#(( finally got around to making seperate posts for each of these beans' bios so that it's more accessible than my carrd! ))

[itokunii-a]

( about: Valentin. ) tw: death, war, religious imagery.

Angel, with your golden eyes and wings on the back, sit with me. It’s a pity we dare not speak of what is funny, what is sad.

FULL NAME: Valentin Fedorovich Kirilov.

NICKNAME: Val, Valya. The Sword of Saint Michael.

GENDER II SPECIES: Male II Human turned angel.

BIRTHDAY II AGE: January 4th 1909 II 32 ( has stopped ageing since then ).

BIRTHPLACE: Krasnoyarsk, Siberia, Soviet Union.

HEIGHT: 6’2".

ROMANTIC/SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Biromantic, demisexual.

OCCUPATION: Soldier. Highschool teacher for Russian literature.

CHARACTER:

–> Traits: Even back in his classroom, Valentin was known to be a teacher set firmly in his values and beliefs, a strictness that crumbled when he saw his students’ determination. He had a soft spot for them back then ( staying long after school had ended, practising and discussing what they did not understand ) and he has a soft spot for his men now, willing to fight all hell by himself just to ensure their safety. When in combat, he will bloom: giving orders, quick on his feet, precise in his decisions and perhaps this is why it is so bizarre to see him outside of it, when he gets shy, awkward, blinking when confronted with a compliment, pulling his hat down to hide the shade of red spreading on his cheeks. He is also very empathetic, always ready to lend someone a shoulder to cry on and sneakily wrap a wing around their body. Trustworthy and reliable but also introverted and uncertain how to approach someone outside of work, he just wants the best for the people he cares about. But do not be fooled: he has a mission to carry out and he will do anything in his power to do so. He would never betray anyone but if you do, he will either burn you inside out or slice your throat with his wings.

PROPHECY: The beginning of your lifetime seems eternities ago, when the only weight to rest upon your shoulders was your mother’s worried longing for your father’s return from war and as you laid awake at night, tracing the maps of Europe with a child’s curiousity and a held breath, you wondered where he slept tonight, wondered where his feet carried him this day. When you sat by the candle and read everything from Tolstoi and Dostoevsky ( fed on it, such an active imagination or perhaps just a respite from the lonliness of a neary empty house? ), you could not help but let your mind wander about the stories he would tell. But when he returned, you were granted none of your childish wishes, only empty and fatigued eyes. War was not as heroic as you hoped it would be and the little farm on the outskirts of Krasnoyarsk grew colder day by day. This was your first meeting with war and its trot had already found itself into your life.

Skip a few chapters and you find yourself in Swerdlowsk after the war had ended. Your parents sent you off to your grandparents in hopes for a better life for you, one built upon education and possibilities. You were in awe at the countless books, the endless pages, hiding yourself in libraries as you spent many days learning and reading; you were in love with fiction, were you trying to escape reality? So you begin to teach and your passion is contagious, your classes interesting, explaining stories, thinking about linguistics. You are obsessed with your work, staying long after the school has closed to grade papers and come up with better ways of teaching. You pride yourself a little on this virtue, not knowing it will turn into your vice.

Your final meeting with war made you realize why your father never elaborated his experiences with symbols or metaphors and why they never resembled poetry or prose. There was nothing romantic about the way you held your dying men in your arms or the way you ran right into the enemy like a martyr without truly believing in the reason your feet were still running for. War and Peace turned into death and horror but nothing, truly nothing could have prepared you for what you would face on the Eastern front when a bullet pierced its way into your chest, your doom seemingly inevitable as you laid there, bleeding out while the others begged for your help.

You remember the angel both crystal clear and in a haze, not certain how much of this prophecy you were allowed to recall. Between the rain of bullets and fire did he come, finding your battered and bleeding frame ( you do not remember your screams as this figure emerged between the clouds, the pressure overwhelming, the ringing in your ears loud enough to make you mad ), not taking pity on you but seeing the compassion, the drive and stabbing god’s grace straight into your eyes. What you do not recall is the slaughter of an entire army ( burned, cleansed, as though every sin had been purged from their bodies ) and the tale of a winged creature seen by the moon. They found you barely clinging onto consciousness and you averted your gaze to not let them see your newfound holiness.

When someone asks you “ Sergeant, where did you get these burns on your back? ”, you smile tiredly, your gloved hand on their shoulder like a father and say “ That’s just war, son. ”.

ABILITIES:

- Can fly short distances before his wings take up too much of his energy. - Can mesmerize someone when staring at them for too long. - Can burn someone inside out just by touching their forehead with his hand. -> calls it purification -> wears gloves constantly. -> can also use it to see someone else’s memory but does not use it unless given consent. - Regenerates faster than a normal human. - APOCALYPSE!VERSE: Is immune to the virus but gets burns when bitten.

WEAKNESSES:

- Certain sigils and spells can bind him to a place. - Iron can severely hurt him. - If he uses too much of his heavenly powers, his body will go into a sick-like state where he begins shaking, breathing heavily and hearing an intense ringing in his ears. He is extremely weak in this state and can be killed easily.

FACE CLAIM: Pyotr Fyodorov.

APPEARANCE: Golden eyes. Tall. Relatively muscular shoulders and back from working on a farm in the earlier parts of his life, but otherwise quite lanky. Dark brown hair. Mustache (past verse). Dark circles. His wings are not always on his back but they are white-bluish and burn a little when he tries to conjure up more energy.

KNOWN LANGUAGES: Speaks Russian and English fluently; knows some German words.