so as well. But he cannot keep away entirely. Though he knows he would have heard had there been any news, the Scions are stretched too thin to contact him otherwise, and Irienne herself has been back and forth between Eorzea and the Far East, certainly busy with matters of even greater import. But with the silence, his anxiety has built to a fever pitch, unable to be placated by any voice of logic, and he knows that before long he will be absolutely useless as the Timbermaster, until he can see Sylvien himself and set the fear at rest. The journey is easy, and will be easier when he can attune to the aetheryte in Mor Dhona’s frontier town, but along the route through the North Shroud and Coerthas, he can only think of Sylvien as the trees pass by. Autumn is beginning to gild the leaves, and when their caravan stops for a break, Beatin steps aside to pluck a few wild apples from a nearby tree. The chocobos angle hopefully towards him, but he tucks the fruit in his bag—a pointless gesture, perhaps, but it pains him to think of Sylvien missing one of his favorite treats of the season entirely. screenshot; close-up of Beatin sitting by a bed, head resting on his clasped hands and elbows on his knees, clenching his teeth.
June 10, 2026 at 10:37 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Rarepair Week, Day 1: Forge
I took a line from a crafting quest I haven't done yet and ran with it....
[G, 2.5k]
archiveofourown.org/works/86385661

#XIVRarepairWeek #felsfic
Ao3 screenshot reading: Branching Out (u_andcloud). Summary: Perhaps it had only been a matter of time before Sylvien took an interest in other crafts."
June 9, 2026 at 1:15 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Wolmeric Week Day 6: Shared Space

The one where they move in together. [G, m/m, 2.5 k]
#felsfic #wolmericweek #wolmericweek2026

archiveofourown.org/works/84349361
Ao3 Screenshot. Quietude by U_andcloud. Summary: The clamor of voices seems to echo loud in Aymeric's ears long after he has left the House of Lords.
May 6, 2026 at 11:02 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Wolmeric Week Day 3: Faith

Just a fic today, the prompt gave me an excuse to finish up something I'd been poking at about the role that faith ends up taking in their relationship.

T | m/m | 1.6k
#felsfic #wolmericweek #wolmericweek2026

❄️ archiveofourown.org/works/84202666
Ao3 screenshot reading: Practicing by u_andcloud. Summary: Though they do not share faith in the Fury, it is no great challenge for Lysander and Aymeric to adjust to one another's beliefs.
May 3, 2026 at 4:53 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Wolmeric Week Day 2: Flowers

It's possible to embarrass Lysander, after all...
(feat. a short fic (G, 600 words)🌹 archiveofourown.org/works/84138886 )

#felspose #felsfic #wolmericweek2026 #wolmericweek
Gpose screenshot of Lysander and Aymeric standing in the Pillars, Lysander with a bouquet of dark red roses in his arms, looking somewhat perplexed, while Aymeric smiles at him fondly.
May 2, 2026 at 3:33 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Holy Water
wolmeric | m/m | E | 2600 words

A not-so-subtle reminder that Lysander likes his boyfriends sweaty.
#felsfic

💦 archiveofourown.org/works/83886251
ao3 screenshot reading: Holy Water Summary: It must get terribly hot inside that costume... [An encounter with the Azure Elephant.]
April 29, 2026 at 4:04 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
i'm excited by actual game stuff i promise, i've just been haunted by some mental images for 3 days 😔 #felsfic
"Yes, alright. Perhaps the heat is getting to me, as well." He drains the remainder of his bottle, and Sylvien reaches to take it from him, though not before trailing his finger up his arm in the process. "It's nice to see you like this, though," he remarks, voice dropping to a purr as he leans a little closer. "Hm? Ah." With one eyebrow arched, Beatin rolls his shoulders. "It should not be an especially surprising view, no?" "Sure, but...the presentation does not hurt." He runs a hand up Beatin's arm, making sure to caress the swell of his muscle, smiling slightly at the memory of countless times that he has benefited from the exertion of the strength now on display. The loose sleeves of his usual smock really shouldn't be forgiven for concealing such a sight, and the close-fitting undershirt does much more to emphasize the breadth of his chest than the peek of his collarbones granted by his usual ensemble. Sylvien lets his gaze linger over all of it, muscle and glistening skin and clinging, sweat-dampened fabric, so he does not take note of Beatin's eyes narrowing thoughtfully behind his glasses, and thus has no warning before Beatin bends slightly, slips an arm around his shoulders, and scoops him up into his arms. "Ah-!" The sound that escapes his throat is somewhere between a yelp and a noise that few aside from Beatin have recently had occasion to hear. Suddenly finding himself horizontal, he reaches instinctively to circle his arms around Beatin's neck, though Beatin hardly needs the extra help to keep him aloft, his arms just as sturdy as they look. Beatin chuckles, and Sylvien twists a little, burying his face against Beatin's neck. "You cannot put me down." "What—ah. Sylvien," he chides. "Beatin," Sylvien shoots back, mimicking his tone. "What did you expect to happen?" transcribed in previous transcribed in previous
April 17, 2026 at 2:57 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
i was looking for something else and i completely forgot about this. family trip to the (great gubal) library. i need to write about them fighting with their stupid terrible not-quite-light-party so so much more. #felsfic
April 14, 2026 at 8:50 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
i'm spending too long trying to fit this into screenshots so let's try this instead. have some dads. #felsfic > ellipsus.com/read/28fnQfs...
"Kid, I can't believe I have to say this," Saunder sighs as he grabs the basket of fruit away from Lysander's side and lifts it out of reach, "those are for the bird. Besides, these things are bitter as all hells, what do you even like about them?" Lysander pouts as he finishes chewing. "Father said they aren't poisonous." "We aren't starving you, are we?" Saunder goes on. "I know you're growing, but really. Those're a pretty penny to import, you know?" "What are we buying such expensive food for the bird for?" Lysander wonders, his voice slightly garbled as he tries to talk while also nudging with his tongue at a piece of apple skin stuck between his teeth. "That would be the logical next question, yes," Valerien calls from where he sits with a book in the shade of the porch. "Excellent observation, Lysander."
March 19, 2026 at 11:54 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
while you were watching the live letter i was tweaking the formatting of this nonsense to get it to fit in four screenshots (re: minx????) #felsfic
"Minx?" Beatin looks up from his workbench with a frown to see Ferreol cresting the stairs with a box of nails in hand, which he sets upon a shelf before arching an eyebrow at Beatin. "Pardon?" "That's what you called him just now. Sylvien." Ferreol pauses, then repeats, "Minx." "I...did not," Beatin says, though he loses confidence halfway through the assertion. Frankly, the prospect of another commission for Gairhard had spun his thoughts into such giddy circles that he could scarcely recall what he had said, or to whom, since the request had arrived that morning. "You did," Ferreol says easily, leaning against the banister. "And honestly, I've been meaning to ask..." "About what?" Beatin says sharply, but Ferreol has known him too long to be fazed. "It's alright to have a favorite, you know," he says with a smile. "Even if you don't admit it." "I was simply referring to our client's seeming infatuation," Beatin returns, since he has finally recalled the context of the incriminating statement. "And Gairhard is right to favor his work, for it is rather—" "Ah-ah, but Gairhard is not the one accusing his apprentice of being a minx," Ferreol interrupts. "And I can't speak for the Serpent Captain, but if anyone has become infatuated, it's—" "Thank you for the nails, Ferreol," Beatin interjects, this time a brusque dismissal. "Might there be a customer waiting in the lobby…?" Ferreol straightens up obligingly, giving a defensive shrug as he turns to do a quick check of the nearby supply shelves, justifying his presence just another moment longer to add, "All I'm saying is that I don't think it would be the worst thing." What wouldn't, Beatin is not able to reply, for the other man has already retreated down the stairs, leaving Beatin alone with a perplexing tangle of feelings in the wake of his former glee. The insinuations are without merit, certainly; though he cannot deny how pleased he is with Sylvien's exceptional progress, and that it has gained recognition from such quarters. It is true, too, that he cannot deny a pang of jealousy at the specificity of the request with regards to the chosen craftsman, Sylvien securing a commission that he himself has sought for so long to no avail— it must be from this seed that his unconscious choice of words had arisen. A slip of the tongue in his excitement, nothing further. Nothing to imply anything…untoward. Of his own attention or Gairhard's—though one could wonder at the Serpent Captain's sudden favoritism, and that Sylvien, skilled but yet green, could truly have earned such preference so quickly on the quality of his work alone— But a strange, hot flush lances through him at the thought, and he swiftly nails a sturdy lid over further such considerations. Gairhard recognizes the boy's ability, just as Beatin himself has, and there is no need to assign any sordid underlying motivations, for either of them. "Timbermaster—" And now Sylvien himself is hopping up the stairs, his quick, dark eyes narrowing in on where Beatin still stands, lost in thought and rather neglecting his present duties. "About the bow…" Sylvien peppers him with queries about securing oak and horn together in such a way that even the strain of a taut bowstring will not part them, and Beatin does his best to be absorbed in the simple joy of enlightening a receptive student, for that is all Sylvien should be—all he is. His attention as a mentor is warranted with an apprentice who absorbs all instruction like a sponge, and if there is any merit to claims of favoritism, it is just that Sylvien is so effortless to teach, free of the preconceptions that so stymie him with other aspiring craftsmen. "I see," Sylvien concludes at last, after Beatin has elaborated upon the techniques in question, supplemented by a sketch on a scrap of drafting paper. "I'll give it a try. Until it's perfect." "Nothing less for Gairhard," Beatin agrees, and to his chagrin, catches a sour note in his own voice, though the demand for perfection had been his own from the start. Sylvien blinks at him, and a smile flutters across his lips. "For Gairhard…right." And then he is gone, and if Beatin's eyes follow him back to his workbench, it is only to gauge the extent of his progress there, nothing more.
March 13, 2026 at 12:35 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
the general consensus does seem to be that we're all too wordy for the snippet feature and i agree. it looks nicer than the notes app i use though i will give it that! #felsfic
With a sigh, Sylvien steps up beside him, his presence going unremarked by the motionless Timbermaster. He glances over the plans--and then, sympathetically, at the discarded rolls of paper spilling from the edge of the desk--and sidles closer until his hip bumps Beatin's shoulder, letting his hand fall gently to the top of his head. Beatin makes a disgruntled noise that softens as he recognizes the interruption, and Sylvien scratches his fingers lightly against his scalp as he scans the sketches, searching for the source of Beatin's distress. In the discarded pages, he can see a nearly indistinguishable design which must differ only by some scant degrees in certain angles of the frame, so he abandons his hunt for a flaw in the work and turns his attention upon the craftsman, instead. "I think I know what's missing," he says thoughtfully, and Beatin tenses. "Though I don't think you are going to like it." Beatin's head lists sideways to rest against his side. "At this point I can weather any critique. Pray tell me." "Well, I warned you," Sylvien says, stroking absently around the shell of his ear, before adding: "Sleep. Yours, darling. Don't think I have not noticed."
March 9, 2026 at 7:45 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
this sort of thing always comes to me day-of, smh. idk where i'm going with it though... #felsfic
Though Lysander ordinarily prides himself on his good habits in the matter of proper rest, he must admit that as the final stages of his thesis absorb him these past few weeks, he has been finding his way later and later to bed. And here, at last, seems to be the proof. He must be seeing things. The Elezen and the Hyur stand in the agora, dressed casually but distinctive in their foreignness nonetheless, for few people here are simply at ease as they are—everyone else has business to accomplish, specimens to deliver, classes to catch. Lysander pauses as he crests the path to the plaza, causing a man behind him to grumble and swerve around him, and he blinks, but the apparition remains, the two of them glancing around, exchanging words, and shaking the tingles of long-distance aetheryte travel from their limbs. There is a bundle in Aymeric’s arms, unidentifiable at this distance. Hien is empty-handed, but looking around more searchingly, and it is he who spots Lysander first. He does not abandon the notion that they are figments of his imagination until they stand directly before him, and Aymeric’s bundle resolves itself into a bouquet of deep red roses, which Lysander gazes at with an utter lack of comprehension while Aymeric leans in to deposit a kiss on his cheek. “Hello, dearest,” he says, with unmistakable amusement in his voice, “I take it that Valentione’s Day is not widely observed in Old Sharlayan?”
February 15, 2026 at 2:38 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
wip wthursday except it's old-ish writing and i was just thinking about it again (gridania episode) #felsfic
It began as an errand. At first, Lysander had thought of nothing but leaving, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the celebratory ceremony announcing the beginning of the Seventh Astral Era. But a favorite jacket of his was beginning to show its wear, and Gridanian leatherworkers are said to be the best, so he had fled to the city he usually did his best to avoid, intending to stay only as long as he needed to repair or replace his garment, and then to move on…elsewhere. But it was strange; he could not pass through Vesper Bay without being accosted from all sides, and Ul’dah was growing increasingly stifling with his renown among the Flames, while Limsa still claimed the honor of “discovering” the Warrior of Light and eagerly welcomed him as a local celebrity, but in Gridania…he is left alone. His hair has grown longer than he usually keeps it, so perhaps he does not appear the same adventurer who had first come as an envoy from Limsa Lominsa, but he comes to realize that ultimately, though he hears his name and new title on the lips of many, he has spent so little time in this place that few of them have any idea what he looks like. The alias is…something of an accident. When the guild receptionist asks for his name, thoughts of his oddly serene walk through the city are fresh in his mind, and he almost does not hear her. The repeated question gives him just a little longer to think, and— “Ly—Lyon.” If she notices his stammering, she makes no comment, merely records it in her book. “Thank you, Master Lyon. We should have it ready for you in a week.” He wanders out of the guild in a strange sort of daze, the implications of his deception rolling about in his mind, absently picking at his bangs with his fingers as though to arrange them even further outside of their usual configuration, half-expecting the next passing stranger to recognize him and loudly proclaim his lie. A white lie, he reminds himself, for who should much care if the Warrior of Light takes an alias now and then, for those of great fame it is often expected, and he cannot deny, however badly he might wish to, that he fits the description by now. Then comes the question of what he is meant to do in Gridania for a week.
February 12, 2026 at 9:09 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Ultima Thule time in ng+...thinking of some lystinky moments #felsfic
“You can’t.” Estinien almost does not recognize the voice, thick with emotion, though no one but Lysander stands with him on the dark bluff, and it is Lysander who steps forward to grasp his arm, gripping into the chain mail with unexpected strength. Even by naught but the light of the distant stars, Estinien can see how his eyes glisten—and blinks at the sight, for Thancred had earned only that blank expression, the Warrior of Light’s supposed stoicism, when the truth of his sacrifice had been revealed. “You know I must,” he says, firmly, though not ungently. Lysander’s fingers tighten. “What am I to tell Aymeric?” he rasps. “That I did my duty and guided you onwards to your goal. Our goal.” He lets out a breath before adding softly, “You’d best be glad it is not he who is here.” Lysander’s expression twists, jaw clenching, tears trembling at the corners of his eyes—but then he drops his gaze, unable to deny his own relief. They stand like that for a moment, Lysander still clutching his arm, Estinien not quite having the heart to shake him off. In the stagnant silence of this place, their breathing is the only sound; Lysander’s hitching and unsteady, while Estinien feels oddly placid. “You know how I hate this,” Lysander accuses at last, and there is no question of what he means—comrades charging off to heroic sacrifices, leaving him with fewer by his side. The Warrior of Light loathes to fight alone. “Aye,” Estinien agrees. “Hold fast to that feeling; it may well be what brings us back.” Lysander lifts his head, but now the glint in his eyes has hardened as he meets Estinien’s gaze—tears crystalized to adamant resolve. “It will be,” he vows, with far more certainty than Estinien himself can truly muster. But he has seen Lysander carry out impossible deeds before, and if he is demanding his friend’s faith, there is little Estinien can do but offer his own in return.
February 8, 2026 at 3:07 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Indulgence
Something short and sweet for Valentione's. (don't @ me if i change the title later)

Beatin/oc | m/m | 1.6k | Explicit
#felsfic

💖 archiveofourown.org/works/79070776
ao3 screenshot showing stats and tags for the fic linked in the post Sylvien wearing nothing but a green knit cardigan, leaning against Beatin's bare chest with a smile while Beatin reaches for the top button of the sweater. Sylvien has a couple hickeys on his chest and neck.
February 7, 2026 at 4:54 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
i don't know if it was really "shipping," or if it stuck, Lysander was kind of just trying anything at that point (this writing is also old but.. #felsfic )
"Estinien." Lysander follows the dragoon before he can get too far, then pulls him aside. "I have a favor to ask." "I believe we are all settled up on favors after I dealt with Black Rose in your stead," comes Estinien's predictable response. Lysander purses his lips. "Well be that as it may, I like to think this will not actually be any inconvenience," Lysander presses on. "I was wondering if you could spend a little time with G'raha. Maybe tea, like he mentioned? It does not have to be Tataru's, if that was the problem." Estinien eyes him sideways. "Why." "Well. To be brief...I was hoping if he got acquainted with a few other...heroic types, perhaps he might stop looking quite so much like I am breaking his heart every time I so much as mention Aymeric or Hien." He chews on his lip as he watches Estinien process this. "He has feelings for you?" "Rather...potent ones. Or at least, they were. We have spoken of it, and I believe he accepts the facts of the matter, but...the nature of my situation is such that I worry he will always have a little hope, and..." He meets Estinien's stony expression and sighs. "Must you look at me like that?" "What exactly makes you think that I will be a worthy substitute for you—in this matter, at least." "You need not think of it as a substitution, more...a distraction. And in time, maybe..." "I think you are overestimating his interest in me." "Or perhaps you are underestimating your own charms." Estinien narrows his eyes. "Don't say that. You sound like Aymeric." He pauses, a shade of suspicion flickering in his eyes. "...did he put you up to this?" "No, in fact. This is entirely self-serving." Lysander glances at him. "That said, I am sure he would approve. Shall I tell him?" "You shall NOT," Estinien replies promptly. Lysander thoughtfully rubs his chin. "I cannot guarantee that the thought will not slip out at some point--" "Fine," Estinien grumbles. "I will..."—he sighs heavily—"...invite G'raha to tea." Lysander grimaces. "Alright, now that you say that, I do admit it will sound strange coming from you." "What is that supposed to mean?"
February 2, 2026 at 7:49 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
Peer Review

Lysander/OC(s) | rated E | ongoing (in theory)
#felsfic

📖 archiveofourown.org/works/783553...
January 26, 2026 at 4:08 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
finished thread post so the posts will show up on my profile and also because maybe it should be tagged #felsfic
u-andcloud.bsky.social lev @u-andcloud.bsky.social · Dec 14
Need to cheer myself up so I'm starting a 2025 fic summary a bit early. Will probably update it over the course of a few days. I have something for every month(ish) and I'll try to say something I especially enjoyed about each one. 🧵
December 29, 2025 at 1:59 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
after saying that this is one of my favorite things to write (not necessarily direct internal monologue, but narrating the path of a character's thoughts when they're feeling strong emotions) i struggled to find a published example i wanted to use so.. I'm spoiling a bit of the moon rant #felsfic
He had turned on his heel as soon as their diminutive leader had explained, quite cheerily, the seemingly inevitable demise of the star he called home. Because Zodiark is gone. By his own hand, even if Fandandiel’s plots would have given the same result sooner or later. Was he supposed to have known? Should he have understood, thanks to some cryptic communication brushed aside, some puzzle never unraveled, that their enemy’s god was to be preserved, even if He should not be rejoined? There had to have been a better way, surely, than waiting and waiting until the last resort contingency became inevitable? Strung along on assumptions never corrected, friend and foe alike falling in service of lies, the Forum toiling away under his feet to cast his entire field of study into obsolescence… “Hydaelyn!” He stops short abruptly, skidding in the dust, tips his head up towards the planet dominating the sky, and shouts with his entire chest, heaving a second great breath before he adds, “why me?” The Scions can weigh these dire options. He is not surprised that his companions have not followed him, for they will feel obliged to gain all the facts, to consider the choices properly. The Forum, too, is too used to making such decisions for the greatest good, and even Aymeric and Hien might acknowledge logic in the face of such catastrophe, but for him— The star was the whole point. Layers of folded time in the rock beneath his boots, sinking and colliding and squeezing and melting and breaking and reforming and erupting—currents of wind and water carving glimpses into prehistory even as they playfully jumble and scatter the record—and aether saturating it all in such quantity that it seeps relentlessly from the very air and earth, or bursts cataclysmically forth into some of the most astonishing formations the eye can witness—a ceaseless dance of matter, an enormous balance constantly adjusting towards an equilibrium that must remain out of reach. A beautiful, unending puzzle hidden in the dark, one he reveled in unraveling, the new questions as satisfying as the theories proven. A breathtaking monument to millions of years of slow, slow work, a project far older than anything Venat or any of the ancients could weave with their magicks, the gods themselves but infants to the marvel upon which men lived their fleeting lives. It could only be folly to think they would stumble across another such irreplaceable gem in any of their lifetimes—had Midgardsormr not said the same? Lysander had never thought in so many words that he loved it, in the way he loves his fathers, his partners, his friends, but he knows now that he does, for what else could this ache in his chest be but heartbreak? To think of leaving it behind seems to rend something in him, not for the lives that would be forsaken, the histories and traditions overturned, but for the loss of the beloved planet to which he had—foolishly, some might say—devoted his life.
November 29, 2025 at 11:12 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
i put sylvmeric in a doc so i could post it and now it needs to be confiscated. i <3 catholic guilt (fictional) #felsfic no i will not make a new writing tag for sylvien
“Irienne expressed some…disapproval regarding the general idea of our involvement.” Sylvien sighs, the motion an excuse to drape himself even closer against Aymeric’s side. “Iri will be…exasperated. She will not be surprised.” “Because she believes so strongly in your persuasion, or my weakness?” “What part of it is weakness?” Sylvien wonders. With the way he wiggles beside him, Aymeric almost cannot help but slip an arm around his waist, if only to still him. “Is it not often considered strength to take what you want?” Aymeric’s ready answer, the philosophical one, evaporates as Sylvien takes his moment of hesitation as an opportunity to slip into his lap. “Whatever happened to hospitality?” Sylvien adds with a moue, and there seems nowhere Aymeric can place his hands that is not his thigh, his hip, a tentative grasp growing firm as Sylvien shifts into his touch. “I thought you would keep me warm, Ser.” Aymeric has been lost, he knows, since the moment he paused near the airship landing at the glimpse of a slight and familiar silhouette. His motivations have been impure from the start, tainted by the traitorous hope wriggling up from where he had buried it after that oddly enlightening visit to Gridania—a hope that had not dared stretch as far as this, craving only that strange shudder of levin he felt at the way Sylvien had merely looked at him, his sheer shamelessness a heady concoction in itself. Sylvien is so close now, one arm resting on Aymeric’s shoulder, playing idly with his earring, relaxed and languid, while Aymeric feels like the taut cable of a harpoon stuck in a fleeing dragon’s side, precarious, dangerous. But Sylvien’s lack of concern is somehow reassuring, a revelation it itself that one might feel such passion without shame clawing it immediately apart. “I want you,” he finds himself confessing, helplessly, ineloquently, as though it is not etched all over him like a heretic’s brand. Sylvien smiles, though Aymeric can barely lift his gaze to see it, his eyes fixed upon a seam on his shoulder and pointedly not upon his hand spanning Sylvien’s thigh, fingers digging possessively into soft calfskin as though any of this is aught he is permitted to claim. “Ser,” Sylvien says, quiet and playful, his evident ease a balm against Aymeric’s nerves, “I believe you have me.” It is astonishingly easy to kiss him—or perhaps it should not be so surprising, for sin, he has always been told, is easy, while virtue demands effort and vigilance. He lunges for him without skill or technique, but Sylvien cedes to the torrent of his hunger like a reed in a stream, shaping to him, welcoming the ravenous press of lips and tongue and teeth with a breathy little laugh, twisting in his lap to press ever closer. A sin, perhaps, in the eyes of the doctrine-spewing faithful, a black smudge beside the labels of usurper and father-killer, a ready arrow in the quiver of his opponents’ hate, but as Aymeric gathers this man in his arms, as hunger melts more simply to pleasure and Sylvien gasps against his lips, it feels like nothing so much as forgiveness.
November 14, 2025 at 12:30 PM