#sylvain scribbles
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i redrew my first swordvan
#sylvain scribbles#sylv art#tf2#swordvan#blehhh#ok technically this comparison DOESNT work because the 1st was my shitposty doodle style and this is like slash srsing (but not really) so#it isnt fair. but#um#I dont care
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This is their dynamic to me in 3Houses - it's objectively funnier if Miklan isn't homophobic, he's just repulsed by the very concept of Sylvain finding love
#slank-scribbles✍🏻#fe3h#miklan anschutz gautier#sylvain jose gautier#my blog got murked (may she rest in pieace) so im reposting this again </3#bigger miklan art dump inc in the future because i want to repost my old art alongside newer pieces#<- also because i really hate how my old miklan posting looked bleugghgh#edit: wait shit i dont think i even posted this in the first place at all actually#so yay youre getting original fanworks from me cus i forgor to post it on hellsite
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Ace Trappola: Trouble, that Trappola
Wow, different pjs??? I wonder if each student will truly have unique sleepwear or if it’ll be like “everyone in the same dorm has similar sleepwear, just recolored and with a different motif”. I’ve been laughing about how Ace is dressed and posed, it’s very… Justin Bieber-coded. His bedhead though, it reminds me of Sylvain from FE3H.
Fun fact, I have an irl friend that has the same birthday as Ace... Therefore, I am legally obligated to celebrate it with them/j This year, we're going to an Alice in Wonderland-themed afternoon tea, which I think is very appropriate for Ace! Aaaaaah, My Alice in Wonderland-loving heart can’t take it 😭
Rise and Shine!
He was having a pleasant dream.
There was a path, and the longer he walked on that path, the more the scenery morphed into nonsense.
First was a forest full of twisting turns, colorful signs that pointed this way and that. There was mewing coming from the trees overhead, but every time he looked, he’d find no one there.
Next was a field of progressively bigger and bigger plants. The flowers had faces set in them, and they taunted Ace as he passed. He had plucked the underside of a mushroom cap and chomped down on it. A mistake—Ace had an out-of-body experience, ballooning to the size of a giant and then back to his regular size.
Then he washed away in a sea of tea, spilling from a gigantic glass bottle labelled Drink Me. He swam with the sugar cubes drifting in the fragrant rapids. He caught a current of milk and rode it past trees of chocolate. A dollop of grape jam had dropped down from a branch and landed on his nose.
When Ace, at last, fished himself out of the tea, he was left sticky, skin caked in sugar. As he made to wring his clothes of Darjeeling, he spotted an iced cookie by his feet. Eat Me, it said. There was a trail of them, confections dotting the road ahead in a neat trail. He had followed it—followed until the cookies became crumbs and he was left wandering in a white void, a blank canvas.
Wandering… wandering… where?
Just as that question cropped up like an unwanted weed in an otherwise flawless lawn, a soft sound tickled his ear.
Someone was calling his name.
Who is it…?
He picked up his pace. A casual stroll to a speed walk, then a speed walk into a jog, a job into a run, then a run into a full-on sprint.
"I'm coming! I'm coming already, darn it!!" Ace shouted into the blinding white. "I'm coming, so...!!"
Wait for me. I'll meet you there.
I'll definitely, definitely...!!
His eyes snapped open.
He was lying on his back, wrapped up in his comforter and staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Ace blinked several times, slowly adjusting to the sunlight that was spilling in through drawn curtains. A groan escaped him--it was too early for this.
“Mmm… What time is it?” He rolled over in a groggy daze, reaching for his phone. It was still connected to a charger, but it snapped right out of its socket when Ace jolted up. "WHAT?!"
The time, it couldn't be correct. But the line of text messages in his history confirmed the building dread in his stomach.
Gm, Ace! I'll be over soon. Cya then.
I'm here!
Hey, are you up? It's 10 minutes past.
Did you stay up late talking to your bro and sleep through your alarm again?
Hellooooo?
I'm gonna leave without you if you don't come out in 5 minutes.
"Crap, I'm running late!!"
Ace leapt out of bed and flew across his room. The comics and magazines littering his mattress scattered to the floor, but he didn't stop to pick them up.
He moved like lightning, hurriedly dressing and rushing into the communal washroom. While he brushed his teeth with one hand (lest he face the wrath of his vice dorm leader), he teased out his hair with the other. After splashing his face with water (who was going to clock him, Vil?), Ace scribbled on his signature heart, grabbed his backpack, and slipped into his sneakers.
He had his technique down pat thanks to years of practice.
Ace bolted down the hall, stuffing a protein bar into his mouth as he cleared the door. The day greeted him--and so did you, glancing up from your own phone.
"There you are! You kept me waiting, wise guy," you lectured him. It wasn't anything serious--not like his dorm leader's lengthy tirades--just paling around.
"Excuse you," Ace huffed, running a hand through his hair, "I'm fashionably late. There's a difference."
You laughed. Typical of him to always have a snappy comeback prepared.
"Well, c'mon then, fashionably late loser," you urged, playfully nudging his arm, "or we'll both be tardy."
"We'll be late, but at least we'll be late together," he grumbled, nudging you back. "That's fine by me. Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to be stuck in a room with ya for the afternoon."
"That's a weird way of describing detention with Crewel-sensei."
"What can I say? I'm a poet," he shrugged, letting his sarcasm drip like thick nectar. "Besides, I can't leave you hangin'."
"No?" Your eyebrows hitched. "Funny, cuz I clearly remember you ditching me for cleaning duty on the first day of classes. I almost thought you had left for class without me today too."
"Oi, that was then and this is now! Come on, do you really think I'd do that to you? Me? Really?"
"Absolutely," you said without missing a beat.
"Pfft. You're so wrong about that." He rolled his eyes. "If you were really that worried that I'd gone without you, you could've poked your head in to check on me."
You frowned. "That'd mean I'd have to go into your room."
"So? I've been over at your place and in your room before. What's the big deal? You'd just be returning the favor."
He leaned in, so close that your noses almost touched. Your heart stood still. The corners of Ace's mouth lifted into a smirk. It suited him well, loathe as you were to admit it.
"Or is it that you're being shy?" he asked in a singsong. "Prefect 🎵"
"I-I'm not!" you squeaked, stepping back to put distance between the two of you. "Quit assuming things, Ace! This is why you're so annoying."
"And who is it that's decided to hang out with my 'annoying' ass, huh?" he countered smoothly.
"Urgh...! Maybe I shouldn't have wasted my time waiting for you to get ready after all..." you muttered, turning away from him. "My morning would be way more peaceful without you."
"Way less interesting too," he quipped--getting in the last word.
You shook your head, but didn't bring yourself to argue. However meddlesome his tongue was, he had spoken the naked truth.
He's trouble, that Trappola.
#twisted wonderland#twst#Ace Trappola#twst x reader#Ace Trappola x Reader#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#Reader#self insert#jp spoilers#something no one asked for#Ace birthday takeover#twst imagines#twst scenarios#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland scenarios#I wonder if Ace made that same face when he got the SOS text from Yuu in book 4#bet he did
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tactility - chapter 1 preview for WIP Wednesday
Most kids grow up listening to fairy tales before bed. Knights and princesses, happily ever after—that kind of thing. There’s almost always some moral or deeper meaning worked into the story, boiled and mashed into easily digestible bites for young minds, but that’s not actually the important part. It’s the act, the sharing of the story from one person to another, that matters most. That’s where the connection happens.
Anyway, here’s the bedtime story Sylvain is told: in the early summer of 2367, an ion storm system of unprecedented ferocity rips through the atmosphere of the Valo system, lighting up the sky with huge streaks of electromagnetic radiation and disrupting any and all communications between the planets within. This is the day of Sylvain Jose Gautier’s birth.
“Oh, it gave us all a fright! A sign from the prophets, to be sure,” an old woman he’s never met will tell Sylvain when she stops him mid-stride on the station promenade, embracing him with the familiarity of a grandmother. Her grip on his arms is stronger than he would’ve imagined possible, her ancient hands nearly as wrinkled as the ridges of her nose. “If you’d seen the state of the sky, you would have thought the same. Angry—that’s what they seemed to most everyone else. But I knew better: they only wanted you to be born among your own kind.”
The problem with being the first recorded progeny between two divergent humanoid species is that there isn’t exactly a manual detailing what to expect when you’re expecting. At a gestational age of six months and eleven days, Sylvain is both early (for a human) and late (for a Bajoran); in either case, his arrival is the kind of surprise that would have been best left for another time.
Sylvain will learn, much later on, that his potential physiology had been a matter of intensive debate among Starfleet medical elite. Humans, in all their extraterrestrial philandering, tended to have the kind of malleable DNA that readily accepted the dominant traits of other species. But, despite the abundance of exterior similarities, Bajoran DNA differed far more significantly from Humans than, say, your typical Klingon. Would the little fetus Sylvain develop at all, they’d wondered, and, if so, would the resulting child be an amalgamation of its parents or something brand new? Prenatal scans were inconclusive, thanks to the sheer number of blood vessels surrounding his tiny form. Wait and hope, they’d advised, all the while scribbling notes for the case studies they were already anxious to publish. It’d been the only counsel they could actually give.
The refugee camp on Valo III was not the Federation medical center where Sylvain was meant to be born. There, antibiotics and sterile bandages were a precious commodity; the vast majority of the resources they did have had been just recently replenished with the arrival of his mother’s ship. The thought that they might have an intensive neonatal unit capable of supporting a (possible) preterm infant with a (possible) heart and spine malformation was laughable. And still, it was in one of those wind-ravaged tents, among a group of haggard Bajoran matriarchs, that a squalling Sylvain would enter the universe.
The fact that he managed to live long enough for a federation ship to make it through a gap in the storm should’ve been some pretty definitive evidence for the existence of the prophets. Sylvain’s not clear on the details himself—something about a more robust cardiovascular system temporarily making up the difference for his underdeveloped lungs. Any blankets that could be spared in camp were proffered without prompting to be wrapped around his tiny form, any loose kindling gathered up without question to feed the fire that would keep him warm. For eighteen hours, the Bajoran women of the camp stood vigil, in a constant rotation of attention and prayer. In the end, it didn’t matter whether it was the luck of genetics or the blessing of their gods; what really saved him was the sacrifice of those Bajoran refugees that saw Sylvain through the storm.
Later, far from Valos III, and farther still from Bajor, a different woman on a different starbase will reach for Sylvain’s hand. Her milky eyes hold so much softness within them that they will nearly make him flinch away.
“You were so very small, child,” she will murmur, reaching to pat gently at his cheek as she speaks. It’s all he can do to smile politely back. “None of us thought you’d make it through the night. And look at you now! The prophets truly have blessed you, as they have blessed us all.”
It’s a story he will hear dozens of times over the years, in dozens of different voices: the story of his birth, mythicized. He was, after all, the first federation citizen born of Bajoran descent. How could the federation continue to turn a blind eye to their suffering while one of their own admirals had married a bajoran woman, while he raised a bajoran-human child? With his birth, Sylvain became an instant symbol of unity for bajorans and sympathizers alike, of hope for an intercession to the five decade long occupation from Cardassia.
But this accomplishment, the one that had endeared him to so many? It was nothing more than a birthright passed down from his influential human father, a tactical choice made in conjunction with his Bajoran mother. It wasn’t something he’d asked or worked for. What was Sylvain, in the end, but a spark meant to ignite a flame in a volatile political standoff? One more weight on the mountain of pressure piling up on the federation’s back as the official conclusion of the Cardassian wars drew nearer.
So, no, Sylvain has never really deserved anyone’s respect; the only thing he’s ever done is survive.
—
STARDATE 73687.87 (2396)
The call comes just before sunset, as Sylvain is packing his notes and other various belongings haphazardly into a leather shoulder bag.
It’s timing is excruciatingly precise: ten minutes earlier and Sylvain would still be making his way across campus from his last lecture, ten minutes later and he would already be gone. Seems pretty impossible to assume this kind of intimate knowledge of his schedule is actually just a coincidence…. which means that the list of possible callers can be narrowed down to exactly two.
For a very long moment, Sylvain considers letting the phone ring out. It’s been a long day—a string of long days, really—and it’s a hell of a walk to the Academy transportation station from his office. There’s a bottle of something red and a stack of mediocre student papers to slog through back at his apartment (Machiavellianism in the Romulan Senate—prophets, what had he been thinking?). It would be better, really, to save this conversation for another time.
Yeah, right.
Sylvain summons up a smile just as the view screen flickers into life with a barely audible click.
“Ingrid told me I might be hearing from you,” he says. “Long time no talk, Captain.”
The image of Dimitri Blaiddyd flickers to life on the screen, looking every bit the Starfleet Academy poster child with his ramrod straight back and new, fourth pip fastened high on his collar. Shocking, really, that they haven’t put him on billboards yet. It’s been about eight months since the last time they’ve spoken—in that time Dimitri’s blond hair has gotten a bit longer, a bit less regulation. Sylvain’s always telling Dimitri he should lighten up a little; somehow, Sylvain doubts his look has anything to do with that suggestion. Probably, he hasn’t noticed it needs cutting, yet. There’s a reason it’s called tunnel vision: focusing so hard on long-term goals makes it kind of hard to see what’s going on around you, hair length included. Sylvain decides not to be the one to point it out.
It’s not that Sylvain doesn’t want to see Dimitri—they’ve been friends longer than Sylvain can really remember, after all. It’s actually impossible for a Sylvain to separate Dimitri from the memories of his childhood. The good ones, at least; the relief that went with watching the swirling white clouds of Earth’s atmosphere disappear out the window of a transport ship, intrinsically interlinked with the excitement of seeing a young Dimitri waiting with his father at the starbase docking platform. Very few good things have ever been handed down to Sylvain from his own father’s starfleet career; the friendships he’s inherited will always be one of them.
So, no, it’s not that Sylvain’s avoiding Dimitri. It’s only that there’s other memories mixed up in there with the good ones, memories that take enough effort to put aside that these calls become more like a minefield than the friendly chat they ought to be. Out on the table, there’s a whole host of topics to talk about—but watch out! It’s a little exhausting, to be honest. The fact that it seems to be one sided, something that Sylvain alone can’t get past, makes it all a little worse.
But, oblivious to Sylvain’s tumultuous inner monologue, Dimitri is smiling gently at him from the screen. “So you’ve heard, then. I was hoping to be the one to tell you myself.”
“Cat was out of the bag a long time ago,” Sylvain replies with a little laugh. “The whole academy’s been talking about it.”
Dimitri frowns softly. “Oh?”
“Another early promotion and your first command at twenty-six? C’mon, that’s almost a record.”
“Ah, yes. I suppose so,” Dimitri concedes, looking suddenly embarrassed. Sylvain gets it; it’s easy for people like them to be a little sensitive about success, or more accurately, the means by which that success is earned. For someone like Sylvain, who’s father is alive and still serving, it’s nothing special. Just one more burden that plenty of children in multigenerational military families bear. By now, he can almost always tell when someone is just trying to kiss up. For Dimitri, though? It’s something way worse. The funny part is that there’s no one in the galaxy that’s worked harder or with more single-mindedness to achieve their goals than Dimitri. It’s one of the reasons they haven’t spoken in so long—Dimitri’s relentless pursuit of duty never leaves much time for socializing. It’s that tunnel vision, again. If it weren’t for the fact that Ingrid has been stationed with him on nearly every vessel, Sylvain’s not sure he would hear from Dimitri at all. “And just how much did Ingrid tell you?”
Always straight to the point, too. Sylvain settles into the chair at his desk, resigned to the length of the conversation, before responding. “Only that you had a question to ask.” And, then, when Dimitri doesn’t immediately respond, “I think she was trying to spare you some of the awkwardness if I decided to say no.”
Dimitri hums, the tone mildly displeased. “And are you intending to say no?”
“Don’t think I would’ve answered if I knew that for sure.”
It isn’t the answer Dimitir is hoping for, Sylvain can tell by the soft frown that’s taken up residence across Dimitri’s face. It’s the truth, though—Sylvain owes Dimitri that much, at least. He’s been wrestling with the question that Dimitri hasn’t even asked yet for almost a week now, alternating between obsession and avoidance with such velocity that he feels a little like an overworked metronome. Ingrid had been purposefully vague with her information—all I know is that he wants you there with us—but wasn’t that enough? Being on that ship when it departs, regardless of the role, means returning to active duty. It means stepping back into the same set of circumstances that led him to a life of retirement in academia at the age of twenty-five. It wasn’t just that he was out of practice and no longer qualified to be placed in any sort of combat capacity. It’s the fact that, sometimes, when he thinks of Dimitri, it’s not the face of his friend that he sees waiting there in his mind. It’s the seemingly lifeless body on the floor of the bridge. It’s the phaser still gripped in Sylvain’s hands.
“Listen, Dimitri,” Sylvain starts, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. “you have to know there are better choices out there.”
But Dimitri is shaking his head before Sylvain is finished speaking. “There aren’t.”
“There are. Guys who have full use of their right hand, for one thing. I haven’t passed phaser qualifications in years.”
He doesn’t say the word liability but it hangs there in the air between them, anyway. There’s a reason all Starfleet personnel are issued a personal phaser upon commission, despite the strict regulations that surround the acceptability of their use. Diplomatic relations between all people and planets is a great ideal to strive for, but it’s never going to be the reality. Every cadet at the academy knows they’ll have to raise that phaser and fire, one day. Forced into sudden left-handedness after two decades of training with his right, Sylvain’s always going to be a lousy shot.
“… May I speak frankly?”
Sylvain shrugs. “Wish you always would.”
It takes Dimitri a very long moment to find the words he wants. Sylvain watches him search in silence, an unwelcome feeling of anticipation rising up higher from the pit of his stomach with each additional second that passes. Dimitri’s always been thoughtful with the words he chooses, but not this careful. It means whatever he’s about to say is either painfully sincere (not an uncommon occurrence, actually) or broaching starfleet security clearance in some way or other.
“This mission is a matter of some delicacy, both diplomatically and… personally, as well,” he says, finally.
Both, then. It’s impossible for Sylvain to stop his eyebrows from raising at that. “Yeah?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details at present,” Dimitri continues, sounding apologetic. “Suffice to say, however, that my one condition in accepting this command was that I would have full control over any appointment made aboard my ship. While, ah, steps have been taken, there is a possibility that what occurred aboard the Aeron may happen again. I would prefer my crew be staffed by officers I know I can trust, should the need arise.”
That last part lands like a kick to the gut.
“Dimitri—“ Sylvain starts.
“And I can trust you, Sylvain, despite what you might believe. More than that, you are one of my oldest and closest friends. I’ve always relied on your insight in the past—and I hope to do so again, now. There is simply no one else who can fill that role.”
Sylvain blinks, left suddenly at a loss for words.
It’s… not a great feeling, really. For five years, he’s been carrying around the guilt that’s come with the choice he made that night on the Aeron. The specifics of Sylvain’s motivation, whether he was right or wrong in the end… that didn’t really matter, did it? He hadn’t picked Dimitri and he’d lived with the implications of that decision ever since. But, surprise! This whole time, not only did Dimitri not hold it against him, he’d seen Sylvain’s actions on that bridge as proof of the depth of their friendship. Actions he might count on Sylvain to carry out again, should the need arise.
The whole thing is a little bit fucked up, to be honest. Sylvain should say no right this very moment, put them both out of their misery and move on with the life he’s been building for the past five years. Starfleet had never been his dream, after all. Just an expectation from his dear old dad, and then later, an easy choice to follow his friends. On the whole, Sylvain was enjoying life as an academy instructor. He was good at it, probably better than he’d ever been as a soldier. But… Sylvain rubs a hand across his temple, exhaling a long breath in the process.
“…Yeah, sure,” he says at some length. “Okay.”
The way Dimitri brightens at his words isn’t enough to make Sylvain feel better about the way this conversation has turned out. “You’ll accept?”
Last chance, Gautier.
“If that’s what you need from me,” Sylvain says, with a smile he isn’t sure he can possibly mean. “What are friends for?”
… Boy, did they all need therapy or what?
“Excellent.” Dimitri is smiling now, a genuine expression that fills up the whole of his face. “I’ll have my first officer send over the paperwork for your reinstatement and the details of our deployment promptly.”
“Can’t wait,” Sylvain lies.
From there, the rest of the conversation runs on autopilot. Dimitri expressing his gratitude with a little too much sincerity, Sylvain trying his best to wave it aside while simultaneously steering their talk to safer, less heartfelt matters. It isn’t until they’ve said their goodbyes, until Dimitri is reaching out to press the button that will end their call, that Sylvain even thinks to ask.
The fact that it takes him so long to realize, that it hadn’t been the first question out of his mouth when Dimitri had mentioned his ‘oldest friends’, says a lot about how things have gone for Sylvain over the past five years. Shows how much he may have changed as a person in all that time, how much progress he’s actually made in moving on.
He’s going to ask it anyway, though. And that shows just how much he hasn’t changed at all.
“—Hey, Dimitri?”
Because that’s the thing about hope, you know? It’s hard to get rid of completely. No matter how much time has passed, it's still going to be there, biding its time just below the surface. Like a still-glowing ember, ready to flare back up with only the smallest bit of provocation. Sylvain’s always been easy—he doesn’t need much more than this to bring that old hope blazing back to life. So, for a fraction of a second, he allows himself to feel it. He thinks of dark hair falling in loose, haphazard strands across equally dark eyes and the way that sharp mouth looked when it actually turned up into a smile. Sylvain feels his chest tighten in response; for once, he doesn’t force himself to set the image immediately aside.
But Dimitri pauses, blue eyes flicking back up to meet his across the screen, and Sylvain knows two things at once. The first, that Dimitri already knows exactly what he’s about to ask. Has been waiting for it, maybe, through this whole conversation—and doesn’t that make Sylvain feel even more pathetic? The second, and by far the worst of the two, is that asking is pointless. Dimitri can’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know, Sylvain can tell just by the regret that lingers on the edge of his expression. Stupid to think that Dimitri wouldn’t have told him already if he did.
“Forget it,” Sylvain says, forcing a tone that he can only hope comes across as light. He feels anything but, right now. “It’s not actually important.”
For a moment, Dimitri hesitates. The apology is already forming in his mouth—Sylvain can almost see it. They’ve had this conversation a dozen times over the past five years, each instance more excruciating than the last. It isn’t productive for either of them, just like it can’t change what’s already happened. That’s never stopped Dimitri from saying it, though. Sylvain braces himself for the fresh wave of sympathy… but, then, it passes.
“Take care, Sylvain,” is all Dimitri says before the screen goes suddenly dark.
And then it is just Sylvain, alone in his office, as the light continues to wane around him.
#ronsenburg tries to write#tactility: a primer#this needs to be edited dowwwwwnnnn#I’m having fun with it at least???#bajoran physiology is second nature to us fanfic writers so it’s easy to forget that the average person only knows that bajorans have#a five month gestation and a horizontally mirrored heart#and bilateral vertabrae!#of course
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Ooooh I cannot wait for your TickleTober2023 fics 🤩
If it's possible, I'd like to take Day 4 from Augtickletober2023 (I'm not ticklish) with Fire Emblem 3 Hopes: Lee!Felix, Ler!Sylvain, and Switch!Ashe please
Can't wait to see what you do 🫶🏾💖 Good luck with this TickleTober2023 🌸🩷🫶🏾
Friend or Foe? Maybe Both
Author’s note: Aaaaah!!! Thank you Gladys! I’ve missed these blue lion boys! I hope you all enjoy Day 5 of Tickletober: “I’m not ticklish!” (From August’s Tickletober 2023 list!)

Series: Fire Emblem Three Hopes
Characters: Felix, Sylvain, and Ashe
Word count: 882
Summary: Sylvain comes into the camp’s study to help lighten the workload of Ashe and Felix, but also to help unwind a stubborn noble.
—
“Sylvain, get off of me,” Felix grumbles while his redheaded friend has an arm wrapped around his neck in a playful chokehold. Felix was minding his own business by organizing some documents in the camp’s study, but Sylvain was able to get the jump on him while he was standing over a table full of books.
“Come on, Felix! Lighten up,” Sylvain uses his free hand to ruffle Felix’s hair, “I come over to help and this is the response I get? Is that anyway to treat an ally?”
Felix glares behind him, “The way you’re acting right now makes me see you more like a foe.”
“Yeouch, harsh words,” Sylvain pretends to take offense. “Ashe, are you hearing this?” The redhead looks towards their silver-haired friend, who’s currently organizing books on the shelf.
“Well, you did take him by surprise, Sylvain,” Ashe smiles over his shoulder.
“I was only trying to loosen him up,” Sylvain jostles the arm leaning on Felix’s shoulders. “Get him to act less stiff.”
Felix scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“What? You think I can’t?” Sylvain interprets Felix’s non-verbal action as a challenge. “Okay tough guy.” A smirk appears on Sylvain’s face. “Let’s see how you handle this!”
With that battle cry, Sylvain darts his hands towards Felix’s sides and wiggles his fingers. Air jumps down Felix’s throat in the form of a gasp and he snatches at the wrists still scratching at his sides. He seems to have closed his snarky mouth shut.
“Sylvain? What are you doing?” he growls.
“I’m trying to tickle you,” Sylvain answers so casually. This response captures Ashe’s attention and he pauses his work to look their way.
“Yeah, well, I’m not ticklish. So get off!” Felix tries to pry himself away from Sylvain, with no success.
“Really now?” Sylvain’s voice dips with a smirk, “I remember you being super ticklish in the past, especially when we were kids.”
Felix’s squirming becomes more frantic. “That was then. This is now! So for the last time, get off me-hehehe!” Felix suddenly breaks out into giggles when Sylvain claws his fingers up to Felix’s ribs.
Bingo. Sylvain’s got him. “So, Mr. ‘I’m not ticklish’ is actually ticklish, huh?” Sylvain grins at his victory.
“Sylvahahain!” Felix clamps his arms to his sides and squirms in his friend’s grasp. Sylvain has to wrap one arm around Felix to hold him back while the other scribbles away at the side of his ribs.
“Hey, you’re not getting away that easily!”
Ashe steps over to the scene, “Mind if I help, Sylvain?”
“Please do,” Sylvain quickly recaptures Felix by tightening a bear hug around him, as the blue-haired noble was almost able to wriggle away. “I can’t hold him myself for much longer!”
As he squirms with his hands trapped to his sides, Felix’s eyes widen when he sees Ashe’s wiggling fingers now approaching. “Noho no-! Ahahahashe!” Felix squeals with increased giggles when his second friend joins in the fun by tickling his middle.
“There we go! Now he’s loosening up!” Sylvain says.
“That he is,” Ashe chuckles. “It’s nice to get our friends giggling once in a while.”
“And you know what’s better than one giggling friend, Ashe?” Sylvain asks.
The silver-haired young man gives a puzzled, yet innocent look. “What?”
“Two giggling friends!” Sylvain then releases Felix and lunges towards Ashe. The redhead quickly dives his fingers into Ashe’s ribs, resulting in Ashe flinching back and spilling giggles of his own.
“Hehehey!” the silver-haired friend playfully struggles from the unanticipated attack. He swats at Sylvain’s wrists, leaning back and almost losing his balance. “I thohohought we were ohohon the same teheheam!”
“We were, but I changed my mind,” Sylvain shrugs with a smile. “I can see why Felix was calling me a foe earlier.”
With another backwards tug, Ashe finally loses his balance and crumbles to the ground. Sylvain jumps down after him, now scribbling into his friend’s belly as Ashe explodes into laughter once more and squirms on the floor.
As Ashe continues giggling his heart out, Felix returns to his serious, down to business expression. With a sigh, he grabs a book off the table, walks over to his friends, then taps Sylvain on the head with the book. “Come on. Enough fooling around. We have work to do.”
“Fiiine,” Sylvain conceads. He pulls his hands away and Ashe curls himself up as the ghost tickles still give him residual giggles. Sylvain then helps his friend back to his feet.
Once Ashe has stabilized himself, he looks to Felix with an embarrassed smile. “Heh, sorry, Felix.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Ashe, except for maybe joining in with Sylvain’s scheme.” Felix scowls at Sylvain. “It’s this one who should be sorry for disturbing us.”
“Hey, I think I helped lighten up the mood.” Sylvain pauses to observe Felix. He grins. “Is that a smile I see?”
Felix scoffs. He shoves a book into Sylvain’s chest. “It’s nothing of the sort. You must be imagining things.” The noble walks away to continue his bookkeeping duties. He tucks his head out of sight so his friends don’t see the remnants of the joyful look on his face, but Sylvain and Ashe glance at each other, knowing that Felix’s mood has been successfully lifted.
#tickletober#augtickletober2023#tickletober 2023#tickletober2023#fire emblem#fire emblem three hopes#fire emblem three houses#fe three hopes#fe three houses#few3h#fe3h#felix hugo fraldarius#sylvain jose gautier#ashe ubert#fire emblem felix#fire emblem sylvain#fire emblem ashe#fire emblem fanfiction#fire emblem fanfic#sfw fanfiction#sfw fanfic#sfw tickle fic#tickle fic
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Do you have any boring headcanons about the FE3H lot? Like, Sylvain has to make his pieces face the opponent and sit dead centre of the square, or Claude switches which way he starts his braid each day to see if anyone notices?
Oh boy do I they’re all I think about everyday !!!!!!! I’ll share some for Sylvain Claude and Ferdinand (they’ve been hogging all of my brain space alshsj)
Sylvain looks like garbage every time he wakes up— he can never get his hair to cooperate, his eyes are crusty, sleep lines all over his face, the whole nine yards. Man looks like he went through war after 8 full hours of sleep no matter what. I also think Sylvain has a sensitive stomach and is never brave when his tummy hurts and he Will whine about it to anyone within 3 feet of him (will he pay attention to what he eats so he can prevent these tummy aches ??? Absolutely not)
Claude dog ears his book pages. He dog ears them and he writes all over his books and he sticks in pages with more writing, his books are a mess. Claude also only writes in pen/ink, he hates writing with pencils. Something about it just doesn’t hit the same as ink !!!! Which means all his writing is super messy and smudged because he doesn’t wait long enough for it to dry and when he makes a mistake he just scribbles it out and on days where he’s been up working, you can tell because of how stained his hands are from ink
Ferdinand hums to himself constantly. Always. He’s always making some sort of noise or sound— humming, whistling, tapping on something, literally always making noise. He’ll tap his fingers against the table and people like to try and guess what song he’s got stuck in his head based on his tapping. Ferdinand also loves collecting little things, like trinkets and knick-knacks and just anything and everything. He’s got figures and buttons and rocks ribbons and anything he can get his hands on. Ferdinand just relates to Ariel from the little mermaid with her gadgets and gizmos and whosits and whatsits and thingamabobs
Anyways I love them and I love thinking about them
#kei talks#more than happy to talk abt more of the anime chess lads#especially sylvain#the man never leaves my fucking brain I’ve tried kicking him out multiple times#fe3h#fire emblem three houses#fe3h sylvain#fe3h claude#fe3h ferdinand
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Elves & Cheeseburgers
It was a warm, smoggy afternoon in Burbank. The sun hung like a lazy gold coin above Magnolia Boulevard. The air smelled faintly of lavender cleaner, espresso, and pavement that had been baking since noon. Inside a corner coffee shop called The Elm & Bean, four elves sat at a table that was too small for comfort and too close to a ficus plant that kept brushing against their chairs.
They didn’t exactly blend in.
Rhiendel wore a lavender hoodie pulled tight around his face, sunglasses large enough to block out unwanted eye contact, and an expression like someone who had just read a confusing prophecy. He sipped chai latte through a compostable straw, scowling at his reflection in the glass.
Next to him, Sylvaine looked like she belonged in a lifestyle magazine for forest witches. Her silver hair was braided over one shoulder, decorated with tiny beads shaped like leaves and moons. She scrolled through Yelp on her phone with the intensity of a scholar searching for lost knowledge.
Aelric leaned back in his chair with practiced swagger. His linen shirt and jeans were modern enough, but there was something in the way he carried himself that said sword fights used to be part of his daily routine. He was chewing on a wooden stir stick, probably to keep from talking too early.
Then there was Timmil. He wore a T-shirt from a Hollywood ghost tour and was scribbling in a battered notebook labeled Human Foods I Still Don’t Understand, Volume Two. His legs bounced under the table as he wrote.
“So explain it again,” Rhiendel said, pointing his straw at no one in particular. “You eat the meat. But it is not just meat. It is meat inside bread. With melted dairy.”
“It is more than that,” Aelric replied. He set down his stir stick with dramatic care. “It is called a cheeseburger. A symbol of indulgence. A simple object containing a hundred years of human hunger, invention, and questionable ethics.”
Sylvaine made a face. “Please stop saying it like that. You make it sound like a cursed talisman. It is just fast food.”
“You are wrong,” Aelric said. “It is fast, yes. But it is also sacred. Meat, cheese, pickles, and sauce, arranged with chaos and confidence.”
Timmil looked up. “Is the cheese supposed to melt on purpose, or does it melt by accident during the process?”
“No one really knows,” Rhiendel muttered. “It just happens. Like earthquakes. Or pop songs.”
Sylvaine raised her hand like she was back in an academy seminar. “I had one last week. In-N-Out. Double-double. No onions. It was greasy. The bun collapsed. My hands smelled like smoke and sauce for an entire day.”
“And?” Aelric leaned forward with interest.
She hesitated. Then she exhaled. “It was amazing. I hated how much I liked it. I thought about it for three hours afterward. It might have been sorcery.”
“I knew it,” Aelric said with a grin. “You felt the enchantment.”
“It is not enchantment,” Rhiendel said, adjusting his hood. “It is manipulation. They fry the meat in something called ‘love’ but it is actually just oil and desperation.”
Timmil was still writing. “Cheeseburgers are not sandwiches. They are emotional events wrapped in paper. The cheese binds it. The pickles confuse you. The sauce speaks to your childhood.”
Outside, a pair of joggers passed. A barista adjusted the music volume. The coffee shop filled with the gentle hum of espresso machines and laptop keyboards.
“I lived through the ice war of Nefalen,” Rhiendel said, pulling off his sunglasses. “I have faced down dragons. I once heard a mountain weep. But this food confuses me more than all of that combined.”
“They confuse you because they are honest,” Timmil said. “They are not trying to be healthy. They are not pretending to be gourmet. They are just what they are.”
Sylvaine nodded. “That is what made it good. It was real. Hot, messy, indulgent. Like falling in love with something you are supposed to avoid.”
Rhiendel stood up. “Fine. I will try one. But I am not eating the pickles.”
“Pickles are essential,” Aelric called after him.
“They taste like betrayal,” Rhiendel said over his shoulder.
Sylvaine grabbed her bag. “There is a Five Guys nearby. We can walk.”
Timmil flipped to a clean page in his notebook. He titled it, Chapter Twelve: Cheeseburgers, the Earthly Elixir.
As they left the coffee shop, the barista blinked at them with vague suspicion. Outside, an old man playing the violin near the record store watched them pass. He scratched his chin and said quietly to himself, “Huh. I thought I quit hallucinating back in seventy-five.”
#short fiction#short stories#short story#original fiction#fantasy writing#fiction writing#creative writers#writers of tumblr#urban fantasy#high fantasy
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Learn to appreciate real art when you hear it, Sylvain.
#scribbles because my brain is still pudding sorry#netteflix#felannie#fire emblem#fe3h#few3h#annette#felix#sylvain#just loving how sylvain tried to fix her goofy songs and felix caught on immediately
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the Angst 100 dimivain prompt is up!!
hope you enjoy crying as much as i did, friends!!
can this even be labelled dimivain?? it's one sided idk
#dimivain week 2021#lekha scribbles and calls it writing#fe3h#dimitri x sylvain#sylvain jose gautier#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd#dimivain#sylmitri
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0.2 seconds later they fall over and sylvain gets snow in his armor. ah, the price of romance⚘⚘
(happy new year everyone!!!!!)
#sylvix#fe3h#fire emblem#sylvain jose gautier#felix hugo fraldarius#fire emblem three houses#my art#mine#a good piece the end the year on/start the new year with if i do say so myself#coloring felix's cape was a journey of frustration and lots of scribbling#but well. i like how this piece turned out a lot and i hope yall do too!!
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doodle page
#tf2#my art#sylvain scribbles#medic tf2#medic#tf2 medic#demoman tf2#tf2 demoman#demoman#splatoon#“medic would main something else” medic has the crazed manic energy of a splatana user#also guess who watched american psycho for the first time last night
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That one Steven Universe meme ft. the worst brothers known to all of Faerghus
#slank-scribbles✍🏻#fe3h#fire emblem three houses#sylvain jose gautier#miklan anschutz gautier#i saw a post on bsky where its bandit and cass from batman doing this meme#and these two have been on my mind for the past few days#its objectively funnier for sylvain to be one saying that they gotta do a murder#i dont make the rules - its just the truth
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sylvain
companion piece to felix
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a promise.
#quick scribbles (except felix hair because it always takes like 20 min) of some sylvix thoughts....#lyrics from putting the dog to sleep : the antlers#sylvix#sylvain jose gautier#felix fraldarius#i posted another version of picture three on twitter#im not sure which one i like the most#the one on twitter is more.... obvious they die together#this one is more.... felix has accepted this and at this point wants to die with sylvain only yet sylvain obviously wants to be with-#with felix but he wants to be alive for maybe the first time in his life#and the thought of dying now terrifies him#but hes also accepting it slowly because if felix is by his side even if both of them are near death sylvain knows felix will protect him#and keep him safe#even in the next life#uhhh yeah#fe3h#fire emblem three houses#fire emblem#tiny sketches
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Can I request Day 9 of Miya and Mia"s TickleTober2023 (mirrors) with Lees!Sylvain and Ashe where their reflections are tickling them? That'd be pretty cool!
-🦋
It's Like Looking Into a Mirror
Author’s note: Hello Butterfly anon! I took some liberties with the idea of “reflections” and instead turned it into look-alikes created by Annette’s magic! I hope you all enjoy Day 9 of Tickletober: Mirrors! (From Miya and Mia’s Tickletober list!)

Series: Fire Emblem Three Houses
Characters: Sylvain, Ashe, and Annette
Word count: 813
Summary: Annette has some new magic to show Sylvain and Ashe, but this magic is intended to be used for the fall-themed festival, so there might be a trick up her sleeve as she shows it off.
—
The academy’s spooky harvest festival is just around the corner, so everyone is busy making preparations for the event. Outside in the academy’s marketplace, Sylvain and Ashe work together to decorate wooden booths and stations with autumn themed materials.
“Hey you two!”
The boys look in the direction of the feminine voice calling in their direction. They see their fellow Blue Lion’s student, Annette, running towards them with a wave of her hand. In her other hand is a magic tome. She stops running and has a twinkle in her eyes. “There’s something I want to show you both!”
“You seem pretty excited,” Sylvain observes.
“What is it?” Ashe asks with a curious inflection.
“Watch this!” Annette lifts up the tome and waves her hand above it. Purple, sparkling magic swirls around her fingers until it shoots forward on the ground in front of her in two separate beams. From the ground up, the purple magic begins creating an image of a person with legs and an academy uniform, but the real surprise is when Ashe and Sylvain see the faces of these conjured up figures. They share their exact likeness, with their same hair, facial features, and all.
“Ta-da!” Annette cheers.
“Whoa!” Sylvain exclaims as he looks at the magic form of himself. “Handsome fella. It’s like looking into a mirror.”
“Two mirrors,” Ashe jokes in response. “This is wonderful Annette!”
“Thanks!” Annette smiles. “I thought the magic would be useful for fun entertainment at the harvest festival.” The orange-haired female pauses for a moment to look at her two friends. “But there’s one more thing I forgot to show you with it.”
“What’s that?” Sylvain asks.
“You’ll see.” Annette places her tome under her arm to free her hands. Like a puppet master controlling strings, Annette moves her fingers to control both the Magic-made Ashe and the Magic-made Sylvain. The real Ashe and Sylvain are startled at first when the two forms start moving, but they soon become intrigued the more they watch Annette’s magic.
“Whoa! I didn’t expect them to move too,” Ashe says, keeping his eyes on the approaching figures.
“Me neither,” Sylvain says. Although, his impressed expression soon turns into concern when Annette maneuvers the figures to walk behind them. They didn’t think that their own selves could be so intimidating, but they were in this moment.
“Um, Annette?” Sylvain glances his eyes towards the girl while his focus stays on his magic-made reflection. The only answer he gets is a giggle from Annette. (If Annette of all people isn’t giving him a straight answer, then that can’t be a good sign.) With a flick of Annette’s wrist, the two figures dart out their magic-made hands and, surprisingly, start tickling the real Ashe and Sylvain.
The two male Blue Lions yelp with a jolt at the sudden, silly surprise attack, followed by roaring laughter from the two students. Ashe squeezes his arms to his side and tries to curl himself up, while Sylvain tries to shove the shadowy figure away.
“Hehehey! Wahahait a mihihihinute!” Sylvain playfully exclaims.
“Ahahahannette!” Ashe squeals through his laughter. He ends his sentence with a squeak as the figure scribbles into his ribs, as if his magical doppelgänger is aware of exactly where he's ticklish.
The girl giggles again as she wiggles both sets of her fingers to control the magic figures tickling her friends. “How do you like the second part of my trick? It’s really just to show how the magic can interact with physical objects, but I thought that it would be more fun to test it this way! Plus, there’s usually monsters at the harvest festival, right? So what better monster to have than a tickle monster!”
“Yehehes, we see thahahat!” Sylvain shoots his arms down to pry the hands of the magic-made figure with his likeness away from squeezing his sides.
“It’s vehehehery impressive Annette,” Ashe giggles from his curled up state, “but I thihihink we're both tickled ohohohout!”
“Hehe! Okay, I hear you,” Annette smiles and throws both of her hands to her sides like a conductor of an orchestra. The magic-made Blue Lions disappear into a breeze of purple dust. Ashe and Sylvain immediately wrap their arms around themselves. Annette walks closer to check up on them.
“You two okay?” the girl asks with concern.
“Yeah,” Sylvain smiles with a breathless chuckle. He takes a moment to breath some more air. “That was a…strange experience. Do I really look that menacing when I’m tickling someone?”
“As someone who’s been on the receiving end of your tickle attacks many times, yes,” Ashe teases beside him.
Sylvain scoffs and gives Ashe a playful shove. The silver-haired boy giggles and so does Annette. The harvest festival might be intended to be scary, but its autumn themed decorations, spooky mazes, and even entertaining magics, are all in the spirit of fun.
#tickletober#miya&mia's tickletober#tickletober 2023#tickletober2023#fire emblem#fire emblem three houses#fe3h#sylvain jose gautier#ashe ubert#annette fantine dominic#fire emblem sylvain#fire emblem ashe#fire emblem annette#fire emblem fanfiction#fire emblem fanfic#sfw fanfiction#sfw fanfic#sfw tickle fic#tickle fic
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