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watanabes-cum-dump · 3 years

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So... I sort of made Michelangelo an IkeVamp character...

This is sort of hard to explain, but basically it’s from here where I was complaining about my homework and suddenly I had the idea to make Michelangelo an Ikemen Vampire character but not really since he’s gay. Anyways here are some HCs for him :

- Internalized Homophobia™

- And religious trauma to boot!

- He still thinks that the church had the right idea at the time since what fucking choice did he have????

- Tries to hide his sexuality but everyone knows that he likes men

- He keeps denying it and of course, being in the closet for a hundred years because of your Internalized Homophobia™ isn’t good for you, so he’s also a depressed ass bitch.

- Michelangelo is the gay kid who grew up in a toxic “catholic” environment and as a result never came out of the closet and hate crimes gay people because of what he was taught to believe

- He didn’t want to die, he felt like he had something to live for, so now he’s a vampire

- People? Fuck them

- Ok ok ok it’s not that bad, but he still likes being alone

- I like to think that Jean is like “Dude, you’re valid please don’t put yourself down”

- And Michelangelo doesn’t fucking trust anyone so he just ignores the LITERAL SAINT who’s telling him that being gay isn’t a sin

- Anyways

- He really likes Leonardo

- Like not just romantically, a lot of artists looked up to him and his works, or the ones that he finished lol

- Though Michelangelo criticizes him a lot he still really respects him

- They were rival artists back in the renaissance actually, I like to think that they still have a bit of friendly competition now lol

- But he doesn’t talk to him too much outside of those despite his admiration

- He is the one resident that Sebastian literally knows nothing about aside from things he’s heard back in his time

- Which aren’t very vague, but it leaves a lot of unanswered questions

- MC would be able to get through to him probably, like, as a friend obvs. Michelangelo is very curious as to what has become of the future (and how history remembers him) so MC would probably be the first friend he’s had in a while

- If we’re talking about MC in Leo’s route then he’s play it off and pretend to be happy for them

- Since ya know he thinks that gays shouldn’t be happy

- Yes that includes himself

- If we’re talking MC not in Leo’s route, then things are different

- Michelangelo would want to be her wingman but knows nothing about the other residents having never really interacted with them a lot ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

- His route would be a platonic route where you half help him get over his trauma and half help him hook up with Leo

- He would essentially become MC’s big brother/holder of their last brain cell

- He pretends not to care (not in an over the top tsundere way though, more in the way where he’s more likely to hurt your feelings by accident) but he REALLY FUCKING CARES

Anyways here are some HCs of him with Leo since that’s like the only reason he exists lmao

- I feel like he’d still be kind of cold

- Just because he doesn’t know how to process his emotions

- Thank god Leo knows what he’s doing or else Angelo would NEVER make a move

- Cute little nicknames constantly thrown around

- Leo calls him angel a lot while Angelo just sticks with caro mia because he’s dumb

- For two renaissance geniuses they sure are fucking dumbasses

- They paint each other, of course they do

- Usually it’s Angelo who does the painting or drawing (and even sculpting if they both have the time) since Leo is too busy with his fifty other talents to paint his boyfriend

- Now, I know what ya’ll are thinking

- “Ate Kouryuu, but where’s the whore knee? Where’s the spice? They paint each other naked right?”

- And to that I will respond “Of course they paint each other naked. What the fuck is the point of gay renaissance artists if they don’t paint each other nude and leave it unfinished bc they started banging”

- Ok I didn’t mention this before but you can probably tell with the pictures that Angelo has a cinched waist and legs so long he couldn’t fit on the cover of Vogue

- I’ll just leave that there for your imaginations ;)

- I’m joking we embrace the Horny™ here

- Of course Angelo’s the bottom, why wouldn’t he be?

- Idk why but Leo seems like he has a high sex drive so good luck Angelo

- Leo is pretty much free to leave hickeys everywhere lol

- Angelo isn’t wearing it but he’s the guy that owns like eight identical turtlenecks so he can hide them and just say that it’s his fashion sense

- They’re like an old married couple, think like Macha Blossom. Yeah.

- Constantly at each other's throats but they still love each other

(such a shitty end to this post but I just wanted to get over with this)

#I wanna make a comic/short story but my motivation has escaped me #ikemen vampire #ikemen vamp #leonardo ikevamp #leonardo

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otonymous · 4 years

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(Otonymous’ Follower Milestone Celebration): From the Pages of Le Comte’s Diary (IkeVamp - NSFW)

Description: You happen to find le Comte de Saint-Germain’s diary by chance. Do you dare to take a look inside? Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Trigger warnings: very mild hints of somnophilia & dubcon (without actual violation), mentions of death. SPOILERS for something minor noted in Leonardo’s MS. Author’s Notes: Hey everyone! This piece was heavily inspired by a personal headcanon I have of le Comte’s backstory and, for all intents and purposes, can be seen as a continuation to an earlier fic I wrote for him, Bitten.

(SPOILER ALERT!!) I also noticed while playing Leonardo’s route that he sometimes refers to le Comte with his name in quotation marks. It happened so frequently that I was inclined to think that this was no mere typo. This observation will figure in the following piece as well.

I’ve never played le Comte’s route before in the JP server and I try to stay away from spoilers, so the rest is just pure speculation on my part! That being said, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊

Tagging the following lovelies: @ambrosiallkiss, @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons

All characters & Ikemen Vampire owned by Cybird.

17th of May, XXXX

She sleeps; soft skin taunting beneath the gossamer silk of her nightgown - satin ribbons and blush pink and almost coquettish in how it barely concealed anything of the wonders beneath:

Breasts exquisitely tipped, nipples hardening like jewels beneath the heat of my stirring breath.

Hourglass curves limned in silver moonlight spilling into her room (for even after lifetimes apart, she maintains the habit of retiring with the curtains open) — lending her the ethereal cast of the goddess Diana herself.

The shadows between her legs, darkness undulating every time she shifted upon the bed; thighs parting...then closing…then parting again as her lips dropped in a wisp of a moan that reverberated nonetheless like an orchestra in my ears.

For she had called to me.

Writhing upon her bed in the throes of what seemed a particularly feverish dream, she had uttered my name — that which had never been revealed to her nor any of the mansion’s other residents aside from Leo. And there is no other man I trust more with a secret. Yet, there it was like a miracle…spilling unbidden from those perfect lips.

How long has it been since I was last addressed as such? Not “le Comte de Saint-Germain” but by the name of my birth. Not since she was in my arms last, hundreds of years in a past when I knew her by an entirely different name and face.

Different, yes, but beautiful no less. And though she returned to me changed, I recognized her immediately by scent — fragrant blood ripe with the sweet spring of life, pulsing hot beneath delicate skin that flushed when I approached her that fateful day, palm outstretched like a hopeful supplicant to return what she had lost:

An earring of amethyst.

The same precious stone as the one in which I had carved the elegant profile of her face; the cameo the very first gift I had given her...and the very last piece of jewellery I adorned her body with the day they laid her to rest all those grey seasons ago.

But my lover has returned. And though many say our kind walk in darkness, God has revealed itself to me by this very act of faith. For she is the light: the spark in her eyes more brilliant than a thousand suns, the warmth of her soul the very fire of a hearth, forever burning.

Yes, she has returned. And I am home once more.

Yet, I linger at the threshold, paralyzed by the thought of her dissipating like smoke before my very eyes. Could this much happiness be allowed for one such as myself? Would Cupid’s arrow be tipped with sympathy for a creature’s plight, striking twice like lightning bearing down upon the selfsame tree?

Alas, caution, caution. To be exercised constantly.

I remind myself, always, to stay the haste that would urge me to reveal all, as fantastical as the story may seem to a woman both worldly and hailing from a time that, I’ve learned, has very little tolerance for things incapable of being stripped away by science.

Thus, I must find contentment in observation, watching the slow procession of my bride as she fumbles among the great men I’ve gathered. Waiting…hoping for the day that she’ll discover her place by the side of one who has loved her and only her since time immemorial. For I would never force her hand. If she is to love, it would be completely of her own accord.

Such is my situation: to look but never to touch. Never seeking to interfere. It is torture of the most acute degree.

In a stark reminder that I, too, was once a man possessed of love and passion, jealousy and lust, I almost succumbed tonight. Her soft moans had drawn me to her bedchamber, and when she failed to respond to my inquiries as to her well-being, I entered her room without express permission, fearing the worst.

And there…a sight to rival Venus’ birth upon foamy shores:

Tresses of silk fanned out upon down pillows as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her brow, ma chérie had thrown off her bedcovers and continued to writhe under the influence of a dream. Her lashes fluttered long like butterflies in flight, and I was captivated by the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the perfect flesh of supple breasts visible beneath the gauzy layers of her nightgown.

I pressed a hand to her forehead, relieved to find it cool to the touch and tried to keep from being distracted by her tongue as it slipped out to wet pink lips from corner to corner, as if fighting to quench some unfathomable thirst. I wondered from which well of desire she had drawn in the hazy web of sleep to excite her so.

I wasn’t left ignorant for long, for it was then that she moaned my name, beckoning like the goddess of love herself and impossible to ignore as the sound stirred something deep in my enraptured heart and loins. And just when I gathered every last shred of willpower to pull away, she grasped me by the wrist, fingers curling tight and with surprising strength.

Selfishly, I yielded. Allowed her to draw me in any direction she saw fit until I was positioned over her sleeping form on all fours, like the basest of beasts. I told myself that I did not wish to disturb her slumber, but the heart knows its own darkness. For I was hopelessly drawn to the flush of her cheeks, the way her hands sought purchase in my hair — pushing my head lower and lower, allowing my gaze to take in every glorious inch of her body as it moved towards the heat between her legs.

She stopped then, spread herself even wider and lifted slightly off the bed as if seeking the warmth of my breath. It blew shaky upon bare skin, for she had worn no undergarments. Her heady scent wafted towards me, a bouquet delectable and sweet, as if deliberately fashioned to please my palate, and I smiled to remember the times I’d feast upon her until the candles burned low.

She glistened — rosy flesh trembling as her arousal beaded to drip from her entrance, leaving a salacious trail that ended in a growing spot of moisture on the bed beneath her. She called for me again, the wanton whine of her voice mixed with a desperation I only knew too well, and it would’ve been so easy to take up her invitation with the tip of my tongue, lapping at the nectar offered up by her beautiful flower in bloom.

It would have been easy, yes. But I am not one unaccustomed to hardship.

And so, with the greatest care not to rouse her, I extricated myself from her grasp, pulling the covers over her sleeping form once more.

On this night, I allowed myself this: the gentlest press of my lips to her forehead. The slightest touch of my nose to the tip of hers. Then I bade ma chérie “bonne nuit” as I closed the door behind me.

She will come to me once more, awake and willing. And when she does...

…she will know my name.

(End of Entry)

Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📓

#otonymous 2020 ms #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp le comte #ikemen vampire le comte #le comte de saint germain #ikevamp smut #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp fic #fanfiction #smut #my writing #cybird

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ravenarld · 4 years

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Hmm, Leonardo? :)

a/n: This is my opinion and im aware everyone has different opinions and taste.

This contains spoilers from Leonardo’s route btw.

First Impression:

Isn’t he supposed to be gay? (or bi at least)

BUT HOLY FUCK PAPIIIII

honestly I figured it right away that he was a pureblood when I saw the ??? lmao.

daddy Da Vinki

My Impression now:

Sad Daddy

ship him and Comte lmao

DESERVES ALL THE LOVE

My opinion on his route:

His route wasn’t really my liking.

BRUH THE KIDNAPPING BY A RANDOM STRANGER???? THEY COULD HAVE MICHAEL ANGELO AS THE RIVAL. It could have been more interesting if it was that was the case.

I'm gonna get attacked for this but....kissing MC in the 1st chapter was ain’t t....he could have shut the girl up in another way idk but eh :/

I did like some scenes..

I LOVE THE DRAMATIC ENDING lmao.

MC and the rest of the suitors really fooled Leonardo fdskffnk

My opinion about Leonardo: (This is mostly about him not biting MC lmao)

I love Leonardo, but I feel like there was smth lacking but i can’t point what

I love how teasing he is

AND HOW HE HELPS THE OTHER RESIDENTS??? I LOVE PAPI!LEONARDO😔✊

BRUH SOMEONE GIVE HIM SOME LOVE PLSSSS

i wish to find out more about his family in ACT 2 cuz i feel like shits about to go down knowing his pureblood family wanted him to marry a pureblood instead

NOW - about him not biting MC

I actually respect it.

I try putting myself in his shoes and imagine that i have been alive for 500 yrs and knowing the fact that i can’t die cuz I'm a pureblood.

In those 500 yrs, he must have experienced so much shits that he doesn’t want to have others to experience that as well

However, i actually wished for him to turn MC

BECAUSE

I simply think he has suffered being alone for far too long.

but it’s simply up to MC if she wants to get turned. And I hope she was able to convince Leonardo to stop torturing himself. Living a couple of yrs won’t hurt a little tbh.

Feel free me an ask of a suitor for my opinion about them

Otome I play:

Ikemen Vampire

Ikemen Revolution

Court of Darkness

Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

Our Two Bedroom Story

#ikemen campire #ikevamp leonardo #ask answered #for fun

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cognitivefunk · 4 years

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A Summer Treat

So I saw the summer smut challenge and wanted to join, so I wrote this oneshot this evening, and I hope it’s ok.

Title: A Summer Treat Prompt: Popsicle Licking Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Isaac Newton x Reader (I didn’t get into the dirty details with this one so it’s gender non-specific) Warnings/Tags: Blood (vampire bite), mild sexual content Rating: Still 18+ to be safe Word Count: 1,492 #summer of smut & #summer of smut writing challenge

Isaac eyed you with suspicion, setting the dry ice on the table along with the tongue depressors as you had asked. He seemed further confused as you brought a container of juice and a cup of hot water along for your little experiment. “You have so much faith in me!” you teased, your voice thick with sarcasm. “Trust me, ok? You’re a man of science, you’ll see!”

He scoffed at that last statement, but stayed silent, lost in thought as he examined the items on the table the both of you had set up in his room. He seemed to be piecing together the information.

In reality the popsicle had yet to be invented in this time period, but you had recalled a fun way to make them using dry ice from a science class you took years ago. The only downside was you had to be very careful not to get burned by the extremely cold substance. You handed Isaac the gloves and his expression softened, curiosity shining brightly in his eyes.

“I’ll let you carve the hole,” you explained, taking a sketch of a generic popsicle and showing it to the eager vampire. “Rudimentary, don’t you think?” he responded, with his own brand of sarcasm. It made you giggle, and the sound was rewarded with a small smirk to the corner of his lips. And oh how he loved the sound of your voice.

You took one of the sanitized wooden tongue depressors and readied it for when Isaac dumped the dry ice onto the table, carving a cylindrical hole into the smoking substance. You took the juice and poured it in carefully; laying the wooden stick inside and watched the crystals of ice rapidly form around the liquid. “Amazing!” the man cheered with a rather childlike wonder and you were soon able to lift the popsicle from the dry ice, dipping it into the hot water to warm it.

“It’s way too cold to eat unless you dip it in hot water first. The dry ice will burn your tongue,” you explained, lifting the treat from the water. It was dark red, flavored with cherry juice, and shining from the water you had bathed it in. “Do you want to make another one?”

“Yes, quite…I think we should make two. One for each of us,” a blush crept across his cheeks upon the thought of sharing the treat together. It seemed inappropriate to ask you to eat from the same stick, so he dug a second hole in the dry ice and poured the juice himself this time. It was just as fascinating the second time around, and he mimicked the same action as you had shown him before, bathing it in hot water before attempting to take a sample.

“Isn’t it cool?” you asked, not taking into consideration that the slang would most likely be taken literally.

“Ah, yes. It is quite cold actually,” he responded, examining the frozen treat in the light. It was a particularly warm afternoon, so the cold treat was a tempting and delightful concept. You couldn’t help but giggle again at the misunderstanding, earning a small, confused, smile from the man next to you. Had you been any of the other residents he would have scowled at you, but he couldn’t bring himself to frown at that moment.

As he raised his gaze toward you, his eyes locked onto your pink tongue, darting out to taste the popsicle. He swallowed, throat suddenly feeling quite parched. He brought the treat to his own mouth, absentmindedly, and bit into the cold surface, recoiling slightly at the temperature. The sweetness of the cherries, he found delicious however.

Though, it wasn’t as delicious as the way your lips wrapped around the tip, painting them red as the juice melted on them, dripping down the side of the popsicle only to be licked up by your waiting tongue. He hadn’t realized how hard he was holding the wooden handle of his treat until he heard a snap. The wood splintered in his hand and he was brought back to reality, averting his gaze with a blush that rivalled the redness of the cherries.

“Isaac? Oh my god, are you ok? You’re not hurt are you?” you asked, leaning forward to look at his hand. You thought the tongue depressors would be sturdy enough, but he did have superhuman strength. The moment you leaned closer to him, however, you couldn’t help but notice the prominent bulge straining against his pants.

“Oh,” it was all you could say. Your mind short circuited, before a devious idea sprung into your pretty little head. You brought the treat back to your lips and sucking on the tip, pretending not to have noticed his straining erection. “The wood must be brittle because of the dry ice; I’ll have to be careful.”

Isaac was focused on the cold flavored ice that had gathered on his hand, licking off what he could before setting the rest on the table to melt. Had he put two and two together with the shape of the popsicle itself he wouldn’t have agreed to that particular silhouette. He stole another glance, your slurping noises had peaked his curiosity, and he clutched his hands against his thighs when he saw you.

You were slowly pulling the phallic treat in as far as you could manage, and then hallowing your cheeks around it as you pulled it back. Over, and over again. His jaw hung open and his fangs emerged at full force. “By god…” he groaned. His eyes glossed over, and his body started to move of its own accord.

You were fully aware the effect you were having on him, and you released the treat with a loud pop, running your tongue along the underside. He whined loudly, swatting the popsicle out of your hand and onto the floor, pushing you down beside it. “We’ll clean that up later,” he growled, pressing himself against your inner thigh for emphasis.

You let out a squeak of surprise, not anticipating him to get worked up quite as fast as he did, but you weren’t complaining. “You dirty little vixen, you. You must know the things you do to me…” his voice was strained as well, his desperation leaking through as his arms shook on either side of your face. “You do know, don’t you?”

He searched your face, while his own was flushed and quite obviously aroused. You stuck out your tongue in a mock pout from the way he had smacked your treat onto the floor, after all the trouble you both had gone through to make it. Before you could retract it for your retort, he leaned in for the kill, taking your tongue between his teeth and sucking on the slick organ. He swooned, hips rutting against your clothed core this time, the heat flowing through you like fire.

He pulled back to allow you both room to breathe, and gave a bashful smirk. “You’re um… sweet,” he managed his best attempt at sounding suave in this situation. His awkwardness had a special charm to it, and it made your heart race nonetheless. “You too,” you respond, with an emphasized breathy tone.

You brushed your hair to the side, arching your neck toward the man. “I bet you could taste something even sweeter,” you offered, understanding the pain he had to be in. His trembling arms were the main giveaway at his power struggle against the beast inside of him. “Are you sure?” he asked, afraid that you would change your mind, but willing to stop before it was too late.

“Yes, Isaac. Please, I’m yours for the taking—“ you had barely finished your sentence when you felt his teeth sink into your exposed neck. He groaned into the bite, and his hips rutted again, unable to stop himself as he drank from you. The first prick woke your body with a mild shock due to the brief pain, though it was followed by immeasurable pleasure. You almost felt like you were floating, your veins hot with desire.

“Aah, Isaac,” you breathed his name, and he let out a whining growl against you. He released your neck, licking the blood from his lips and teeth. You couldn’t be sure if the red stains were from the cherry or from your blood. “Please, do let me know if you want me to stop. I’m holding back as best as I can, but I don’t know how much longer I can last now that you’ve allowed me to taste from you…”

You reached down between your bodies and stroked him through his pants, giving him the sweetest smile you could muster. “I don’t want you to stop Isaac.” He pressed his hips into your hand, hissing at the contact. “Right then, just don’t regret it in the morning.”

Perhaps he didn’t mind the shape of the popsicle after all.

#usagiwrites #ikemen vampire #summer of smut #summer of smut writing challenge #ikevamp isaac #isaac x reader #oneshot #suggestive content

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arsnovacadenza · 4 years

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Ikevam Jean & Napoleon fanfic- quietly invite me to where you are

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Characters: Jean d’Arc, Napoleon Bonaparte, Vincent van Gogh, Yukari (MC)

Pairings: Vincent x MC

Word count: 3881

Warnings: possible OOC due to historical references

shoutout to @weird-profiterole, @kisara-16, @hokkaido-the-hellbeast @dear-mrs-otome , @kasu-gay-ama

Icy blue and brown eyes peeked innocently into the training room. The rapiers continued to dance as the couple watched the dueling Frenchmen.

To the girl, Jean and Napoleon’s sessions were always a sight to behold. She could feel the ferocity, the tension as the blades weave through the air and find each other with an echoing clang.

“No matter how many times I see them spar, it’s always so intense. They’re both so masculine.”

The girl admitted she knew little about sword-fighting, but she noticed the beauty with which Napoleon urgently thrust at his opponent.

“…Masculine….” Vincent quietly mumbled.

Jean parried the oncoming blade with ease. If there was even a slight fault in his form, neither couple had noticed it.

The couple continued to stare at the soldiers until a voice called from the kitchen. Immediately, the girl turned at Vincent and pecked his cheek. "I have to go. See you later, Vincent!"

"Oh, right. Have fun at work."

She thanked him and rushed down the hallway. Meanwhile, Vincent's soft gaze was trained on the soldiers' eyes, both burning with rivaling passions.

"Adorable... masculine."

Swords crossed as both combatants' faces were suddenly inches away from each other. Vincent could discern Napoleon's winning smile from where he stood.

With the primal sounds of their duel still ringing in his head, the painter turned and walked away.

"Pay them no heed, Jean,"

Jean immediately backed down in surprise, his cheeks growing hot from the look in Napoleon's eyes.

"And always keep your eyes on me.” Napoleon murmured in a steady voice.

But Jean's breath was ragged, and his eye was unfocused despite staring straight at Napoleon. Even his stance looked unsteady for someone so well-trained. The former army commander let out a sigh.

"Guess you got nothing more in you." Napoleon looked at Jean wryly. "We've had enough anyway. Let's call it a day."

Jean wanted to argue and say he's fine, he's just tired, but Napoleon was already sheathing his sword and making his way to the side. The former emperor sat back against the wall with another sigh. It was at times like this that Jean's reminded of his friend's long, previous life.

"Come. Sit. You look like you need it." Napoleon called out softly despite his stern gaze.

Jean obeyed. To him, small moments like these were just as cherished as the momentary passion sparked during their routine duels. Besides Mozart's, Napoleon's company was the few threads that kept him hanging to his deplorable days at the mansion.

And it was always his firm and gentle voice that made Jean want to believe that he had been born with no fragility— that he regarded Jean just as everybody else.

Sometimes Jean felt he was undeserving of that attention, and sometimes he yearned for more. Not that he knew exactly what he sought from the former emperor.

Jean dispelled his thoughts as he sat down by Napoleon's side. He purposefully put some distance between them, but the man, as he won't, nudged closer until their shoulders almost touched.

And then he'd put a hand over Jean's shoulder and speak with his face only several breaths away. Either he was concerned Jean couldn't hear him well enough, or he ignored personal space just because he could.

Napoleon's attempts at fraternizing did come across as overbearing, sometimes. But Jean guessed anyone with his charm could freely worm their way right up to everyone's face if they liked.

“You heard something," Napoleon broke the silence. "You heard something I couldn't."

Despite being worthy opponents to each other, even Jean had to admit that his senses as a lesser vampire surpassed that of Napoleon's. "It's nothing."

Napoleon let out a friendly smile despite his harsh words. "Considering how out of touch you were, I wouldn't say it's nothing."

Jean went rigid at those words but said nothing.

"And I hate opponents who fight half-assedly."

It wasn't very Napoleon of him to throw such words without care, especially since it's Jean he's addressing. Even the seemingly unflappable soldier turned at him with an open mouth.

"Got your attention," Napoleon flashed his signature smirk. "Now tell me what bothered you or we can just drop this forever."

Always hitting where it hurt the most. Napoleon always seemed to know which buttons to push if he wanted to peer into whatever thoughts clouded Jean's head at the moment. Not that he did it often.

And Jean always secretly seek company and consolation during times like this. While Mozart had always been his person of choice, getting the time and attention of somebody as....beloved as Napoleon was also gratifying, in its own way.

"Napoleon, do you think I'm masculine?"

The question earned a snrk from the other man. Jean already regretted blurting out the question.

Napoleon tried to stifle down a laugh. "Wh —where's this coming from?"

Jean's eyelashes fluttered as he spoke, "It's Vincent and the girl. They were talking about how masculine we look whenever we're sword fighting."

“I guess two soldiers engaging in sword-fighting is as masculine as it gets." There's nothing brave nor virtuous about actual killing, though. A voice at the back of Napoleon's head seemed to say. "What of it, then?"

But Jean's deep, amethyst eye was downcast. They both knew where this was going.

"No matter what people say, they always seem to have a way of making me an epitome of something."

Well, that wasn't what Napoleon was expecting. Jean continued.

"Masculine. Beautiful. People will always look me from afar and immediately put me on a pedestal regardless of what I do." Jean murmured. "I know I should be flattered. That I should take their well-intentioned praises and smile back. But it's the look in their eyes that haunt me.”

Napoleon shifted in his seat. He sensed from Jean's tone that this wasn't something he'd indulge in more than once.

"Mere words shouldn't have this effect on me, Napoleon. But recently, I've begun to feel unease whenever people look at me from a distance and immediately assign me to a place they can't quite reach. Like I'm separate, different." His voice took a breathless turn. "Inhuman."

Napoleon leaned back against the wall in thought.

If this were one of his marshals (which marshal of his would dare falter in his presence?), he'd look at them straight in the eye and tell them to pay those thoughts no mind. Baseless doubts, he thinks, will only drive any soldier away from an assured victory.

But this was Jean. And although he hated to echo the man's own words, Jean was indeed unlike any soldier or person he had ever met.

In the end, he closed his eyes and urged Jean to go on. "Do continue."

Jean did so without hesitation.

"Sometimes, the look in their eyes when we marched into battle made it seem like I wasn't leading their sons off to die. In the beginning, I was grateful that God gave me the power to move them and get them on their feet. To fight. The people's prayers had been my strength. But then..."

"But?"

"But as time went on, they came knocking on my door, pleading for me to anoint their belongings. Every word, my every gesture... it was no longer the angels that spoke to me they listened," Jean's voice wavered even more. "It's as if I had taken their worship away from God, and unto me."

If there was something about Jean he could never touch upon, it was Jean's complicated relations with God.

Napoleon never aimed to please any God. He chased his dreams with confidence in his stars, crossing lands —and rulers —in his path. If anything, it was His image that helped Napoleon put his plans into motion and swayed the people into placing their faith in his arms.

Just as he had used Jean's image.

At that point, Napoleon realized that despite other residents commenting on his and Jean's closeness, there was nothing both truly shared beyond having the same occupation.

Despite igniting that momentary spark in Jean's spark whenever they dueled, despite his invitation to let Jean taste his and Isaac's cooking and him closing his eyes in satisfaction as he bit into a sandwich—

They were nothing compared to the hurt Jean had been carrying long after his death.

Napoleon, a father to his men and the nation of France, could not understand this peasant teenager who lead the charge ahead of king's seasoned knights. Could not fathom how he braved the winter at La Charité with only the hand of God to drive his heart along.

There were unspoken truths and distant dreams —as well as four hundred years’ worth of history —separating them both.

Napoleon stared at his hand and closed it around nothing. His resurrection had stripped away all his power and influence into nothing. Even a lifespan of 51 years had become nothing to this era and city that no longer needed him.

But then again, maybe nothing was what he needed to approach the vulnerable man next to him. Throughout his careful interactions with Jean, he had indeed counted on Jean's lack of awareness regarding the true scope of the 'terror' that he inflicted upon Europe.

But a part of Napoleon did wonder how their relationship would change if Jean ever came to know about what the world had written about him. The younger man's illiteracy was both a blessing and a curse.

Napoleon decided to clear his thoughts away and face the matter at hand. Whatever proceeded from then on was tomorrow’s problem.

"Jean," he softly called.

"Jean," Napoleon prepared for the next part. He never thought talking to another man would be this hard. "I don't know what to say since I never know what it's like to be spoken to by angels."

He immediately recognized the letdown in Jean's eye as it shifted to the side. He continued hurriedly.

"But there's nobody else who knows what it's like to undeservingly be called a hero, except me."

Jean turned his face to look at him in the face. It was a small victory to Napoleon, but there was still an uphill climb, nonetheless.

"I said that I didn't die with much regret," Napoleon pressed on with a much higher voice than intended. "And it's true. Everything I did, I'd done for France. If it had been God at your side, I had her. And, despite what other people thought of me, being an emperor wasn’t that depressing.”

He was surprised by his sudden burst of passion in his speech. And so was Jean, judging from his widening eye.

"But," Napoleon's breath hitched. "But as a man, there was nothing more lonely than being alone with my feelings."

"Those feelings accompanied me even as I grew into a self-absorbed, cynical old bastard who’d thrown away every last bit of human decency to wage war against the world," Steely emerald eyes fixed themselves on Jean. "They accompanied me as I walked down the streets alone, as a military student without friends."

"I gave them the confidence of a leader, all the composure expected of an emperor in his divine right. What they didn't see were the emotions closing in on me as I sat alone."

Jean once again closed his eye, seemingly digesting what Napoleon had said.

"What kind of emotions?" Despite Jean's almost accusatory tone, Napoleon's gaze couldn't help but soften. Ah, to be burdened with such tremendous pressure at so young an age.

"Simple emotions, unfortunately." He smiled. "I cried after hearing news of my wife's death. And there wasn't a day I didn't think about my son after they took him away."

Jean watched Napoleon from the corner of his eye. Sometimes, their youthful appearances deceived him into forgetting that Napoleon, Mozart, and even Arthur had wives and children they left behind.

"And, for all my years riding out into battle, the feeling of losing your comrades remain the same," Napoleon continued, turquoise eye interlocking with Jean's. "The previous kings hardly knew of losing comrades who'd been standing behind your back from even before you were emperor."

"How strange" The older man suddenly shut his eyes with ferocity. "How strange that this warmongering monster, this emperor who very nearly thought himself to be beyond God —still has very human emotions that keep him from becoming neither."

Josephine, Lannes, Joseph, even parting from France caused grief more profound than a king losing his crown.

No matter deep the abyss he fell into, it was always France that took him into her forgiving arms, time and time again.

Napoleon had always wondered if the same worked for Jean. Martyr or no, losing your life in battle in devotion to the fatherland was the highest virtue a soldier could ever achieve in their lifetime.

Anger suddenly sparked within Napoleon at the thought of Comte appearing to Jean over the pier, offering him salvation. He respected St. Germain as a man, but it disheartened him as a Frenchman to know that he dared to condemn a celebrated hero into spending his eternity as a monster. But no matter, he can confront the Count in his rooms later. Napoleon would rather speak to him with a clear head, free of misgivings.

Yet Napoleon couldn't stop himself from imagining the Pureblood emerging suddenly from the crowd around the pyre, extending his hand towards Jean. How did the young warrior see him then, while smoke began spreading throughout his lungs?

Napoleon, in this second life, had never once let emotions take hold of his heart this strongly. But now, seeing the depth of Jean's anguish, he wondered if he'd drown in it too.

All this time, Napoleon had always used his hand to support Isaac. Now, he's going to use it to reach towards Jean, even if that means following Jean into the most treacherous crevices.

Napoleon was assured that he'd have the strength (and time) to pull Jean back to the shallows. Still, it’s a shot in the dark, ensuring that Jean remained happy for the rest of his life as a vampire. Napoleon would first have to think about guiding Jean out under the clear skies.

Once, the entire nation of France revered him as their sun. To reprise his role would mean chasing the elusive moon.

"Jean," Napoleon softly called, "I was... I had been afraid of turning into a monster. I look at you and sometimes wonder if I can live with the pain.”

The venerated soldier turned to face Napoleon entirely.

Jean, truth be told, had long waited for Napoleon to address his impurity. He had long worn it like an armor after all. Napoleon's lack of inquisition regarding the matter secretly gnawed on him, for lack of a better word. He believed the other French soldier was willingly turning a deaf ear towards him, as other residents did. Mozart, at least, told him point-blank that he didn't need 'to hurt himself further' by saying 'things he didn't truly mean'.

"If that day comes to pass, the day when I finally succumb to this- this monstrosity," Napoleon let himself stumble through his words. " I don't think there's no one better to help me get through the process but you."

Jean's brow furrowed at Napoleon's firm statement. "Why me?" he demanded. "You know firsthand how well I've been faring through this entire ordeal. If it's guidance that you need, go to that Comte or Leonardo. If you need a poor soul to suffer together with you, there's Isaac, who at least doesn't willingly starve himself. But with me, Napoleon? Why?"

Jean had never strung words so long and full of vitriol before. If it had been any other person, he would've apologized. Not to Napoleon. Not to this man who purposefully sought him out this entire time. If he wanted to see his worst, Jean would show every bit of his hideousness, one by one.

But Napoleon stared back decisively.

"If I had gone to anybody else, where would that leave you then?" Napoleon's hands went to grab both sides of Jean's upper arms. "Go back to that prison of a tower? Will I have to hear from Sebastian that you've stopped consuming rouge completely? Do I have to imagine you passing alone in that lonely room? To look back on today and the days before as something that will never happen again?"

Jean shirked away at the abrupt burst of anger in Napoleon's voice.

"I... I am not that important to you." He directed his eye towards the wall. Frustrated, Napoleon gripped his upper arm tighter.

"Not important." Napoleon whispered harshly, "Once, you had been a shining glimpse of everything I wanted to be. Even as I ended up sabotaging myself with delusions of grandeur, you remained pure. Without you, there'd be no France for me to protect. And what good is a soldier with nothing to protect?"

Napoleon felt he was back into that mortal body of an emperor as he gritted through the tears.

"I shall never forgive myself if I let such a beloved person die when I could've saved him." His eyes pierced straight through Jean's. "I'm not any less guilty than those people that put you on that pedestal, Jean. But now that I finally see the real you," Napoleon hesitated.

Jean dreaded the words that were about to come.

"That feeling of wanting to get closer to you hasn't diminished in the slightest. If anything, Jean..."

Napoleon sucked in a deep breath. If he fails, if he fails.

If I fail, he will draw away from me, and I'll lose him forever.

If I succeed, we can emerge together victorious. But even this I cannot guarantee.

As if never tiring, emerald eyes locked once more with Jean's, steadfast. All was quiet, both men awaiting the other with bated breath. Even Napoleon's heart, which just now had been erratically beating, had slowed down in time for this gamble.

It's all up to you now, Jean.

Now or never.

"Jean," Napoleon finally breathed out. "I need you."

A lone dark eye blinked, uncomprehending.

"I need you," Napoleon repeated. "Not as a soldier to another, not as a man to a boy. And not as a demi-vampire to a lesser one. I need you as you are if you'll have me."

Great of an actor as he was in his previous life, Napoleon realized there'd been no greater truth in his words. With Isaac, he acted as a loving brother and a steady bulwark. When he was with Sebastian, he reverted to being a father who treated his one of his men with more affection than a master to his servant. Upon facing Leonardo and Comte, he'd effortlessly slide back into the role of a seasoned man, brilliant and amiable.

But this man.

This man drew him in as a fellow soldier, then as a young lad whom Napoleon felt he needed to care for, and then to a formidable sparring partner. Yet the more Napoleon tried to uncover his layers of secret, he, inevitably, would have to bear his well-kept emotions as well.

As emperor, he had never felt lonely nor regretful. But as strangers to this era, he saw Jean as another stranded, fellow countryman, despite the irony of waking up on their very soil.

The France they found themselves in wasn't the France they knew, but it had been France nonetheless. Can they somehow seek out and explore this strange, paradoxical landscape together?

I need you, Napoleon's eyes wanted to say, I need you, as much as you need me.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jean audibly sighed. "You'll regret this, sooner or later," he tried to move. "Let go of me."

Napoleon released his grip, and Jean leaned back to sit on the ground properly. On his usually stoic face was an unguarded expression Napoleon rarely saw.

Resignment. And contentment, if Napoleon were to hope.

"So, what about—"

"You always go on about being stubborn in whatever you do," Jean cut him off, "I never thought you would be this persistent. I can't see how this would benefit you in the end."

Napoleon crossed his legs and hugged them. "I've always wanted to tell you about the France of my time," he smiled warmly, " I'd be eager to hear about yours."

Not caring whether Jean was convinced, he carried on.

"For the longest time, I've wanted to tell you about the chaotic Paris of my days. Oh, how things were different compared to the beautiful city we have today. I can tell you about the dunes that covered Egypt, a distant land beyond the sea, and its dunes and magnificent statues of kings from a past civilization. And, oh, how I bested England and their treacherous allies at every turn,"

Napoleon didn't lose sight of the interest that flashed briefly through Jean's face. And maybe, he thought somberly, I'll tell you about that winter in Russia. Or the violets I planted on Elba.

Just as Napoleon's thoughts were veering towards a darker path, Jean stood up and patted his pants. He offered his hand.

"Consider it a deal, then." Jean asserted, "I look forward to listening to your stories."

Napoleon let himself be hoisted on his feet. Confidently, he clasped one of Jean's shoulders, as he usually did to Isaac and some of his marshals. "Much obliged." He smirked. "We start tomorrow."

Jean regarded his suggestion with a rigid smile. "Tomorrow." He murmured just as stiffly.

Convinced, Napoleon let go of Jean's shoulder and watched as the man walked away to the halls. But Napoleon refused to let the man go with one final note of goodbye.

"The turtle-doves and quails, and bonny partridges," he sang softly. "And my pretty stock-dove. Which sings both night and day."

Jean stopped in his tracks. "Napoleon, what—"

"Which sings for all the lassies," Napoleon ignored him and continued. "Who hasn't got a lad,"

"It scarcely sings for me now, for I've a handsome lad."

Jean spun around, the pink turning to red and spreading all over his cheeks. Napoleon's calm voice took on a jovial turn

"O, in my father's garden, the lilies are in bloom;" Emerald eyes shone merrily as the ditty came to an end "O, in my father's garden, the lilies are in bloom."

In front of him, there was Jean, completely, absolutely, flustered. "What were you doing?"

Casually, Napoleon sauntered towards the man and rested a hand on his shoulder. Jean had probably been unaware that Napoleon touched him a little too many today.

“Oh, just a little song from camp I’m going to teach you." He peered closely into Jean's eye. "And if being called beautiful bothers you, maybe you should pay more attention when they call you handsome. Which you are."

With a flourish of his cape, Napoleon left the confounded man on his own. Indeed, there was much to prepare for the days ahead.

I hope the weather will be lovely. The former emperor mused. Come to think of it, I've never asked Jean out on a ride before. If I guess correctly, he should be enjoying it.

And the flowers at the meadow are in full bloom this time of the year.

#ikevam fic #ikevam jean #ikevam napoleon #riri tries ikevam #my god #this took so long to make

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rokutouxei · 5 years

Text

prologue: lune de sang

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark general | 911 | https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431154 the mansion, before the prologue. | celebratory fic for the english localization of Ikemen Vampire! | i’ll be taking ikevamp short fic requests from now on ;)

Comte de Saint Germain is reliable, consistent, and comforting. He speaks so politely. He has these warm, hazel eyes that match his hazel hair, and they look over with a warm gentleness. He holds himself up with assured confidence.

But if the Comte ever had one thing against him, it was this—he always knows more than he lets on.

Today, he orders a feast—a small celebration of sorts; Sebastian, ever-loyal butler, is busy for most of the day preparing the menu. Loaves of bread baked with different herbs; vegetable dishes in all the colors and tastes; meat cooked in that delicious medium doneness; dessert in the forms of small bite-sized cakes; bottles of champagne. One dish each to suit the tastes of every single one of the residents of their grand mansion.

But the mansion is nothing compared to what’s on the other side of those wooden doors. After all, the Louvre is a beautiful museum, and the refined Comte de Saint Germain couldn’t be more thankful that he has access to such a large assortment of art history right outside his door. He doesn’t always go, but when he does, he makes sure to marvel at its history and art.

Today, he knows he has to go.

His cape flutters behind him as he leaves the kitchen, and makes his way through the many doors and rooms of his mansion, footfall gentle on the red carpet.

The cozy smell of a pot of freshly brewed coffee leads its way back to Arthur’s room, where the blue-haired man has tucked himself into sheets and sheets of manuscript. Across the hall, music plays, piano keys tinkling gracefully—Mozart is making his music again; and by the sound of it, something completely new. Two artists who have made their whole lives—and their next—into their art; into making art, and then making even better ones. Both working to outdo their greatest rivals—themselves, and their historical need to prove themselves better than they have ever been.

In the training room, Napoleon narrowly avoids the white tips of his hair from being sliced by the cut of Jean’s sword. They dance like they are choreographed; but the only music is the clang of their swords against each other. Both soldiers, Napoleon and Jean are no mere acquaintances with death. They fight with resolution. In the battlefields they’ve known, there is no vampire or human, there is no woman or man. There is only winner, and loser. Only fighter. They carry their histories with them with their sword’s every swing. They make it seem like play; they make it seem so light. But the swords clang loudly, echoing in the marble walls heavy with their history.

The game room is occupied by Dazai and Isaac; they’re playing a round of chess. Without Arthur—whose only playing style is “victory”—how the game will end still remains a mystery. Not unlike these two, really; Isaac, who has devoted his entire life to science and knowledge, who has kept his heart closed and emotions sorted away into sealed boxes; and Dazai, who refuses to talk about his past, keeping to himself and hiding behind his odd pretenses of entering through windows, refusing doors. There are things they know inside of them they do not wish to speak out loud, lest they turn into reality and come back like haunting ghosts.

When the Comte passes Vincent’s room he hears Theo’s voice as well, two brothers bantering with each other. Theo, the younger one, works as an art dealer, and recently he has been running around town looking for patrons and sponsors for a possible exhibit of Vincent’s paintings. Older brother Vincent has spent the past few weeks taken up his easel from café to street to park to flower fields creating works that would meet the standards of his brother’s critical eye for art. Today, they stand across a newly finished piece, thinking about their past, working towards the future. Two brothers separated by circumstance in their previous lives, brought together by a second chance to make things right—no matter what the cost is to themselves.

Saint Germain does not get to see his last two friends; as Leonardo sits at the other end of the mansion, in the library searching for a book; and across the city, in a distant residence, Shakespeare has begun to pen another tragedy. Like mirrors of each other, they both love to observe their individual objects of interest. Lost in the unraveling of what they do not understand, of what they want to push to its limits to see how far they can go—and they are surely not afraid of restrictions of any sort.

The Comte leaves the mansion with only a whoosh of a cape and the sound of creaking doors, headed out to where fate has to take him; and when he returns, he does not make any mention of earrings, of fateful encounters in the Louvre’s red walls.

In this side of the door, their whole world’s a stage. Overhead, a beautiful crescent moon overlooks all of the players, who have in their many lives played many parts. Like how a drama unravels into a new act, someone from inside the mansion pulls at the curtains to let the moonlight in.

From the other side, two large wooden doors swing open.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #comte de saint germain #theodorus van gogh #vincent van gogh #napoleon bonaparte #isaac newton #dazai osamu #jean d'arc #william shakespeare #leonardo da vinci #wolfgang amadeus mozart #sebastian #fic #rating:G

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lordhelpme0-0 · 2 years

Text

Olga and Her Descendents Shenanigans:

Olga and her descendent are doing what they do best, being either feared or admired (plus causing chaos)

Part 1, Part ??

It was a normal day in the Ikemen

Cybird universe. The residents and historical figures are having the time of their life. There is no such thing as an MC in this universe.

Merely a multitude of historical figures created by the fandom. Yes, we’re breaking the fourth wall here cause it’s me, ya blog, the cool narrator~!

You might have known me from Aunti Yanli has Enough one-shot. Yes, there are bloopers,you die hard fans and simps for boobies and abs.

My sibling that is seen everywhere is Classic Narrator, but they’re on break so y’all have me. Ahem! Now where were we?

Script: I can’t believe we’re doing this ever after high style…

Shut up Script, no one cares. Today we’re talking about these closeted gays and romance.

Script: what ever [curtain furls]

Can’t wait to give you to William Shakespeare.

Script: do that, and I report to Technical Difficulties. You overrated cringey worthless trash. This is why no writers have you as a part of their work.

…Can’t wait until I beat you, you anti-detail oriented piece of shit.

Script: back to you, cringe eating worth of dogshit. [fake arrows darted out]

…

Script: …

Anyway, back to the main point. Olga was merely resting in one of the many unneeded drawing rooms there are. A knock can be heard. “Come in.” Her voice magnetic and commanding. Lo and behold is Alexei. Grinning as he dash towards the Saint. “Babushka! Babushka! You wouldn’t believe what happen!”

Olga chuckled, “oh? What is it dear?” Alexei grinned, “well, as you can see…I messed around either cousin Vlad. I cut up some of his strawberries and fed it to Lady Định’s water buffalo! Soon, I went into Anastasia to help with my new scheme of dropping a bucket of milk onto Dazai! He was sleeping, of course, on a TREE! Later on, I helped with Her Majesty, Zenobia, on her new pranks at Monsieur Gilles, Sir Worth, gramp Alexander, AND Salieri! Oh! There is even the turtle war going on between me and Sir Arthur! We betted Director Theo that our Turtles will beat his herd of frogs! We won of course! So we got Theo to do some errands! Apparently Sir Arthur wanted him to get a pretty skirts addressed for him! Where is this pretty skirts? It’s such an unfamiliar term to use. And who is this Mr or Madam Pretteskirtz? Babushka! Babushka! What do you think???”

By the almighty, that boy can talk. You think he be good at some auctioning?

Script: shut up or I’ll do the sort of Olga reaction.

Saint Olga, get it right anti-detail style.

Script: …I wish I can strangle you like they did in plays.

Anyway! Olga blinked as the information sunk in. A bit confused on why Alexei would be this hyper over turtles and pretty skirts. Sighing, it seems she will need (you gotta) to give Arthur a talk about using such vulgar frivolous terms around her many greats-grandsons.

Smiling, “you’ll know what a pretty skirt is later when you’re grown. Do tell, what is this about turtles? Also, you mischievous child, you better write an apology to those poor Sires.” Scolding lightly as Alexei pouted.

“Babushka~! It was harmless!” She rolled her eyes at her grandson antics, “harmless they say. That’s what your cousin Vlad always says. Have I ever told you of his ‘harmless’ ways? He would push stakes across his strawberries and giggles. Next thing you know, he injured his tutor cause the royal tutor ‘mocked’ him. That child will always be a headache.” Alexei quieted as he heard the rants of Vlad antics.

“The only good thing that has graced that troublesome child was that girl. Yes, a human girl. Kind she was, and beautiful. Pity she died later on. Soon wives came and went. He would drank his meads and alcohol. Before Comte came after his many trips, he was lighthearted and fun. Then it got worse, both had a fallout. I’m grateful they will soon come close.” Alexei grinned, “they certainly did with ‘Stasia help of course! Do tell more about Cousin Vlad antics!”

Damn, he was a troublemaker..but Comte was worse.

Script: how you know??

The things their creators will alway says on different social platforms. Their theories are quite something! Even if it was thirsty…

Script: lololololol

“There would be no such telling.” A whimsical yet mysterious voice interrupted. Alexei and Olga turned around. Olga raised an eyebrow to see Vlad in all his glamour. Alexei frowned at the man, before huffing to go behind Olga.

Olga chuckled at Alexei's behavior as Vlad stride towards her. He lowered down before pecking his grandmother on the cheek. “I’ve got something Babushka, it’s your favorite!”

Olga smiled as she saw the beautiful flowers of fidelity. “Oh thank you, I’ll add it to my garden.” She petted Vlad and smoothen his strands as the man rested his head on the woman's lap.

Alexei sticks out a tongue before clutching himself to Olga on the other side. Both of the vampires stared at each other as if to test. No shit Sherlock. Olga rolled her eyes as she mindlessly stroked both of the men's hairs. “Have you both done your paperwork as I requested?” Soon the hand that was comforting lifted to the ears. Tweaking the earlobes as both men hold onto the strong lady wrist. “Is it a yes..or a no?”

Script: she the OG and the matriarch no question asked.

Shut up and let me continue! Throws a chair at the script.

Script: [hisses]

Vlad winced at the immense pressure while Alexei continued to ask for mercy in Russian. “They haven’t Babushka.” A melodious voice entered as a raven haired girl and a white haired woman stepped in. “Lacrimă!/ Ileana!” Olga smiled warmly, “ah! If it isn’t the beautiful flowers that have sprouted? Come, sit dearies.”

She let go as Vlad and Alexei pitifully gripped their injured ears. Ileana sighed at her uncle and cousin. Lacrima giggled at her grandfather and great uncle's pain. Lacrimă skipped over before pecking onto the Saintess cheeks as did Ileana.

Olga laughed merrily as if she did not injure some fool's ears. [Script: lol] “Lacrimă child, how was your day?” The girl smiled, “fabulous Babushka! Picnics and work of course. When will you come by Sir Faust chapel?”

Olga hummed, “another time, dear. I’ve grown fond of the chapel by the town square.” Ileana nodded, “me and Jean just got back, I’ve got some gifts for you.” Olga humbly accepted it as Ileana pecked the other side of the Saintess' cheeks.

Meanwhile, both Alexei and Vlad glumly pouted at being ignored. Vlad stood up before embracing three of the women. “Oi, don’t forget about me..!” Lacrimă laughed, before pecking Vlad cheeks who grumbled more.

Olga was not amused whatsoever, then again, when has she? “Troublesome child, why don't you go do your paperwork?” Feeling more rejected, Vlad pouted. “But Babushka~..!!! I don’t wanna do work!!” He whined about who Olga did not listen to.

Seeing this, Alexei ran towards them before clinging onto Ileana who rolled her eyes at his antics. “Babushka! Can Alexei not do work?” Olga sighed, “no.” Alexei deflated like a balloon.

Script: lmao, acting cute did not work.

When has it ever? Now stop interrupting.

Since that didn’t work, Vlad hugged his granddaughter. “Lacrimă~! Why don’t you help your old man out?” Lacrimă sighed, “I’m sorry, but Babushka is the Matriarch of the family. Not to mention, she has the final say.”

Alexei turned to Ileana, opening his mouth.

“No.”

“-but I didn’t say-!”

“Sorry, but no.”

“…”

“cmon!!”

“Great-Grandma said no. So no.”

“Pooh! You're no fun.”

“Sorry, can’t do.”

“What about uncle? Will you help him out?”

“No Uncle Vlad. You’re on your own.”

“…”

Script: talk about double whammy.

…shut up.

Script: *pulls the finger*

Pulls right back.

Considering that the plan did not work, Olga turned to pull both of the men's ears. She then twisted their ears with no remorse.

“Let’s go do some paperwork, shall me..boys?” Her face darken as she closed eye smiled at them. Vlad and Alexei gulped under the piercing gaze. “Yes Babushka..,” both murmured defeatedly. Ileana eyes twinkle in amusement with a calm face as Lacrimă laughed softly at their pitiful form.

“Girls, check on Maria and Anastasia if they are finishing their paperwork.” Olga called out as she dragged both vampires out. “Yes Babushka~!/ Yes Babushka!” Both smiled as they followed behind Olga towards their destination.

Bloopers:

Lo and behold Alexei. Grinning as he ran— never mind…he tripped.. “OW!!” “ALEXEI?!” Olga rushed as she inspected Alexei who pouted at his negligence.

Laughter was heard in the background as Charles fell over crying at it. Faust sighed as Tatiana ran over to check on his brother.

Định sighed as she nodded to the blooper person. They smiled at the young romanov before clicking, “Take 2, action!!”

Alexei grinned, “well, as you can see…I messed around either cousin Vlad. I cut up some of his strawberries and fed it to Lady Định’s water bumpy-! BLYAT!!!”

Everyone reputed in laughter, as Olga rested her head with her hand as she tried to stifle the amusement. Alexei threw his brooch down in anger. “AHHHH-!!”

“Pfft-!!! Take 15, action!!”

Arthur and Theo are dying on the floor, crying. Olga turned as she laughed on William’s shoulder. Lacrimă is covering her face to hide the tears of joy as Alexei continued to curse.

“Pfft-! Hehaha! T-take..<snort> 26..!!! Action-!!!”

Sir worth bend over cackling as Napoleon is being supported by Wellington who is turning his head to hide the giggles. Zenobia had to have tape on her mouth as tears welled up.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Script: insert more angry Russian noises

Lol!

“Take 58, action! Haha!”

Alexei grinned, “well, as you can see…I messed around either cousin Vlad. I cut up some of his strawberries and fed it to Lady Định’s water buffalo! Soon, I went into Anastasia to help with my new scheme of dropping a bucket of milk onto Dazai! He was sleeping, of course, on a TREE! Later on, I helped with Her Majesty, Zenobia, on her new pranks at Monsieur Gilles, Sir Worth, gramp Alexander, AND Salieri! Oh! There is even the turtle war going on between me and Sir Arthur! We betted Director Theo that our Turtles will beat his herd of frogs! We won of course! So we got Theo to do some errands! Apparently Sir Arthur wanted him to get a pretty skirts addressed for him! Where is this pretty skirts? It’s such an unfamiliar term to use. And who is this Mr or Madam Pretteskirtz? Babushka! Babushka! What do you think??? YESS!!! YES!! I DID IT!!”

William slapped his forehead as he slouched over the co-director seat. “Lord Romanov! Thou mustn’t follow thee words in such crude manner!”

“…FU-!”

The whole- hahaha! S-studio filled with laUgTheR- BWAHAHAHA!!!!!

“Take- HAHA!! 73! Action!!!”

FUCK YOU!!

Script: RIGHT BACK AT YOU ASS!!

I DONT EVEN HAVE AN ASS!!

“*sigh* Take 174, action!!”

Olga chuckled at Alexei's behavior as Vlad stride towards her..before falling down as the pot clashes in pieces. Mega fail, dude.

“…” “UNCLE!!!!!” “GRANDPA!!!”

Script: Hello darkness my old friend~! It’s nice to see you again~!

Shut up.

“Take 185, actioned!!”

Olga chuckled at Alexei's behavior as Vlad stride towards her. With a green screen bandaid. Buts that not the poi-!

“Take 186, actioned!!”

Olga smiled as she saw the beautiful flowers of fidelity. “Oh thank you-!”

“Nya~! Ichi ni san, nya~! Arigato~!”

“…”

“Nya~! Ichi ni san, nya~! Arigato~!”

“Whoops~! My bad, everyone.”

“Dazai, what in gods name-?!”

“Na~! Apple-kun, it’s my new ringtone~! Haha!”

“CAN YOU NOT REFER TO ME AS APPL—!!”

“Take 189, action!!”

Alexei turned to Ileana, opening his mouth. Before he can say anything, Ileana was looking at her phone. “Ileana.” Silence. “ILEANA!!” “WHAT?!?” Alexei nudged towards the camera.

“Oh…wait-! We’re filming right now?!” Lacrimă sighed, “what else do you think, dumbass?”

“Oh..”

“no shit Sherlock.”

“Lacrimă!!!”

“Sorry Aunty Tatiana~!!”

“Take 213, action!!”

Both smiled as they followed behind Olga towards their destination. Before Olga can make it out the door, a loud fart could be heard.

“…”

“Ew, it stinks!”

“No shit Charles.”

“Whoops! Sorry for my flatulence!”

“Yes Wellington, again, sorry!”

“Gilles..that was you?!?!”

“*covers nose* Take 360, action!!!”

Tagging: @pieground @yanderepuck @spoopy-fish-writes @a-chaotic-dumbass @sange-de-romane @vio-simps-for-purple-characters @evil-quartett @weird-profiterole

#ikemen vampire #Ikevamp #Ikemen vampire Oc #Ikevamp oc #Ikemen vampire residents #Ikemen vampire resident rivals/ past rivals #basically a crackpost #imagine #bloopers #oneshot #shenigians at its finest #posting in its finest

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