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u-andcloud.bsky.social
lev
@u-andcloud.bsky.social
110 followers 110 following 4.2K posts
they/them, 30s
Lysander Fels @ Exodus
wolaymerhien hq (aspirational)
sometimes nsfw
icon by anaithnidd.bsky.social
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u-andcloud.bsky.social
unwinding
(wolaymhien, nonsexual nudity)
Lysander, Aymeric, and Hien relax in a steaming bathtub lit by candles. Aymeric is washing Lysander's hair, while Lysander sits with his legs over Hien's lap.
November 25, 2025 at 2:31 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
sylvmeric in four pictures
Aymeric comes across Sylvien at the airship landing in Ishgard; Sylvien, in a big fluffy coat, still looks like he's freezing. Indoors, Sylvien sits on Aymeric's lap, looking at him with a teasing and flirtatious smile, while Aymeric holds him around the waist, one hand on his thigh, looking somewhat vexed. Sylvien and Aymeric lie in bed, both naked, Sylvien sleeping contentedly with his head on Aymeric's chest, while Aymeric looks a little shocked. [Irienne voice] did you fuck my brother Aymeric de Borel. (In Ishgard, Aymeric stands with his head in his hands while Irienne looks at him in exasperation.)
November 23, 2025 at 10:32 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
some....kind of solution.
Lysander in a red robe reclining on a bed bordered by blue curtains
November 23, 2025 at 9:17 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
wip wsunday i just like this image
Text screenshot reading: Urianger pauses, glancing over Lysander sitting in the gravel, and his brow creases slightly before he bends down himself, arranging himself and his robes upon a small rock jutting out from the dust. Lysander takes petty satisfaction in the thought of how much of it will cling to his black garments—never mind that the same could be said of his own trousers. It is not unusual for him to find himself covered in dirt, but it pleases him to drag the astrologian down to his level, even if, in current environs, he cannot claim to be pulling his lofty considerations quite down to earth.
November 23, 2025 at 2:40 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
after a long day
A gpose with a bottle of sake and some cups sitting on a tatami mat in the foreground; in the background, slightly out of focus, Lysander leans back against some cushions while Hien leans over him, braced on one hand with his other hand on Lysander's thigh. Closer, in-focus shot of Lysander and Hien to better see Lysander smiling slightly.
November 23, 2025 at 12:53 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
he feels like. miles edgeworth. to me.
November 22, 2025 at 2:54 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
well... half of it is coming along alright....
November 22, 2025 at 2:49 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
😔
November 20, 2025 at 12:04 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
we'll go with these...(ty for tag 🥺)

tagging @quotesandmiracles.bsky.social @howdomaddie.bsky.social @ronsenburg.bsky.social for a few favorite snippets of whatever you want to share <3
“If I recall one of my earliest lessons…” Sylvien is certain that be the wood echoes in every apprentice carpenter’s memory. “Hush. If you were incapable of understanding exaggeration then you would have run out of here screaming on your very first day, and you would not have been the first.” Beatin’s finger trails from Sylvien’s chin and along his jaw, in a motion not unlike that which he uses to check the quality of a seam. “But behold, you remain, and with all your limbs intact.” It is a simple touch, but Sylvien feels as though he hums beneath it, a bow overstrung with moons of wishful anticipation. But for such a weapon to snap at the crucial moment would betray a flaw in construction; so he waits and bears the strain, as though to prove himself lumber well-chosen. “Indeed. And you have yet to convince me that you actually dislike events of this sort as much as your protests might suggest. For my part, they have become considerably more enjoyable in recent memory.” “Oh? And what has changed so drastically?” Lysander asks, glancing at him through his lashes. “I wonder,” Aymeric murmurs, before pulling him close enough to surreptitiously brush his lips against Lysander’s temple. And with him, Lysander finds he is soon focusing less on his feet, and less on the other dancers, and even when their conversation fades to silence, there is…something enjoyable, he can admit, to swaying in his arms like this, allowing the swells of the music to stir the intended emotions. Aymeric kisses him again once he relaxes; a stretch of propriety, in a strict sense, but a conciliatory indulgence, and one that will shock no one in present company. He grows comfortable enough that it is a surprise when Aymeric slows to a stop, and when there is a light touch at his shoulder, he momentarily feels quite sincerely betrayed to think that Aymeric would, after their conversation, pass him off to another partner—but he turns to see Hien, who, with a very slight bow, meets his eyes and asks, “Might I have the next dance?” “I thought you would never ask,” Lysander accuses. Hien tilts his head with a widening smile and holds out his hand, which Lysander readily accepts even while Aymeric’s grasp lingers at his waist. It is barely a heartbeat that he is caught between them, but he relishes in it regardless, a glimpse of truth behind their halfhearted charade. “I thought we were being subtle,” he says as Hien’s hand settles upon his back—quite naturally, though of course by now he has had plenty of practice. “Indeed. And is staring daggers at me across the room meant to classify as subtlety? Any observer will either suspect the truth…or worry that you intend to have me assassinated.” At a glance, the city is like a craggy mountain. Even if the illusion falls apart on closer inspection, Lysander has decided he likes it better for the resemblance. Stabbing towards the sky as though trying to imitate the peaks that circle it, Ishgard stands as a brazen taunt to its winged enemy, but from a distance, Lysander always thought it looked a little fragile, too, perched perilously amidst the rolling clouds. Now that he walks its streets, he cannot decide which impression deserves more credence. He witnessed the naked fear in the eyes of the Temple Knights when Vishap came within a hair’s breadth of incinerating the final ward on the Steps of Faith. He has seen that for each healthy knight patrolling Foundation, there is another injured and freezing in the Brume, and for every well-fed noble, a gaggle of hungry children. If the city is a mountain, it may be a hollow one, poised to crumble in on itself should the right disturbance shake its roots. Lysander is currently short on optimism; gazing up at the soaring masonry upon his first steps through the Gates of Judgement, he had done his best to etch the image in his mind, should he be watching those spires collapse ere long.
November 19, 2025 at 2:59 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
:)
aymeric de borel man of all time. pretty pretty face but can carry a man his size wearing full armor. stupidly idealistic at heart but he's not actually stupid. (we can joke but we have to agree on this.) favorite words are "my apologies" (catholic guilt) but he will probably do it again, whatever it is. if it's For Ishgard. 10/10 would be his murder weapon of choice in patricide again. hien rijin. mr. figurehead. generations of pressure on his shoulders but he stays silly. that tumblr post about him having himbo vibes but also playing 5d chess at all times was right (himbo vibes may or may not be part of the 5d chess). most kissable lips. beatin. it's all wood jokes and ~wood~ jokes but i will not be convinced that he is not an extremely serious character and an extremely serious man. he cares so much. about the kids. about his ex. about gridania. about wood. also gay. wears purple eyeshadow under tinted lenses. beautiful brown eyes. underratedly handsome elf but also yes he is very silly. tried to survive on water and sunlight once. pillar of the city.
November 18, 2025 at 4:41 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
compromise+cringe indulgence+combo from that prompt a little while back
i would listen to his lectures
a dark-haired elezen man and a blond hyur with glasses stand in a mountainside meadow, both dressed for a hike, the elezen is gesturing as he gives a little lecture while the hyur listens
November 15, 2025 at 1:06 AM
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
u-andcloud.bsky.social
i found 8. which isn't as bad as i thought. i thought this guy in camp tranquil was cute.
November 12, 2025 at 3:06 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
catching Ishgard at the right time of day CAN derail me for many minutes
a view of the Vault in the early morning sun a view of the Vault and the Tribunal in the early morning sun Lysander standing at the edge of the Hoplon, looking out over Ishgard
November 11, 2025 at 1:50 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
decided to finally use this top because having him in a robe even for his ooc casting classes was starting to bother me....he's not himself without thighboots and some kind of leather corset/vest thing apparently....
November 9, 2025 at 8:49 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
📌 i'm lev!
💎 writer, baby gposer, wol/oc lore oversharer (sometimes i remember these tags: #felsfacts and #felsfic )
🍃 mostly but not entirely an xiv account (some misc. games/anime/etc.)
⛰️ wol/oc basics below, and ao3 for more: archiveofourown.org/users/u_andc...
A graphic about my FFXIV OCs. An infant Elezen is abandoned to the mercy of the Elementals in the North Shroud, and… Path 1: is discovered by traveling adventurers, who take him in and raise him as their own. Lysander Fels [image: a pale, dark-eyed and black-haired Duskwight Elezen man with Archon marks on his neck, dressed in dark red, smiling slightly] : The Warrior of Light. A scholar of Geology. Aspiring Archon (“aspiring” is crossed out). Highly Powerful Summoner. Self-assured, but reserved. He believes firmly in his right to live his life as he wishes and pursue what makes him happy. Heroism does not come easily to him, but he has learned what it is he wishes to protect. To the left of Lysander, his adoptive fathers, who are partners: Saunder Fels [image: grinning Hyuran man, tan with red hair]: Born Alisaunder Felswic III. Runaway Ala Mhigan nobility. Former adventurer and treasure hunter. Valerien Fels [image: frowning light-skinned Wildwood Elezen man with long black hair and grayish eyes]: Bastard child of a prestigious mage family. Former professor of the Sharlayan Colony. Aetherically weak, but loves arcanima in all its forms. Path 2: is brought back home by his older half-sister, who insists their mother care for the unwanted child. Sylvien Monteil [image: like Lysander, no Archon marks, smiling more openly, dressed in dark green]: Woodsman and amateur botanist. Apprentice carpenter. Carefree and easygoing, but somewhat insecure. He struggles to believe that he is truly important to anyone, and so lives as he pleases. To the right of Sylvien, his half-sister: Irienne Monteil [image: a gray-skinned Duskwight Elezen woman with green eyes and white hair shaved on the sides, wearing armor]: The Warrior of Light. Briefly a gladiator of the Coliseum. Proud Scion of the Seventh Dawn. Possessed of a strong sense of justice, but many years in a struggling village left her jaded. Hearing the voice of Hydaelyn and joining the Scions has granted her new purpose.
November 8, 2025 at 6:22 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
i'm so iripilled rn because i went to pandora to try to solve my stale music problem and it didn't really help but it threw this song at me again and it's just so very her (i am listening to it again)
November 6, 2025 at 8:31 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
wip wednesday he's so exhausting (i'm sure that bit about the broken bridge doesn't matter at all)
But as the paths give way to dirt-packed roads, Sylvien’s thoughts rush ahead to the city. He has nothing to bring back to the Atrium; the mushrooms will be sold via the botanists' guild, still a reliable source of income despite his increasingly infrequent appearances there. Will Beatin be disappointed? First all his awkwardness, his lack of focus, now a long absence with nothing to show for it; perhaps he will even be angry— He cannot help but imagine it, a miserable indulgence that blooms readily over his melancholy like a carpet of fungus on moist ground. Though he had feared the same as a consequence of his flirting, the feeling that grips his chest to think of Beatin’s ire now is exponentially more potent. He imagines the accusations that might fly—that he loiters in the guild for the wrong reasons, that he fouls the art of woodworking with his motivations—and he would nearly be inclined to believe them himself, for is it not uncharacteristic of him to apply his efforts in this way, to dedicate himself to the tedious process of learning a skill that allows him to be part of the city in which he had only dared exist before? And yet somehow, he still wants to hurry back, pausing at a crossroads and opting for the more direct route, even if it passes through a bog that many travelers avoid due to the poor maintenance of the bridges spanning the water. Beatin may be disappointed, but is it not disappointment born of expectation? And no one has expected anything of Sylvien before, not even Irienne, who had all but raised him and yet had never demanded that he make anything of himself. He can bear disappointment, as long as it is not the end, as long as he yet has a chance to prove he can be something worthy of that intent, appraising gaze—
November 5, 2025 at 8:55 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
did somebody say cool rocks
November 3, 2025 at 8:08 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
New drabble in the Breccia collection; someday I'll be able to add a character tag to this one that isn't a white-haired elf, but for now, it's Estinien again.

❄️ archiveofourown.org/works/570591...
Ao3 screenshot reading: Chapter 6: Shepherd (6.0). Summary: Estinien recommends a break. [Post-"In from the Cold"]
November 3, 2025 at 3:17 AM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
if the scions get to be particular about transferring their New Looks to the Source, so does Sylvien
Close up of a pale elezen with long, slightly touselled black hair leaning in a doorway, gazing with a fond smile at someone offscreen. The same elezen standing in front of Beatin in the Oak Atrium; Beatin gazes at him with astonishment and lifts a hand tentatively towards his face.
November 2, 2025 at 9:33 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
I Know What You Are
November 2, 2025 at 6:10 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
MVPPPPPPPPPP
November 1, 2025 at 2:19 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
aside from what i've already said my emotional state can only be captured in some crusty old heart emoji memes
October 31, 2025 at 10:15 PM
u-andcloud.bsky.social
this is long for an excerpt but i don't think I'll finish the fic itself so...this is all i could come up with to justify the outfit...I think he's being cute :) #felsfic
Beatin, Sylvien thinks, is going to be rather cross with him. They have come to the manor in advance of the impending All Saints’ Wake festivities with a troop of other carpenters, tasked with carrying out various repairs before the Circus unveils its newest attraction. Beatin, of course, was all business as soon as they arrived, barking out orders and sending carpenters scurrying through the corridors, making even some of the Circus members cower in fear of his saw if he sensed from them even an inkling of mischief. Sylvien was as quick as the rest to spring into action—but having never been to the manor before, he found his attention drifting just as readily as soon as the Timbermaster was out of sight. It was not long before his assigned task was abandoned in favor of pure exploration, as he set out to investigate each of the rooms with thrilled delight. Circus members were all too eager to indulge him, trying out tricks and treats on their willing audience, leading him onward to ever more haunting displays, greedily demanding his opinions once his initial gasps or snickers subsided. Beatin’s warnings regarding the troupe’s true nature had not fallen on deaf ears, exactly, but Sylvien finds it difficult to see the Circus as anything but a thoroughly amusing lot of earnest performers, voidsent or no. Perhaps that is why he had felt so inclined to offer his assistance when he came across a pair of them, looking to his eye like nothing more than two young Keeper women, lamenting that they had been confined to crier duty when they wanted nothing more than to work in the manor on opening night a few days away. It could not be especially difficult to be a crier, he had mused, and it certainly was not, they told him quite eagerly, for all one needed was a good memory for a few standard lines, and—most importantly—a properly eye-catching outfit. And thus he found himself deep in their wardrobe, testing out possibilities, enjoying being fawned over by the girls as they thrust sheer stockings and increasingly revealing tops past the curtain for him to model. “It’s too much,” one of them giggles as she affixes a pair of horns to his forehead, before looking him up and down. “Gridanians are such bores.” “They’ll shoo him off the streets,” the other agrees, “but it is such a waste. His legs are gorgeous.” Sylvien is inclined to agree, turning this way and that as he inspects himself in a foggy full-length mirror. Black is always striking against his skin, as pale as it is, but the peep of sheer stockings around his upper thigh, disappearing beneath long leather boots that hug his calves and leave him perching on a much higher heel than he is used to, is absolutely tantalizing, if he does say so himself. Not to mention the rest of the ensemble, scraps of black fabric barely concealing his crotch and chest, leaving a large swathe of his torso bare. For this occasion, the boniness of his form is rather well suited, and he watches himself twist in the mirror, smiling at the thought that his scrawniness can be made appealing, after all. But the girls have a point about Gridanian sensibilities, and eventually, he glances back at the wardrobe, his smile fading to something more rueful. “Perhaps something more like what Impresario wears would be better suited…” he begins. “Oh nooooo, you can’t,” one of them coos, grabbing his arm as though she is worried he will start disrobing again immediately. “Someone has to see this.” “A waste!” the other repeats, and though her continued giggling makes him wonder if she is entirely serious, another glimpse in the mirror makes him inclined to agree. He slides a hand from his hip down to his thigh, thinks of another hand doing the same, and bites his lip. And so, Sylvien has found himself wandering the corridors of the manor in search of Beatin. transcribed in previous alt text
October 30, 2025 at 1:58 AM