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@hollowfaith
aurelius vane-tempest - original character
same world as this guy
6'5" (195.6cm)
3-piece suits
4 gold wings
1 true partner (love!)
angel commander of his own army
devoted to God
proud to a fault
regrets nothing
...needs more friends
old follow post here
app 𖥨ํ stats 𖥨ํ laws 𖥨ํ navi 𖥨ํ cheatsheet
notable accomplishments below the cut:
And for the blonde man, perhaps some torture?
@hollowfaith
"Whatever is the matter, Aurelius Vane-Tempest?" It's only natural that once Aurelius regained himself, he'd come searching for Sebastian. The Demonlord made himself known for that very reason. To see the look on Aurelius' face, and it certainly has not disappointed!
"I do not see anything that I did wrong," he goads, with a light chuckle. This would warrant Aurelius' anger, probably. Or at least ignite it, because now he's slammed against the wall. Sebastian's chuckle turns into an amused laugh.
"Ah, perhaps you did not like the gift I gave you? I had thought you, most of all, would be happy to have Angelescu alllllll to yourself. Did you not enjoy any of it?
It has always been what you wanted," he says in a hushed and tantalizing whisper.
There is a part of Aurelius that he keeps carefully under wraps—not because he won't acknowledge it, but because he knows the full weight of the consequences that follows if he does. The same, simmering obsession that had him caving in to Klaus, again and again, before seizing Heaven for himself to grant him amnesty from its clutches, was better left as an afterthought in their day-to-day life. After forming a soulbond with his partner, it seemed even less pertinent to stir those emotions. And yet, perhaps as punishment for failing to eliminate it entirely, possession had seen fit to take him.
Worse than falling victim to a demon was falling prey to your own desires.
Of course he'd enjoyed it, and the thought is sickening enough that Aureilus slams Sebastian into the wall a second time.
"Shut up."
"You lied to me, just as you've always done. I'll burn your tongue off if you utter that name again. He's—" His voice stutters.
He's mine
"He's not yours."
He hadn’t wanted to turn it into an argument, but when Aurelius tightened his grip even further and, not only that, pulled him in like that, the flame miraculously not burning his skin, Adolin’s expression hardened.
“Aurelius, stop” - he demanded, his eyes lifting from his wrist to the angel’s eyes, serious and unwavering. “Can we talk like civilized people?”
Once again, he tried to pull free of his grip, a heavy sigh escaping him. Storming man and his storming habit of assuming everything about everyone, all the time.
“Actually, I think about your words a lot” - he began, trying to gain some ground there. But then Aurelius’s eyes settled on his neck, and Adolin immediately felt exposed, knowing very, very well that he understood what it meant. The laugh made something inside him twist, and without thinking, Adolin raised his free hand to cover the bite mark.
“I let him get close because of Vanth. And, honestly, he’s surprised me. Maybe you’re too narrow-minded in the way you see them.”
He likes Adolin, at the end of the day. That may be why this is all the more difficult—to see someone so kind and sensible waste their efforts on an irredeemable demon.
What was it about temptation that lured humans astray every time, even with full knowledge of their folly?
"Narrow-minded," he finds himself parroting back the accusation, breaths shallow. "You say I'm narrow-minded."
"Have you considered how you're just naïve?"
His grip on Adolin doesn't waver—ironically, it feels like the only thing keeping him anchored to the human when the rest of prince's heart and mind has already turned. It's painfully reminescent of Vanth's goodbye before he chose the demon too, and Aurelius's soul rankles with the injustice of them both.
Yes, they could choose as they like. He wasn't so petty as to force them otherwise, but couldn't he object to their choices, even a little bit?
"If he's betrayed you as many times as he's lied to me—" he breaks off, laughing again. "The nature of a demon will never change."
"Everything he wants, he breaks eventually. How long do you think you'll still stay human? Perhaps you'll even give that up for Vanth, too."
It wasn’t as though Adolin had expected to find him, of all people, among the crowds now packed into this part of the city. In fact, his mind was so far away, preoccupied with worries about Vanth, that the prince nearly missed the right moment to stop. He came to an abrupt halt to avoid running straight into the person now turning toward him.
It all happened so quickly, and yet instinct made him expect Maya to appear in his hands. Only to realize, first, that she wasn’t there. And second, that the person who had so rudely grabbed his scarf was none other than Aurelius.
“What in the raging winds? That was a gift, Aure—” - he began to complain, only to be cut off when Aurelius caught him by the wrist.
If the gesture itself hadn’t been enough, the angel’s tone made it perfectly clear that he was not pleased. With a sigh, Adolin made no attempt to pull away, but neither did he seem intimidated as he spoke.
“It’s a pleasure to see you too.”
Apparently, being welcomed by Aurelius would always be quite an event.
Still, though Adolin initially felt inclined to tease him about the situation, he decided not to dodge the other man’s question.
“I told you last time. I was going to stay close to Vanth. Sebastian… is a direct consequence of that” - he raised an eyebrow slightly, gently tugging at his wrist in an attempt to free himself.
Again.
It's Sebastian again.
Instead of letting go, Aurelius's grip on Adolin tightens before he pulls the other towards himself. He almost moves to purify the human before realizing that he can't, and the ring of flames that shows up in place of holy power encircles the man's wrist, licking at his skin without actually burning anything.
He can control that much, at least.
"Why would you—" he begins before trying again, "How could you even entertain the thought of—"
"Do my words mean nothing to you?"
Was truth so easily cast away in this world? He'd warned Adolin against Sebastian, and the man went prancing into his clutches anyways—albeit for Vanth's sake.
"You let him get this close to you, just to keep ahold of Vanth?" His eyes skim the other for marks, finally alighting on the all-too-obvious injury on the prince's neck.
At the sight, Aurelius breaks into a sharp, ugly laugh.
Albert Camus, from Notebooks 1951-1959; Undated entry
𝔖tare.
@highprinceadolin ໒꒱
Scent precedes sight, and with it the rest of Aurelius's self-possession crumbles as he recognizes the odors of that particular stink. Sebastian is never shy about making himself known, even in places where he doesn't belong.
It takes a second for Aurelius to turn on his heel and grab the scarf of the person behind him—that hateful length of fabric where the stench is strongest—before incinerating it to ashes with a touch. Only then does he actually see the person wearing the accessory: a mortal, one he's met before.
"You."
One word carries a dozen different meanings: anger, revulsion, surprise. In the end, Aurelius settles on confused disbelief as he grabs Adolin by the wrist.
"Why are—you smell like him. Again."
"Are you a fool?"
escaping a fade, touching the orb, it had put such a strain on his mind that iloren didn't remember what happened for a long time. people said they saw a woman push him through the breach— that it was andraste herself, delivering him to help those who need it most.
he never felt that holy warmth from her hands. it was not the maker's prophet that sent him, but the divine that perished to make sure of his survival. a burden of its own.
aurelius' touch is warm. it's all the promises that were made to him, all the fulfillment that was demanded of him. the inquisitor squints his eyes shut at first, a little overwhelmed by the sensation and its implications. then he relaxes into it, putting his faith into aurelius.
the anchor crackles in his hand, almost in response. when aurelius first touches the back of his neck, and then again whenever his fingers move the slightest bit. it sends the usual burn up his arm that is soothed by that warmth the longer it goes. he breathes out.
' it is warm. ' perhaps a dull response, but there's wonderment in his voice. ' like the sun. '
and it's only a small bit of his powers. a test of sorts. if aurelius used more, would the burn in his arm disappear entirely? blinking his eyes open, the inquisitor breathes out a soft laugh. the closeness isn't so intimidating anymore, after the first hurdle had been braved.
his hand, no longer holding the angel's, has moved to rest against aurelius' chest.
' i think i can manage. '
"The sun," Aurelius echoes, and a soft chuckle escapes his lips, one warm and low enough to send its own vibrations through his chest and up the fingers of the elvish hand resting against it.
His own heartbeat is, of course, still calm. This is perhaps the meeting of a supplicant and his mentor, or a flower to its sky—no matter how the former fluttered or changed, the job of the latter was to sit still and be steady, guiding them through the rest of their life.
"The comparison is favorable," he adds, and traces down the length of Iloren's spine until he comes to rest between the shoulder bones. "Very well."
"I'll begin now, and you'll tell me if it becomes uncomfortable at any point."
Then, light blooms.
It slips from his fingers like silken webs, wrapping around Iloren's upper torso before the thinnest strands sink in to weave amongst his muscles, finding the optimal place to bind (if temporarily) to muscle and sinew and bone. Aurelius lifts his other hand from the elf's shoulder to briefly pluck at air; the next instant two golden feathers appear in his hand, which he moves to affix to Iloren's shoulder blades.
Gradually, the network of light-spun threads form themselves into a set of wings and brushes past the feathers, replicating their size and shape in ethereal, light-crafted forms...
"If this works," Aurelius says softly, "you should be able to move the wings of your own accord."
» The more Leo learns of the island, the more he has to document-- maybe understanding more about the strange flora and fauna littering the place would help him to further understand just what, exactly, was going on here.
With how vastly different the various areas of the island are, it's a hope that, he thinks, has at least a bit of footing. The more he sees of the island and al its disparate areas, the more he's convinced of it. Environs so wildly distinct from one another and yet still being so impossibly close must be some sort of clue.
And when he'd heard tell of dragons on the island-- well. There's comfort to be found in the familiar, even if these dragons might not be the same as the ones back home, either.
Problem being, neither he nor his partner have still gotten entirely used to their new size problem.
Ratha's screech fills the air, jerking Leo's head up from where he'd been sketching some field notes, loud and distressed, and ice floods through the prince's veins.
"Ratha!"
Any danger Leo might be putting himself in is easily thrown to the wayside, without a care in the world for any sort of stealth as he crashes through the forest around him in the direction of the sounds. A moment later and he's barreling through the tree line into a small clearing, Ratha continuing to thrash and snarl and screech, but with little more than flailing and talons and dark clouds of smoke pouring out of his mouth to show for it.
"Let him go!" he says, as fierce as he can muster. "He's my partner! He hasn't done anything wrong!"
Getting surprised by a noisy man doesn't do Aurelius's nerves any favors. He hides his flinch with a crease of his brows, and stands up to face the smaller male with a touch of restlessness.
"Your partner is making a racket."
"At this rate, I can only assume he'll attack the first thing he sees once he's free. Can't you calm him down first?"
The curious sensation of losing control over the situation digs into his thoughts like an uncomfortable thorn. Still, the angel stands his ground, trying to gauge the identity of the ornery newcomer.
He's not dressed like the locals, so he's likely one of the Stars' unwilling recruits.
"I am not," Aurelius goes on, "trying to hurt him."
★ --;; "No!"
Lesson in patience at least partially failed, there's no stopping the instinctual lurch forward, free hand extended fully outwards as if it could reach far enough from his perch-- though he does go flying off of that too, even if only by aa single, forceful step forward.
There's no taking it back though, especially not after the little outburst that had come with the motion, and for a moment Vash is stuck there, frozen in place as the realization of it washes over him. He's stuck there, blinking awkwardly, as if that would do anything to erase it.
The moment stretches itself too thin, silence broken only by the ambient noises of the garden and the more distant sounds from the street, though they both feel impossibly far away. The tension visibly snaps as both Vash's hand and head fall limp, chin tilted down towards his chest and eyes slipping closed with a loud sigh, though his arm remains outstretched.
"Look," he says. The beer gets set next to him along the railing, freeing up his hands. "Just-- stick your hands in there." His own follow his directions, albeit in the empty air. "You can move stuff around. Gently . Nothin's packed too tightly just yet."
But, then again, with his luck and their current track record, things will probably continue to go sideways if he doesn't take the reigns a bit more. It grates to do so, goes against almost all of what he'd steeled himself for and is a blow to pride that usually pays no mind to punches, but Vash pulls himself up from his spot. "Like this."
The glove that usually protects his prosthetic had been discarded at some point, so it's held out of the dirt, but he has little car ( most of the time ) for soil beneath his fingernails. His organic hand softly disturbs the soil and nudges the plant at the roots. It's not entirely straightened, even as he further disturbs the dirt to make it do what he wants.
"Now you try and finish it," he says, carefully puling hi hand back out-- notably, with far less mess than what the angel had manages to make with proper tools.
What sort of terrible thing had happened? In the aftermath of Vash's exclamation, Aurelius could only conclude that he's somehow doomed the plant to death by dirt disposal. Certainly some dramatic mistake had caused the Plant (capital P) to sound so chagrined over nothing particularly offensive. Look, he's even hanging his head.
"Yes?" Aurelius responds intelligently before the other's miming directions with his fingers in a way that's only half-legible. Thank Heaven Vash himself takes over shortly afterwards, digging through the soil in a way not unlike how Klaus has worked with flour once upon a time in their kitchen.
Aurelius studies him carefully, of course, then pokes one of his gloved fingers into the dirt. The tip of it brushes against the rough surface of the root—nothing he can feel, though the pulse of life within the plant sings with his own familiar power—before he bypasses it to loosen the dirt beneath.
He's much better than before, but it still doesn't stop him from disturbing excess bits of dirt on the (now grimy) tabletop. Still, the angel looks satisfied as he finally manages to straighten out the plant.
"I see, so it's like tucking in a child."
"That went quite pleasantly."
Perhaps it was better not to acknowledge the mess he'd made in the process.
Chiikawa watched as the tea set floated down neatly. They couldn't help but clap at Aurelius's powers. He was a real life magician! "Aah..waaoo..." However, when Aurelius addressed them with a question, they straightened themself back up.
"Mmn....Chii...kawa..."
"I haven't the faintest idea what a chiikawa is," Aurelius concludes, though he's pleased at being applauded. Perhaps one of the teacups does a few more somersaults than usual in response.
"Hm, then can you write?"
"Perhaps we can communicate that way?"
it's cramped inside, shoulder to shoulder and the musk of two men as Edward crossed his arms awkwardly, staring out into the window. He could see the employees eyes, the look on their faces as they tried not to laugh. Edward felt his cheeks burn hot in humiliation. It was his idea to hop in, but he didn't expected latter to happen.
The hybrid gaze quickly back to the dashboard when it lights up, the brightness felt like he was inside a damn headlight as he gave a squint before letting himself be adjusted. The buttons in question was complicated at best, surely the other man knew how to drive this thing... right??
"Don't know, never met JC before. Man kinda sounds like a saint, a bit too nice for my liking." There's always a catch there, where someone would blindly commit something horrible, even if they tried to act 'nice' for the sake of being pure and righteous.
"It's just a joke. It's not like he's gonna come down from heaven to grab the wheel. It's like blind faith, in a way, where humans think some guy would lead them without harm." He gave a shrug.
"I thought you were a necromancer with the whole... bringing someone alive shit."
Aurelius doesn't care about what they look like or who's staring right now—he just wants to hit things. Peering at the displays, the angel slowly hovers his fingers over the right button and presses it carefully. Their ship lurches into motion, a little wobbly but gaining speed, as the conversation continues.
"Bringing back the dead can be either a great sin or an act of mercy. It isn't a deed to be done lightly."
"The same with faith. What you call 'blind' belief can be the highest form of devotion. It is far easier to doubt than it is to trust in a power unseen."
The ship comes upon a curve in the track; Aurelius grips the handlebars and steers them sharply right to glide along the path to the room of destructibles.
"I suppose God arranged me to meet you today. You're making me relive answers I dearly needed to hear."
NOTHING IN EXCESS
EVENT INFO.
AURELIUS is plenty unhappy about the whole affair but chooses to follow the rules. After some thought, he's decided to bring his Holy Flames (uncapped) with him into the backup city. If anything promises to be a problem, he'll just burn them away. Frankly, he cares less and less about this island every time it undergoes yet another new "crisis."
chat are u reading this
i cannot believe
the inquisitor is not starved of touch. he does not leap at the opportunity to share it whenever it rises. there is comradery in a touch between soldiers, a handshake or a pat on the back, that he'd often share with cullen or blackwall. there is familiarity in the way josephine would fuss over him before a ball.
but the inquisitor is not a man reached lightly. he knows the distance between himself and most others and how hard it can be to overcome. he does not yearn, not usually.
this, here, makes him wonder what would happen if andraste came down from the skies to frame his face in her hands. would he be able to return the embrace? what a terribly andrastian thought.
yet he asks himself the same question when aurelius leans so close to him in his investigation. the inquisitor is quiet for those first few moments that the closeness between them becomes near inescapable. finding himself stuck instead of finding an answer, he remains still.
halfway through aurelius' speech, he leans forward to put his forehead against the angel's shoulder. it feels strange at first, yet his heartbeat picks up speed. he laughs, softly and quietly, to himself.
maybe he is still scared of andraste, after all this time.
' i doubt you would do what others haven't already. ' he's not a poet. it's hard for him to put these feelings into words. but he knows, ultimately, that aurelius is his own person. he awards him that which he's always wished to be awarded himself. ' if your holy light can make me fly … well, i say we give it a try. '
he doesn't exactly pull away, only turns his head towards aurelius.
' is there something to the process? '
The chest before him swells with life, its heartbeat taking on a quicker pace as his inspection continues. Anticipation, perhaps—Iloren had seemed so excited by the idea when he first proposed it. The elf is doing his best to stay measured about it all, asking him simple questions to keep them on track.
Aurelius likes that kind of focus under scrutiny. So he lets the inquisitor rest his forehead wherever convenient while summoning thing tendrils of golden light to his palm.
"I've never done this before," the angel admits. "But as with most things I've never tried, it's only a matter of intent that creates reality."
"If you can place your trust—your faith—in me during the process, then my blessing shall be able to enter you more freely. For example—"
The hand held by Iloren's wrist moves to the elf's shoulder, while the one cradling the tendrils of light shift to Iloren's nape. There, Aurelius presses two fingers lightly against the skin, allowing his divinity to make contact with the surface and sink slightly into flesh.
"How does this feel? It shouldn't be any more than a persistent warmth—perhaps also a little ticklish?"
He only gets a moment to bask in the returned affections before it all takes a turn for the worse.
Wukong's not stupid, he knows what people who are freaking out look like. Except he's never been good at dealing with it, and he's never even expected to see Aurelius going through it either so he finds himself at a loss here, and with the similar panicked feeling rising up in return.
(Last time he tried to help someone in a crisis like this one he failed so spectacularly he'd almost lost the person he cared about the most. He can't - won't - fail like that again).
His hands move to cover the angel's shaking ones, squeezing them tightly in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. If nothing else, it reassures him.
"Okay, okay, we don't have to do anything more than this. It's okay." It's not, but maybe they can pretend for a moment while he thinks. Wukong rubs his fingers over the other's knuckles, tries to make sense of the words. It's not easy (he's clearly missing context, but asking right now would likely just make things worse), and he's pretty sure he doesn't fully get there either, but after a moment of silence he slowly starts, "What if I tell you what I want to do, and you tell me if you'd want to do it too? N-not that we have to! Just- if that makes it easier?"
He hopes he doesn't sound half as unsure as he feels.
His senses zero in on the Lego hands closing in over his own, finding the restrictive grip a grounding influence amidst a spiral of uncontrollable thoughts. How nice it'd be if the world was this simple, with actual anchors to hold him at bay.
Aurelius leans into the touch, forehead trying to bury itself in whatever patch of Wukong's fur seems closest within reach. His hands are still shaking, but he takes a deep breath and holds it there in little, stuttering fits as the world seems to pull at the seams around him.
He should be fine, he thinks. Wukong is more than capable of dealing with any threat, and Klaus has gone off to take care of the worst. If anything, it's very inconsiderate to cause his friend distress after the other made all that effort to visit him. So he should calm down.
Calm down.
Calm down.
Calm. Calm. Calm.
His chest tenses with the effort before he expels a shaky breath. A faint sheen of perspiration has found its way to the nape of his neck, but Aurelius ignores it to forcibly voice out his words.
"A-all right. Yes. Yes, of course."
"Sorry. S-so very sorry. It isn't my—my intention to be. This. T-tell me, what, to do?"
It comes out more fragmented than he likes, but he trusts Wukong to understand the message.
