lev

@u-andcloud.bsky.social

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they/them, 30s Lysander Fels @ Exodus sometimes nsfw icon by anaithnidd.bsky.social

Lysander: His goal to study geology at the Studium had solidified by this point (around 15-16), so that was his main focus. He was more dedicated to his lessons with Valerien than he ever had been in his life. Didn't really have a rebellious phase because there was never much he parents had tried to stop him from doing for no good reason, just basically spent his free time as he always had, exploring on his own but now with a slightly more scholarly intent. Had a bit of a fumbling young relationship with a Qestir boy he had befriended, but by the time they started getting close like that, Lysander already knew he would be leaving soon, so it didn't develop much.
Gpose screenshot of two elezen children; a pale boy with choppy black hair sits on the railing of a bridge, looking down at the gray-skinned girl with white hair standing beside him.
“The blades he ordered from Naldiq’s,” Beatin says, “for his own blacksmithing efforts have not quite yet born fruit—and thus you may find them more reminiscent of a rogue’s stabbers”—his accent goes startlingly dockside Lominsan—“but the hilts are entirely his own work.”
that won't help the rumors Fool thing to do, he berates himself the next day, when his fingers ache in complaint each time he bids them wrap around the handle of a tool. Quickly giving up on accomplishing any practical work, he makes vague excuses and consigns himself to his oft-neglected administrative tasks as penance, rubbing his knuckles absently as he pores over missives from the guild branches in far-flung cities. His black mood hangs about him like a cloud of syrphids, and his carpenters keep their distance, a fact for while he is glad, for their sakes more than his own. Germinate Beneath his baggy smock, his shoulders are broader than they appeared at first glance, and though the glasses grant his expression an eccentric oddness, his profile beneath them is rather striking. And, as his continued proximity continues to remind him, he is tall—a handful of ilms over him, not an especially unusual occurrence with Sylvien’s stature, but it rarely fails to affect him. the tools and the ways Only half a breath drawn with his nose against his temple, the barest whiff of pine and…lavender?—and yet his hand seems to recall the shape of his waist as it does his most-used tools, and though he had released him straight away— Branching Out Inspiration, flagging these few days past, seems to strike anew, and it is all Beatin can do now not to reach for him, taking refuge behind his glasses in a way that has done naught to hide him from Sylvien’s comprehension in moons.
Irienne and Sylvien embrace, Sylvien burying his head in the crook of Irienne's neck while she pats his back and smiles a little sadly.
Sylvien sits partially in Beatin's lap, with one arm around his shoulders, looking down at him, while Beatin grasps his waist.
gpose screenshot. Sylvien, a pale elezen with slightly wavy black hair, stands with his arms crossed, rolling his eyes. Beatin, slightly older than he is in game, with wrinkles and longer sideburns, stands beside him smiling in a placating manner. Speech bubbles read: Sylvien: You're so easy on them. Beatin: You must forgive an old man his indulgences. Sylvien: You were much harder on me.
Lysander sitting on the edge of his bed, looking out his open sliding door to the large padded throne sitting in the far corner of the space.
A rough colored digital sketch of Beatin and Jandelaine from ffxiv. Beatin is lying on his back, and Jandelaine is doing his makeup while straddling him.
Text on a green background: “Sylvien, allow me to introduce Jandelaine, Eorzea’s finest aesthetician, and a man to whom I owe a great debt. Jandelaine, this is Sylvien, my most capable protégé, and...my partner.” Sylvien glances at him, momentarily startled, for while the fact is well known by now, it’s rare for Beatin to introduce him as such, with a hand alighting on his back to fully disambiguate the term—but Jandelaine quickly recalls his attention with a coo of interest. “Sylvien, what an absolute pleasure,” he gushes, leaning in to kiss the air beside Sylvien’s cheek. Then he straightens, his eyes sparkling as he looks Sylvien over. “My, aren’t you just adorable. Beatin, however did you manage this?” “An excellent question,” Beatin muses, briefly squeezing Sylvien’s waist before releasing him. “One that Sylvien, perhaps, can answer, while I start on your ever-so-urgent request.”
Lysander in a long red coat, open at the front, with gold embellishments. He holds a glowing tome in one hand and is walking through a battlefield glowing purple with lightning aether, looking up offscreen with a furrowed brow. A ring set with a blue stone is visible on his right hand.
Lysander making a cocktail, standing in front of shelves of bottles AND shelves with a few glowing crystals on them.
A pale, dark-haired elezen man wearing a black leather jacket, somewhat baggy brown trousers that end just below the knee with black leggings underneath, and study brown leather boots. He stands outside Limsa Lominsa in bright morning sunlight, a book in one hand, looking out over the landscape.
A duskwight Elezen man with gray skin and white hair, yellow eyes, and a scar over one cheek stands as though talking to a group of people, one hand raised in the air as he makes a point.
Sylvien and Lysander about to kiss (and both still wearing clothes so you can tell them apart by color coding).
Sylvien stretching his arms indulgently over his head, wearing the blacksmith chestwrap that's just some cloth wrapped around his lower torso. He is standing just outside the blacksmith's guild in the sunlight. (Out of focus in the background, half-hidden behind some crates, stands a certain bespectacled Timbermaster)
Irienne and Yugiri stand on either side of a large otter statue at the Gold Saucer, both of them laughing
ao3 screenshot reading: the tools and the ways by u_andloud. Summary: Not all wood calls for hammer and nails.
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.
Sylvien lies on his back in a bed in the Dawn's Respite, arms straight by his sides, unconscious, while Beatin sits in a chair beside the bed, head resting on his clasped hands.
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."
Lysander (younger, with dark hair tied back in a low ponytail, wearing a dark green robe) standing face to face with Theodoroit, a taller Elezen, tanned with dark brown hair. Theo has one hand on Lysander's shoulder, and is tipping his chin up with the other, while Lysander pouts.
A gpose screenshot from above of Lysander riding a yol; far below them are the rainbow-colored pools of Prism Lake.
Beatin leaning against a tree with Sylvien in his arms.
Manga panel from Ikoku Nikki (Journal with Witch). A dark-haired woman (Makio) is speaking to a teenage girl. The dialogue reads: "Like you're expecting to die doing it, like you're trying to kill someone, write." [What!? Isn't that kinda scary?!] "All out- Strike, Temper, Sharpen,"
Lysander climbing a staircase in Sharlayan's restricted archive, looking out over the room with a small smile.
gpose of Beatin and Sylvien in bed, Sylvien lying on his side resting against Beatin's chest, asleep, while Beatin wraps an arm around his shoulders and smiles softly at him.
But in the aftermath it comes back to him, that glimpse of him, pressed to a wall and devoured by another, and some laxness brought upon by recent pleasure allows the question to rise to his lips. “Sylvien.” “Mm?” He is drawing patterns on Beatin’s chest with a finger, soft caresses and idle tapping that Beatin recalls from that first night, too—a universal habit of his, Beatin wonders, or some unique impulse…? “With…” He loses his nerve briefly, imagining how the question will sound, but Sylvien is waiting, his gentle touch paused upon his breastbone, like a held breath. “With…other men,” he manages, and cringes as it leaves his lips. He has no right to interrogate Sylvien’s habits, nor any desire to, that moment of unwanted voyeurism a memory he would sooner erase. “What about them?” There is no edge to his voice, still soft and lazy, and he resumes his sketching across Beatin’s chest. “Were you…or rather, did you…” He clicks his tongue, frustrated with how it seems determined to skirt the matter. “…was there anyone you cared for?” A brief pause in his motion, and then it continues, though with a somewhat more focused air, as though he might be drawing the answer there above Beatin’s heart.
Lysander, a pale Elezen with black shoulder length hair and dark green eyes, gazing intently at the viewer. Dressed in red, with Archon marks on his neck.
gpose screenshot; Sylvien, nude, meant to evoke the image of something like a wood nymph as he stands between some trees and bushes which partially conceal his form, holding a tree trunk with one hand. He twists to look back towards Beatin, dressed in his usual work clothes, who grasps his waist with one hand. Sylvien's smile is slightly mischievous as he holds one hand outstretched just under Beatin's chin, while Beatin looks at him with longing and amazement.