#aether lavellan

The window is open and small breeze ruffles the gauzes, twisted on beams of their four poster bed, both of them sitting on it.

Working in silence.

Vergil frowns slightly at the contents of letter in his hand, shifting to curl up one of his legs. He leans his right shoulder on the bed’s poster, trying to decipher what the author of this exceptionally thick letter had in mind. He rubs at his eyes when they water a bit after a yawn he barely managed to keep in, but continues to read, even if he feels a shadow of a headache looming at the back of his head. He shouldn’t take work to bed, he knows this. And usually, he never does, but today’s an exception and he knows Aether understands, busy with writing in his own journal.

Aether just shook his head with a soft smile when both of them stepped out fresh and clean from the bathroom and Vergil looked at the untouched pile of papers on his desk. 

Definitely a new one, because he could swear he did that one already, and new stack materialized from thin air, just as both of them were done with their shared bath. Aether silently brushed his fingers at Vergil’s wrist and went to grab his notebook, sitting among pillows with his back to the headboard, knees up to rest the opened journal.

Strands of his messily pinned up hair keep getting in Vergil’s eyes and he absently brushes them behind his ear, eyes narrowed, corners of his mouth turned down. Vergil blinks again when his sight seems to blurry and he can’t stifle another yawn and rolls his shoulders, sleeping shirt slipping a bit on his left and he briefly makes a face when the material sticks to the scarred skin, soaking bits of numbing cream Aether applied on it earlier.

With utmost care, unhurriedly and precisely.

Vergil let him take his time, idly watching him work, feeling the constant itch changing into simple pressure of his touch, when his fingers carefully spreaded herb smelling balm. Aether’s own recipe, one that he perfected over the years and one that actually worked. It didn’t irritate the skin further or made the numbness turn into the feeling of wooden limb. For that, Vergil was grateful. He’s used to the constant pull and prickle of skin with every move, the scars long healed, both bumpy and smooth, but still a tender reminder of rushed, makeshift spell. At least he still can use the arm and his hand fairly normal, with very minimal setbacks.

Vergil is so immersed in his reading, that he stiffens when the bed dips behind him, but then relaxes instantly as subtle smell of Aether’s bathing powder hits his nose. He drapes himself slowly at Vergil’s back, arms wrapping around his middle, leaning forward to plant delicate, lingering kiss on the fabric over his left shoulder. Aether tilts his head, nuzzling briefly into Vergil’s neck, lips pressed for a moment to his throat, before he rests his chin on Vergil’s shoulder, sighing briefly. The arms around Vergil tighten when he leans back into Aether’s embrace, gently bumping his cheek with Aether’s temple.

Ya spoil me rotten, my dude <3

Meme1:Aether drew a breath to speak, and then hesitated before he let it out and smiled weakly to himself. Closing his eyes, he then gave a mild nod and then, he gave his answer. “Some may call this foolish of me, but what I find the most attractive about Spiridon is his honesty. It’s not sweetened to deceive, and he doesn’t mince words to inject what he wants to say into what he feels that he needs to say. If I am to be honest myself, I feel jealous of him for being the kind of person who can say things that way. It’s the sort of honesty I wish I had myself.”

Meme2:“The first time I met Spiridon was not the first time I had heard of him. The Lavellan clan which I was adopted into as their simple tradesmaster offered me little insight about him as a man, only that they had marked him for death for offenses none were willing to tell. Being able to meet him though, that made me question even more the clan’s reasons of casting this dark and miserable path upon him. He is not kind, no, but he is not cruel either. He is reliable when treated fairly, steady as the stones that the rains and winds beat upon, and mostly, he strikes me as someone who doesn’t want to be treated above or below anyone else. It’s men like him who help shape the world, not through great displays of power, manipulation, or money, but who are willing to do what needs to be done, to make decisions that need to be made, and to take responsibility for the consequences of these actions. He’s a good man. And I’m glad to have him, regardless of what the Lavellan clan has said.”

trembling hands + tender

--

Dimitri watches as Aether’s hands tremble fiercely, unable to calm the pounding in his chest. He holds the sobs and cries behind pursed lips, squinting his eyes. Dimitri knows Aether can’t save each one; he would be as bloodied and broken as all those he had tried to save. Not that it stopped him from trying--a trait Dimitri admired--but one that was more than often a torment. Each life lost was like a burning failure, another pain to feel and to hold onto, a reminder of fragility.

Dimitri tenderly reached out, pressing his hands into Aether's, squeezing them to stop the aftershocks. Pressing kisses against his knuckles, he leaned in close as the tide broke and sobs slipped from his lips.

--

Aether Lavellan for @smolpocketmonstercoffee ✨❤

Spurred because of the wonderful @fun-sized-owl​ who uses icons in his RP’s

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