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ikesenhell · 4 years ago

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Je Te Souviens

Elysium, Part Five. You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine in my Masterlist. NOTES: WELL WELL WELL IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG. Yes, I’m still working on this. Yes, it’s been a minute. Yes, I’m helaciously busy. Yes, I hopefully will get the rest of this out in a relatively short amount of time. I’m back-ish babyeee

---

The idea of meeting a priest as a bandit’s contact was, put mildly, somewhat odd. Did it border on heresy? Jean wasn’t quite sure. It didn't feel right. If the clergy’s first responsibility was to God, what was a priest doing tangled in this web?

Still--August gave a very clear direction. If they wanted answers, they met the priest.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered.

Napoleon’s eyes stayed fixed at some unknowable point in the distance, but the corner of his mouth ticked slightly upwards. “No?”

“No.” Jean squeezed the pommel of his sword. It was still there. Overhead, the sky bled purple and gold, grey swirling clouds far off yet. Their boots clicked in tandem on the cobblestone streets. Why were the streets so ghostly still? It was like Penrith only flourished in its twisted corners. People shrank along the walls, pulled up hoods and skittered into waiting doors.

“We’re a bit obvious, don’t you think?” Isaac narrowed his blush-pink eyes at them, scurrying to keep up. “You two, all kitted out, me alongside you, and headed to the central plaza--”

Jean silently agreed. Between Napoleon’s typical dramatic flair (a black velvet capelet with a black and gold uniform coat? Really?) and his own distinct features, they attracted attention. It would be easy for the Guild to track them. But their fearless leader just smiled as he always did, fine lines of fatigue hovering around his eyes (did he ever sleep enough outside of his own bed?), and elbowed Jean in the ribs. “We’re going to church.”

Jean rubbed his side. “What?”

“Church. It’s been a moment since we’ve all been, and you certainly needed to drop in for a quick prayer…”

He contemplated the lie (which was a plausible scenario, but still a lie, and still a sin). It worked for cover. And as much as he didn't want to be here, sticking out like a sore thumb in the nigh-deserted streets, it brought them that much closer to whatever answers August promised.

Speaking of August! Unbidden, those bright eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. An arch of severe brow, the twist of lip, the toss of copper curls, the curve of a rolling shoulder--Jean swallowed. Why did the scent of the street rise up and not their lavender soap? God help him. What did those eyes hold that dragged him in? Why did he follow so willingly? Some said that eyes were the window to the soul. That couldn’t be true. There was no cathedral stained glass that compared to August.

What was wrong with him?

Isaac flapped a hand in front of his face, and Jean started.

“Earth to Jean.” The advisor scowled. “Why are we stopping? Is it Them?”

Oh. Jean collected himself enough to realize the Them in question was not, in fact, August. “No. No, They’re not bothering me any more than usual. I was… in thought.”

“Well, come on. We’re close.”

The central plaza was crowded. Civilians headed home, tired from work, arms laden with goods, children in tow. Napoleon visibly softened as a couple of tiny girls skipped by, skirts in hand and giggling (and what could he even say? Did he show his friend a kind word? Was it even the time for that, time to acknowledge what Napoleon had given up in exchange for--)

On a nearby bench, flipping a coin, sat a priest. He was a wizened old man with bushy brows and stooped shoulders. The trio exchanged glances. It felt almost too perfect. But--never the man to shy away from trouble--Napoleon swept his capelet behind him and settled in beside the elderly priest.

“Evening.”

The man glanced at them and smiled. "Good evening, my children. What brings you here?"

Napoleon visibly paused. What did they say? August hadn't given them any clear directions. None of them were good at subtlety. Doing his best, Jean cleared his throat.

"A… friend recommended we meet you. And I could use some prayer, Father, if you would allow me."

The man fixed the three of them with a wry, gap-tooth smile, dusting his knees and rising. "I'd heard some worshippers might visit late today. Very well. Follow me."

---

It was a strangely humble building. That was all good and well, but next to the Guild’s extravagance… well, Jean knew where priorities were. It wasn’t that he expected the city to set religion front and center--God knew Napoleon didn't feel that necessary for Elysium--it was more the unsettling realization that the Guild saw it more important to purchase silk chair covers and gilded spoons than front a single gold coin to anyone else.

Maybe that was what August wanted them to see. Maybe they’d envisioned how the creaking wood floors would sound under well maintained leather boots. Maybe they’d known that, against Napoleon’s cape, the rough-hewn benches and tattered hymnals told a different tale. This was Penrith. Twilight glow filtered through faraway paper slits serving as windows. Instead of the raucous colors and vivid golds from Elysium’s church, a humble, lovingly-carved wooden altar reached skyward.

God help him. Jean hesitated on the threshold, deja vu circling like storm clouds. Wasn’t his childhood church just like this one? Marae in the height of autumn, all the colors of fire that later tried to eat him alive, laughter in the beams and a dozen dirt-poor families who still found a thousand reasons to smile. He’d taken communion in a place like this. He’d tried (horribly, terribly) to flirt with Annaliese from the farm over behind a hymnal in a place like this.

He’d almost died in a place like this.

Napoleon’s hand wrapped around his.

“Friend,” he said, his green eyes understanding. “You’re missing the conversation.”

Sometimes breathing proved difficult. Now was one of those times. Jean gulped in the timber-rich air, forcing his lungs to remember that they weren’t full of smoke, that he couldn’t (but could still, always could) taste ash on his tongue and a sinner’s agony in his stomach. “My apologies.”

“That’s alright. Our new friend was just showing us around the chapel. Do you need to step outside?”

“No, no. I’ll be fine.”

Oh, Napoleon. His mouth quirked in that disarming smile, the weight of his confidence bolstering Jean’s resolve. Thank God for Napoleon.

Fortunately, they hadn’t missed much. The priest gave Isaac a cursory tour in their absence--the pulpit, the prized books, the church office--and then excused himself with a wink and a nudge to find some tome or another he’d ‘misplaced’. The invitation wasn’t lost on them. As soon as the doors to the priest’s chambers shut, Isaac swung open the church office. There wasn’t much. He spied a safe, a large desk, a number of record books, some miscellaneous odds and ends...

“Let’s go.”

Jean wavered in the door. “I don’t know if--”

“--this’ll go faster if you help me look--”

“--Isaac, I can’t read--”

“--I’ve been teaching you! You can at least manage some things--!”

Napoleon choked back a laugh and shunted himself into the tiny space. “At least stand in the doorway. We’ll look.”

Only the sound of flipping pages rustled in the eaves. Jean was a practiced hand at forced calm by now. It felt unlikely--so, so unlikely--that anything could appear in the ledgers of a neglected church. What secrets could the Guild and Penrith hide here?

“Nothing,” Napoleon murmured. “Isaac?”

“Mmm. I’m checking another book.”

Another book creaked open.

But then again, all sorts of places held secrets, didn't they? Marceche hadn’t descended on Marae for no reason. They hadn’t tracked him down through sheer dumb luck. You just had to know where to look. Usually, though, that was through people.

Oh.

Jean spun on his heel. “Is there a guest book? A parishioner’s book?”

Both Napoleon and Isaac stared. Impatiently, Jean pushed into the office. “Sometimes local churches keep records on who attends.”

“What do you think that’ll show?” Isaac demanded.

He didn't know. It was just the nagging sensation in the back of his mind, the faintest inkling that it was with people, not words, that their business lay. Jean pawed his way over the books until he pieced together enough letters on one to make a guess. “This one. Check this one.”

Napoleon flipped it open. Sure enough, neat columns marched down the page. Jean couldn’t read upside down to save his life, but he knew names when he saw them.

“I’m still not following.” Isaac ran the thick pages between his fingers, turning each one.

Look closer look closer look closer

The voices clawed around him. For once, Jean didn't fight them. He was part of that hivemind by nature; now, no doubt, They only reflected his own thoughts back at him. “August wasn’t looking to loot our caravan. If not money, or goods, what were they looking for? What would someone hide in a caravan?”

Silence. Isaac bent his face to the pages once more, rolling his fingers along the names until--at last--he stopped. “Some of them are marked with stars.”

“People.” Napoleon straightened. “Someone is taking people from Penrith.”

#ikevamp #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp jean #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp fic #ikevamp fantasy fic #elysium #je te souviens #my writing #nonbinary mc #nb mc #August

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anime-clickanddrag-geemu · 5 years ago

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Ikemen Vampire (Valentine's day Version) click and drag game !

#ikemen vampire #click and drag game #click and drag #click and drag game event #seizure warning #ikevamp #Valentine's Day Version #flash warning #flashing image warning

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kashimalin-fanfiction · 5 years ago

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An MC From The Future! (Black Army Suitors)

All I can think about is that, based on the times these games take place, this is similar to what happens to IkeVamp MC! Now I do want a game where it’s an MC from the future in Cradle...

Characters: Ray Blackwell; Sirius Oswald; Luka Clemence; Fenrir Godspeed; Seth Hyde.

Overall Rating: General.

Warnings: None.

• [Here’s where I’d put links… if Tumblr allowed them. Please click on my blog to view more of my work!!] • Requests are Closed, but Commissions are Open! •

Ray finds the whole thing mystifying. He knows he should take her seriously and support her in this time, but there are times when she uses terms or things that make him double over with laughter before begging her to share it’s meaning. She has told Ray a thousand stories from her world and about all the things that developed in the Land of Reason or how society works. He doesn’t think these stories will impact their future too badly, even if he lays awake wondering if there will be ways to use crystals to produce things like “cars” and “phones.” While you stay with the Black Army, Ray sees to it that you want for nothing and swears to protect you. The Red Army might take you for your knowledge of the future and your magical powers, and he doesn’t want you to fall into their clutches; just get back to your time safely.

Sirius treats her no differently, being reminded of his sister’s more modern (for the time) standards for women in regard to wearing pants and being more outspoken. He helps make the necessary accommodations so that she is most comfortable in their time, but also tries to make sure that she learns to appreciate the peace and quiet a vacation should offer… except, she doesn’t. Her drive to help out around headquarters and prove her worth is admirable, and he is happy to see her throw herself into work in an attempt to not be distracted. However, he is also the first to console her when she grows homesick for the future, reassuring her that they will return her to her time and be able to get her back.

Luka’s first questions are about recipes of the future. You might marvel at the foods that he makes and watch his technique at work, but he is making plenty of new recipes for her in return. When he hears about how there are foods from other cultures that are spread around the world, one can see the excitement and wonder in his eyes. He works with her to make them in his kitchen so that she feels at home with foods from her time, even if they are clever re-imaginings and have their own unique twists. He’s very happy about how much you appreciate everything and are a bright force in the Black Army, even if you use a lot of terms he doesn’t understand and are strangely amused by the things he does sometimes. He hopes to protect you with his own two hands while you are here, diligently training into the night so that he can be sure he’s able to do so.

Fenrir is amazed to hear about a world where there’s far less fighting and there’s overall peace. Late-night conversations drag on for the first few nights about how he’s grown up in a country that has been on the brink of war for five-hundred years. He feels like there is much that Cradle could learn from the future, but knows that it might not be safe to talk about it. So, because she doesn’t know much about the past, Fenrir’s here to show her around, completely in favor of her exploring Cradle and experiencing it for herself. There’s no telling – only showing! He loves watching her reactions to things and encourages her to try anything and everything that tickles her fancy. They often walk Shu Shu all throughout Central as an excuse to get out of Headquarters and away from everyone else, and he’s always careful to keep an eye out while walking around so that you can be kept safe.

Seth is in awe of her. She’s a lady who’s confident, knows what she wants, and isn’t ashamed to ask for it. He has the best time shopping for clothes that suit her and assists her with adjusting to the 19th century. He doesn’t want you stuck in the clothes you arrived in! He’s your self-assigned helper and definitely wants to show you all the best places. Loves hearing about the future and how many advancements have been made in so many things. He is honored that you trust him so much and doesn’t want you to regret it. Seth is constantly making sure you are protected when you leave Headquarters and is spoiling you near-constantly when you’re home. If you’re homesick, he will hold you close and listen to everything you miss before departing to plan some sort of surprise for you that will cheer you right up. He wants to protect you and keep you safe and happy for thirty days – no matter the cost.

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #ray blackwell #sirius oswald #fenrir godspeed #luka clemence #seth hyde #cybird otome #request

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ieyasukenshinsandwich · 6 years ago

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A Turn of the Hourglass

I had a sudden thought about an Ikevamp Reset Theory AU after rereading the prologue and realizing just how much some of it sounded...rehearsed...especially the scene when Le Comte runs into the MC at the Louvre. A few written down thoughts turned into a fanfiction.

Warnings? None. Spoilers? Very minor ones from the Prologue and the Saved Stories option under Memories for the released suitors. Notes? 1. A * marked before a dialogue means that it is taken directly from the Prologue. 2. The last section of this fanfic will make a lot more sense if you are familiar with the last part of the Prologue -- it reads a bit awkwardly otherwise.

Under the cut because it is 3,775 words.

A Turn of the Hourglass

The room was, to most, eerily silent. He found that worked well for him. When he delivered a lecture, he purposely waited until the silence entered into their minds. The weakest lasted several minutes, Jean had lasted nearly an hour, but the subtle waiting quiet of the room wore down their sanity until they broke and asked -- each in their own unique ways that he found endlessly fascinating -- for him to start his lecture. Perhaps it was a brief reminder of the void of death they had each experienced that unnerved them. Whatever the case, it was always a test of their sanity. It certainly was a constant test for him. Le Comte, unlike his residents, knew what created that subtle waiting silence. He could actually hear the constant shluff of falling sand from the various hourglasses that lined his room. The noise that put the residents on edge as they subconsciously waited for the next grain to drop. A sound that Leonardo despised.

Despite being one of his oldest friends, Le Comte doubted that the Inventor knew why he kept so many hourglasses. He had never asked so he had never told. Leonardo scorned keeping such meticulous track of time -- often cursing their own immortal march -- and he broke or creatively reimagined every timepiece he had put in his messy room. Sometimes he would find them just outside his door. A clear warning that he nearly always ignored. Le Comte imagined that he would not be impressed -- perhaps, he thought with a sardonic grin tugging at his lips, even disappointed -- if he discovered the reason. The grin turned into a lopsided smile as he quickly poured himself a drink. He tipped the glass back, chasing away the bitterness he could feel swelling his soul with the bite of alcohol, and heaved a quiet sigh as he continued to watch her hourglass.

Soon after she had moved into his mansion, he had dubbed this delicate, gold-lined hourglass hers in a haze of affection. The sands, as compared to the others dotting his room, were a faint pink color. The same color as the suite she stayed in. If Sebastian had noticed he had her placed the Lady’s quarters, parallel to the suite that was his by right even if he hadn’t used it in years, he hadn’t said a word. Or raised an eyebrow. Le Comte wondered if he was that excellent of a butler, Sebastian had definitely proved himself numerous times, or just ignorant of the suite’s importance. Maybe it had been before his time. Perhaps he should have relocated to the Master suite once again -- to stake a claim and make his own intentions crystal clear even to the least observant of his residents. But he hadn’t, and he was here watching her pink sands be slowly dyed a dusty blue.

The same dusty blue as the sands in the sturdy oak hourglass currently frozen in time inside a locked cabinet. The one he had labelled the first night after Arthur had accepted his proposal to become a vampire. One that he had actually pulled out of its cabinet to examine twice this past month to confirm the color of the sands: dusty blue. It wasn’t an ugly color, he actually quite liked it, but it wasn’t the color he wanted. He tapped the bottom of the hourglass, eyes glowing gold, and watched the final grain change from pink to blue. It was done. He managed to turn to the largest hourglass, the one that marked his ability to travel through the door into time, before a very proper knock interrupted the sound of sand. Sebastian. The door opened, someone stepping into the room without waiting for his welcoming answer. Leonardo.

“Monsieur Le Comte, Sakiko wishes to stay in the mansion for a bit longer and would like to ask for your permission to do so.” Excitement primly tucked away.

“She’s tied herself to the flirt you turned, but after everything that has happened...I can’t begrudge her choice.” Affection carefully concealed under exasperation.

He let their emotions wash over his own -- swift currents of positive thoughts shoving his own negative ones into corners and hopefully out of sight. He turned with a gentle smile already in place. Sebastian’s brow furrowed as Leonardo’s raised in an unspoken question. It seemed that the current had not tucked them away as neatly as he hoped. With a sweep of his hand, the faintly glowing -- and frankly distracting -- oversized hourglass was hidden from their sight. With a tiny bow, the bitterness the alcohol had only barely controlled was swallowed. These two were observant enough to see through his lies in this emotional state, so his words would need a seed of truth.

“I already knew.” Teasing came easy to his tongue, but not to his eyes. The teasing lilt did its job as the inquisitive looks faded to bemusement and actual exasperation. Sebastian returned the little bow, smiling with more happiness than Le Comte thought was necessary, as Leonardo carelessly dragged a cirgarillo from his breast pocket. With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed his friend’s still unlit cirgarillo and placed it far enough away on the table that it could not be reached. Not without moving him aside anyway. He relished the annoyance that flickered before sweeping out of the room.

“We should congratulate them, non?” The two followed without a word -- Sebastian closing the door with a click that he thought sounded a bit too final.

~~~

It had been over a month and the large hourglass was once again nearly full. It was nearly time. Le Comte had watched Arthur and Sakiko be happy, unwilling to do anything to cast a shadow of unease over them, and played the perfect indulgent host. The only shadow he had cast was over the hourglass Sakiko had inadvertently claimed her first night in the mansion. Every night, before falling into uneasy sleep, he would watch the sands swirl and remember when they had been pink instead of blue. It only took two nights of this for him to remember that hourglasses can be reset. It took four to recall that it was more than a theory, although it took six for him to realize that he knew it wasn’t a theory because it had worked before. The month was halfway over when he remembered that he had done it before.

Pieces of the puzzle trickled in as he continued to watch over the hourglass. The residents’s hourglasses were locked away, rewound and then frozen in time, and could not be changed. Hers was not frozen and flipping hers erased the timeline. It had little impact on the other hourglasses -- the grains of pink that represented her simply faded into their respective colors one by one until she was gone. They were still vampires, they would still meet her -- they just wouldn’t remember. A clean slate. A third chance...or was it a fourth? He wished that he could remember, but the very second she accepted a place in the mansion his own sands lost her color like the others. A way to make it fair, he supposed, as fair as it could be. His power would reawaken his memory once he touched her dyed hourglass. A failsafe. A curse. His gaze returned to the oversized hourglass as the final sands fell into place. It was time.

“Your body, your heart, and your destiny...” Le Comte whirled the hourglass around its suspended chain several times before letting it come to a stop, staring with grim satisfaction as the sands poured unnaturally quickly into the opposite chamber. He watched as the color steadily changed to an impressionable, but boring white. A pause. The roar of the sands echoed in his ears, seemingly taunting him for his decision, as some unknown magic took hold of the sand. It changed back to pink, your color, with agonizing slowness. Once it finished, he etched a heart on the glass with a single finger. The sand briefly turned to spun gold, glowing like the power he could still feel sparking his veins and lighting his eyes, and held the heart shape. A traced image of glittering gold that seemed to pulse in time with his own. He hated watching it fade -- hopefully it would not fade again. He finished his plea on a reverent whisper.

“Please, ma chérie, give them to me.”

~~~

Night had fallen much later than he had been expecting. His sense of time had always been a bit disorientated, but being pulled from death’s loving embrace only to be thrust right back into the empty embrace of existence had nearly destroyed it. Or should he say neatly destroyed it? All it had taken was a single bite -- a very neat and clean one. The thought caused him to stop short of the window, but it only held his attention for a brief moment. He had a banquet to attend and a fellow author to tease if only to see the usually well-spoken man stutter. Sakiko had really peeled away all of his layers to reveal a man as easy to fluster as his dear apple. His cheeks didn’t flush nearly as pretty as a color, but it was still worth it. He was actually happy -- he was sure it reached his eyes occasionally -- that she had ignored his warning that day in the garden. With a soft grunt, he lifted the window and prepared to clamber inside. Sakiko was staring at him in bemusement again. He lifted his hand in greeting.

*”Well, well, would you look at that? I’m a little late, aren’t I? ...In we go.” A quick glance had told him that the usual suspects were all there, though he found it a bit odd that Arthur and Sakiko weren’t sitting intimately close together like usual. Lost in that thought, his sleeve caught on the rough edge of the windowsill. Lovely. Dazai purposefully pulled at the sleeve in a way that wouldn’t actually help, knowing that with each passing second Sebastian’s eyes would twitch with increasing annoyance. A rip was well worth that -- even if he was forced at needlepoint to fix it himself. Issac said something. He hadn’t heard it exactly, but he could guess.

*”And keep everyone waiting? No, no, the window was much faster.” It was a familiar argument and his response was the same every time. Maybe Issac should be creative and come at the argument from a different angle. Maybe he should try using the window. The smile on his face was unaffected by the glares he received from most of the table. It remained as he easily unhooked the tiny thread from the edge that was keeping him prisoner -- if only it had actually been that easy in life. Sakiko was still eyeing him, so he gave his first greeting to her, uncaring of the affection that colored his tone and words. She looked uncomfortable as she responded, so he attempted to put her at ease with a neutral statement about dinner. Normally she would agree with him -- she loved Sebas-kun’s cooking with a fervor that always made him chuckle -- but her eyes slid away. What had Arthur done? He was seconds from asking when the master of the house spoke.

*”You arrived just in time. We were all introducing ourselves to our guest.” The tone was cool and tempered, but Dazai knew a warning when he heard one. He looked up and down the table for someone new, head still firmly facing Sakiko so she would know that he would be talking with her next. He would find out what had happened. A sense of unease crawled up his spine as his search proved futile. There was no one new here. He faced Le Comte.

*”You’d like me to introduce myself?” He couldn’t stop his surprise from coloring his tone. He hoped his question would be answered. Le Comte was just as good at dodging inquiries as he was. The unease doubled as Issac coughed in the general direction of Sakiko. She stared at him as if he were a stranger. A stranger. Ah. He’s done this before. He felt apathy settle on his shoulders like a mantle, the familiar weight threatening to drag him down, but a part of his brain knew that this girl would rip it off like she had done before: it was just a matter of time. Issac coughed again, louder this time, and he knew that if he waited any longer Le Comte would become suspicious. That wouldn’t do. He wondered what her name was this time: not Sakiko, not Hana, not Fusao, not Chiyo...it would take him a while to remember when someone finally bothered to tell him, but he would remember it. Dazai was good with names.

~~~

Night had fallen much more quickly than he had expected. This had soured his mood, but he knew that lateness would not be permitted or excused. The carriage trip to the mansion had always seemed so long, but the script sitting next to him on the empty seats raised his spirits to be almost giddy. When was the last time he had been in such elation of spirit? A bump in the road disoriented his thoughts, but it was his glance to his fallen script that dispelled his mood. With a reluctant eye, he scanned the first few pages as the carriage pulled just past the gate. The words were turning color from feathered black ink to gold: a gold that he had seen numerous times before. His expression was hard as the coachman finally got around to opening his door. He knew entering the mansion was useless -- a fool’s errand -- but he would dutifully play his part. Setting the papers aside, he watched as the words on the top page slithered off to form tiny piles of golden dust. All that time -- erased. He went halfway to the door of the mansion, knowing that he was hidden from view, and counted to a reasonable passage of time before turning around.

*”I’ve decided not to stay.” Shakespeare didn’t need to bother hiding the tiny amount of bitterness in his voice -- it was as believable as the first time he had said it so many times ago. The coachman seemed surprised, but as if it were rehearsed, only perfunctorily questioned him. Perhaps it was rehearsed. He gave him an answer as he always did.

*”Capricious Fate has invited a guest of fairer mien than mine to take my chair.” Capricious as the dust that blew away when the carriage door was opened. He watched it go, settling himself on the seats, as he forced his voice to convey resentment instead of the desperation that wanted to be heard: *“Hers is center stage tonight, though I shan’t stay to see how she performs.” He couldn’t stay. One glance at her would reveal himself. He had yet another part to practice upon this stage. He knew his lines.

*”O, what upturned expectations have come at the arrival of this...new player?” Still not perfect -- Shakespeare had hesitated. That would surely reveal him. A thoughtful hum interrupted his internal thoughts. His eyes widened in surprise -- he had thought he was speaking to himself, as he had every other cursed rehearsal, but the coachman was still standing with his hand on the carriage door. The man scratched at his chin, eyeing Shakespeare’s formally casual wear and discarded script, before turning around to stare at the opulent mansion. The coachman’s expression was sympathetic and kind as he turned back around.

“There will be another chance, monsieur,” He laughed, giving the script and the stunned playwright a wink, before finishing in an overblown theatrical voice: “‘all that glitters is not gold.’” He gave the mansion one more disgusted look before gently closing the carriage door. A few short minutes later the carriage lurched forward. Shakespeare shook off his shock -- and bemusement, the man had quoted his own words to him. Was he to play his part once again? Was he to find which part she was to play? She had already played a forlorn and frozen violet’s precious maiden, an immortal inventor’s mortal beloved, and most recently the adored red, red rose of one who slept among many petals. She had even kissed the sleeping emperor and turned him into a man.

A divot in the road caused the coach to rattle unsteadily, sending the formerly finished script into further disarray. A tiny hint of an unbalanced smile caressed his lips as he watched his own name fade from black to gold to dust. A woman of many names, many parts -- no wonder she haunted him from that first glance so many times ago. No matter, he can play his parts once again.

~~~

The room was, to most, eerily silent. He found that worked well for him. However, the quiet was going to be broken by his own requests to Sebastian and the soft crackling of the fire hidden within its grate. Subtle mind games were not necessary as he knew it would only be a few seconds before you spoke. He also didn’t want attention drawn to the numerous hourglasses dotting his walls anyway just in case you should ask about them this time. Not that you would. If he remembered correctly, you would reject his offer of tea and immediately ask him your impossible question -- how would you get back -- even when the real question burning your tongue and crying from your eyes was a question of “when” you would get back. It was much too early to tell the truth. He would be a gentleman and soften his omission by answering the question you voiced out loud. Dinner ended and Le Comte brought you to his suite. It all happened exactly as he remembered. He sipped his tea as you seemingly processed all of the information, doubt and suspicion etched on your face, preparing for your second impossible question.

*”And who are you, Comte, that you have collected some of history’s greatest figures to live here in your mansion?” The tone was just as accusatory as he remembered, but the guilt that squirmed in his stomach at the tone was more recent. One or two turns of the hourglass ago perhaps. He shifted his eyes away to glance to the side, unable to make eye contact even though he knew just how dubious it made him look, and gave his usual deflection. You seemed unimpressed and tried to wiggle your way out of staying in the mansion. That wouldn’t be allowed to happen. A few strong armed suggestions painted in the softest manner he could achieve, an assurance that you weren’t imposing -- guilt climbed upwards to poke at his heart -- and a civil conversation about the residents you had yet to meet culminated in his old friend’s sudden appearance.

“Are you the one, cara mia, that was taking so long?” Leonardo’s words were different from last time, although the general idea was the same. He had the feeling that someone else in the mansion retained some memories, but he also knew the feeling to be a manifestation of his own paranoia. He knew you were erased from memory -- he had twirled your hourglass himself just that afternoon. Nonetheless, Le Comte watched his friend closely. He shoved down the feeling of jealousy that tried to rear its ugly head when he saw you in his lap, flustered beyond words, and swallowed his snarl when Leonardo tried to undermine his ability to take care of and please her with his warning. She had been happy every other time in his mansion, in his Lady’s suite, and he was always one of the first to discover her missing. He grimaced at these thoughts. Guilt was now a stab so painful that it took all of his self control to not drop down and beg your forgiveness for his actions. Fortunately, or unfortunately as it may more accurately be stated, Sebastian was already leading you away to your room. He didn’t dare follow.

That night, he fell into an uneasy sleep. He was almost glad for his upcoming loss of memory just so he could occasionally rest at night again -- not that he really needed it. Sleep was an indulgence most of the time. Your hourglass was glowing faintly on the shelf. The pink light coming from the pink sands, as of yet undyed by any hand, seemed to call to him. That was all the convincing he needed to gently bring the hourglass down from the shelf, cradling it in his palm as he climbed onto his bed. He had just settled himself when the hourglass suddenly began to burn. In shock, he dropped it and barely managed to keep it from tumbling to the ground. Le Comte took the still burning hourglass and placed it near him on the pillow. You must be unsettled. He started to breathe in slow, methodical breaths in an effort to calm even if you couldn’t feel it. He gently patted the top of the delicate, gold-lined hourglass with affection.

The pinks sands flashed blood red, causing his own blood to run chill with apprehension and fangs to peep out in anticipation. He tapped down the longing filling his soul -- she was still distressed and he owed her his attempts at comfort -- and etched a soothing, swirling pattern on the glass. He welcomed the burning sensation as a punishment for his turn of the hourglass. A sin that he would gladly take upon himself, again and again, as long as it meant he could have another if she chose another. Gold dust followed his fingers as he stirred the sands from the outside. A frantic pulse seemed to fight the additional color, but the pink eventually intermingled with gold. Once the two were fully mixed, the sands slowed to lethargic pace. It was a beautiful sight. One that he wanted.

*“I want it all. Your body, your heart...and your destiny.” The sands pulsed once more, removing his golden dust from the pink in one fell swoop. He placed the hourglass on his bedside table and turned to face the wall. He also owed you some privacy. He would be seeing you tomorrow anyways. He would have another chance. With a small smile, Le Comte drifted off to sleep with dreams of a delicate, gold-lined hourglass filled with pink and gold sand and your arms affectionately wrapped around him in a hug. He would happy with just that, although he yearned for more and maybe this time...you will give them to him.

~~~

Tagging: @edgarbright I hope you don’t mind, but it was a theory and Le Comte-centric. @impracticaldemon I wrote something~! :D

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batteryrose · 6 years ago

Text

Comfort of Food

Warning: Napoleon’s route ending spoilers.

This will be my first ever posted fanfiction lmao. and of course its napolington (of the ikevamp variant) Wrote this to help me sleep so it’s really just some fluff stuff

I also posted it to AO3.

Wellington, Napoleon noticed, hasn’t been eating.

It’s not like they actually need to, bottled blood being the only necessary sustenance for them. But meals were still a comfort and pleasure, and it’s human. The thing he once most desperately held onto. Instead, Wellesley was always missing from the dining room. He would leave early doing god knows what before breakfast and comes back after midnight. The most someone else has seen of him was him making the occasional tea in the kitchen. Sebastian almost gave up preparing extra food, most of them wounding out cold and wasted. Eventually, Wellesley even fetched for his own rouge, seemingly making the effort to make the least amount of contact with anyone.

This particular evening, though, Napoleon caught him reading in the library. He had a book held up in front of his face before he noticed Napoleon entering, which prompted him to drop it to the table. Napoleon sat across him.

“I don’t see you often at these hours,” Napoleon felt determined to get more than five words out of him. Admittedly, he’s usually more successful than the others.

“Good evening,” Wellesley made a second of eye contact before returning his full attention to the book.

Napoleon sighed. Perhaps it will be especially difficult today. “Have you been here from lunch?”

He just nodded. So he’s been hiding again. Although he probably encountered Leonardo here a couple times, knowing how he is, he probably didn’t even notice Wellesley sitting here incredibly still.

Napoleon doesn’t really want to bother his ostensibly important reading session, but he reckons he’s been here for hours now and a man can’t afford to be this lonely all the time. He said, “and have you? Lunch, I mean.”

Wellesley looked at him, “I don’t see how it is your business.”

Ah, more than five. He smiled, “I thought you know it’s my nature to interfere with other people’s business.”

Napoleon was granted a small chuckle for his efforts. He flipped a page, “no I haven’t. I don’t see the need to,” he frowned again.

“The need to what, eat? You’re as stone-cold as they said you to be,” Napoleon considered just grabbing his book to mess with him, “what are you so intently reading about, anyway?”

As he moved forward to take a peek, Wellesley was fast to swipe it out of his reach, “none that concerns you,” he stood up abruptly and walked towards the nearest shelf, putting the book back inside. Napoleon watched from his seat with great amusement.

“Hiding things from me? I don’t judge people’s reading tastes, you know. No need to get fidgety.”

“It’s not that-” a sigh, cutting himself off. Then, an expression of surrender, “what do you want, Bonaparte?”

Snrk. You just need to be stubborn with this guy, Napoleon thought. Though he’s not exactly approachable, he doesn’t purposely kick people away either. Enough polite small talk will get you far. Or enough bothering.

Napoleon stood up, tapping his fingers on the table, “I would say for you to go outside, but you’ve done that too often already,” he stepped towards him, “why not just walk with me? See what the mansion is up to, then you can join in for dinner.”

The duke was quick to refuse, muttering some excuses like he has somethings to read and somethings to attend to outside. Napoleon doesn’t believe any of it and just start dragging him out of the library. He started protesting, I don’t care for these pointless errands of yours. Don’t make me talk to everyone. You just love forcing people into your demands, don’t you? And, eventually, “stop dragging me around!”

“There’s not much else I can do,” Napoleon ignored his proceeding complaints. They stopped in front of the kitchen, “Sebas is inside. Let’s see what he’s working with.”

Wellesley clicked his tongue, that enormous fan of yours, he said under his breath. Napoleon only heard part of it and, once again, just dragged him inside. The distinct smell of spices filled the room.

Sebastian turned to them, rather startled, “Monsieurs! And what rare occurrence to see you here, Master Wellesley. How can I help you?”

“Sebas, Wellesley here said he wants to try his hometown’s cooking,” Napoleon gestured to him, grinning.

“I said no such thing.”

Sebastian, “of course, anything to help your comfort. I apologize if my cooking were never to your taste before.” Wellesley muttered something no one could quite hear. “Name a food and I’ll get right on it with it.”

“Actually, don’t trouble yourself. I’m your apprentice here. Wouldn’t hurt expanding my skills,” Napoleon said. It garnered some reaction from the other men. Oh god, Napoleon Bonaparte said he is my apprentice, I must be inside a sick fantasy— meanwhile, the other—no, you will not be cooking for me, this is rather unnecessary, I’m not asking for anything, will you stop pushing me into participating in your leisures? So and so forth of these ramblings.

Napoleon, accordingly, ignored their nonsense, “I just need your recommendation since I’m not much of a culinary man,” Napoleon turned to the increasingly conceding duke, “as I read, though, you were born in Dublin, correct?”

A soft, you’ve been reading about me? Then a lengthy exhale, “I suppose. Although I don’t see how eating the food would help with anything.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t. But you will be tasting a new food anyway, and isn’t that a nice experience,” Napoleon patted Wellesley’s back as he grumbled, “what do you think, Seb?”

“I only know a number of Irish food. Perhaps a simple Irish coddle would suffice?” And as the principle of the food, Sebastian continued, it is made to use up leftovers, and we should have plenty enough. Napoleon already started taking off his jacket, an action which further flustered the duke somehow, and joined Sebastian getting busy.

Wellesley watched from the sideline as the two discussed things. Mostly about the amount of potatoes and sausages and parsleys and whether or not to put carrots in since surely, as Napoleon said, His grace needs those vitamin A’s for that five-hour reading session of his. It deservedly earned him another grumble. Having no idea what to do with himself, Wellesley eventually helped them on the knifing side.

“Bonaparte, don’t lower the heat yet.”

“I know my timing.”

“No, look, not enough bubbles. Up the fire.”

“Sebas said we’re supposed to cook it below boiling point.”

“I’m certain it’s common sense to bring them to boiling first, wait for the bubbles to-”

“Okay, okay, since you love bubbles so much— and I perfectly understand what boiling is, by the way— I’ll increase the fire.”

“Not that much!”

“I’m only listening to your orders, Your grace.”

“Cease with the titles, it’s no longer relevant. Moreover, you’ve spent your life eating burnt potatoes off the ground, I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic to relive it.”

“Oh, been reading about me, haven’t you? Don’t pretend like you know anything about a ‘healthy’ meal either, Monsieur Cold-meat-and-bread Eater.”

“My, and what have we here?” the two men stopped their bickering for a second to see the blue-haired author peeking in. “Quite the lively event you gents are having,” he eyed the former-rivals that perhaps stood a little too closely considering their past history and Sebastian curiously tucking something back inside his pocket.

Indeed Master Arthur I am perhaps currently witnessing some of the greatest historical events, said Sebastian, making Arthur laugh. “Very unusual seeing the good duke so articulate. You sure did a number of effects on him, 'Leon.”

Said duke went back to his grumbling. Napoleon, “we’re making dinner. Wellesley is very keen on joining this time,” Yes, go on and put more words in my mouth why don’t you. “Sure, since you are so normally unable to do it yourself. Arthur, you fancy some Irish cuisine?”

He laughed again, putting on his trademark smirk that made Wellesley wince, “I’m afraid I’ll be skipping dinner tonight, sudden inspiration and the like. Though I’ll be having a cup of the 'ol Rouge,” Sebastian promptly left to fetch some for him. “You two go and have your fun. Wouldn’t wish to third-wheel this dinner date you got going on. Creative thinking on your part, 'Leon.”

Napoleon snorted in reply. Wellesley was too flustered to properly retort. Though he said, creative thinking?

“Yeah, we sort of talked about how you never eat. Not just lunch, just straight up not consuming anything,” and nothing in this mansion goes unnoticed, Napoleon said. “It’s pretty worrying. I concluded it just had to be forced upon you. And I guess it had to be me.”

Astonished, Wellesley said, why does it have to be you? Because only he you’re willing to talk to! Arthur said. A click of the tongue, “my perception was simply that the unnecessariness of eating is at least a benefit to this godforsaken body. I wouldn’t needlessly cost something just for my own mundane pleasure. That said,” he turned to Napoleon, struggling a bit to continue, “I guess I’m thankful of your concern, however unfounded.”

Napoleon sighed. It’s very founded, he told him. We couldn’t be this disparate in thinking. Are you really such a stone statue of a man? “We’re not at war anymore, let loose a little.”

The steaming pot was now covered by its lid, loud bubbling sound coming out of it. The kitchen was now empty save for the two old warhorses. Sebastian already left to make some preparations in the dining room. They sat in comfortable silence, waiting for the coddle. The heat from the stove was enough to keep the night’s cold at bay.

A distant chatter can be heard past the hallway. The mansion residents were gathering from their personal business to spend some short time mingling with fellow dwellers. To think about it from afar, it’s probably absurd. Great men from greatly different eras grouping together inside an eerily mystical mansion owned by an equally mystical ancient vampire. A thing of folklores, the duke would probably say, were he to remember anything of his past. Perhaps what most troubled him was something that no longer exists, that he desperately still look for. Napoleon once thought that if he had lost his every recollection also, he would have much peaceful rest, much enthusiasm for the future. Perhaps, much like the fellow soldier, confusion will cloud him instead. Some men cling too tightly to the past even when it’s gone.

To live within this absurdity, one will find it just as mundane as any life, maybe even more so. Wellesley couldn’t see it. Couldn’t appreciate such normal. He still seeks his purpose, his reason for existence. There’s simply no longer any. They’ve completed their life. They were brought back unwillingly and Napoleon was ready to give up on answers. Wellesley should see that, for such an efficient man, it is very much unnecessary to gain his past back. He can only go forward now. Napoleon would drag him forward. He would protest and grumble but this is what old warhorses need to do. There’s no war for them to go back to. Only their deserved rest.

“Do you suppose it’s ready yet?” Wellesley broke the silence. Unusual of him.

Napoleon smiled, “let’s wait some more minutes.”

They would take it slow.

———

Sebastian had an urgent problem. He noticed a significant amount of his collection was missing from the library shelves. In particular, his collection regarding the former emperor. He asked anyone he met during his errands around the mansion and no one would really give any definitive answer. Eventually, with much diffidence, he asked Napoleon that had just woken up.

“Books? What books?” A stifled yawn.

“Books regarding, ahem, yourself, sir.”

Napoleon, who was still very much just came out of sleep, “ah, ask Wellesley about it.”

Sebastian paused, processing the thought, not sure if he heard correctly, “the Duke Wellington, sir?”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s pretty shy about it but I know he’s been reading about me,” to consequently know more about himself, he presumed. He scratched his head languidly, “probably took it to his room or something. If not ask Leonardo,” another yawn.

The sun was already high. Sebastian excused himself. He proceeded to swiftly procure a curious book from his pocket and accompanying it, a pen. Finding a safe corner in the mansion, he began to write.

#Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #fanfiction #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp wellington #ikevamp fanfic #IkeSeries #ikemen series

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simple-beaver · 5 years ago

Text

Ikemen Vampire Audio Assets Extraction Tutorial [iOS+MacOS]

This tutorial assumes that you are playing the iOS version of the game (either the English version or the Japanese version will do) and that you have a Mac computer. Windows people feel free to check out vgmstream.

By the end of this tutorial, you will be able to listen to the BGMs, Sound Effects, and most importantly some voice snippets (homescreen, login, and prelude/common route ones) on a Mac computer. Take a sneak peek at one of the audio files ripped from the game. Can you tell who's speaking? XD

Tools and Software (Free & Open-Source ;)

Apple Configurator 2 from the Mac App Store

Cog if you want to directly play the encrypted audio files

QuickBMS if you want to decrypt the files to .wav yourself

FastHCADecoder if you want to decrypt the files to .wav yourself

Getting the App as an IPA file from the iOS App Store

On a Mac, download Apple Configurator 2 from the App Store.

Connect the iPhone/iPad to the Mac with an USB cable.

Locate the device in Apple Configurator.

Make sure your device has the IkeVamp app downloaded.

In Apple Configurator, tap the green Add button and re-download IkeVamp. Apple Configurator will download the app to the Mac and attempt to reinstall it to your phone.

Wait for the download to complete. When a window pops up telling you that the app already exists on your mobile device and asks whether to overwrite the data, go to the next step without responding Yes or No to the pop-up.

Open the Terminal app, paste in the command below, and hit return:

open ~/Library/Group\ Containers/K36BKF7T3D.group.com.apple.configurator/Library/Caches/Assets/TemporaryItems/MobileApps/

This should open up a folder. Copy the .ipa file to somewhere like your Desktop.

Change the file extension from .ipa to .zip. Don’t worry about Finder’s warning.

Double-click on the ZIP file to unzip it. Open the unzipped folder. Now we have the app package contents to work with!

Accessing the package contents

Open the folder called Payload. You should see an app icon and a sign that tells you that your Mac cannot run this app. (Only your phone can.)

Ctrl-click and then select Show Package Content. Then open the folders in sequence: Data > Raw > Sounds.

There are a bunch of .awb and .acb files in them, and they have pretty descriptive names like BUILDIN_VOICE.awb.

To play the .awb file, download Cog, a Mac app for playing encrypted video game soundtracks.

Drag and drop all the .awb and .acb files into Cog.

Decoding the files to WAV

We'll be using the Terminal a lot in this part. Our file workflow will be .cpk > .acb > .hca > .wav.

Download QuickBMS and unzip the file.

Download FastHCADecoder and unzip the file.

Save this file as cpk.bms.

Save this file as acb.bms.

Again with Show Package Content, go to the folder Data > Raw > BuildInResources > Tutorial. Observe that there are a couple of files with “Voice” in their names, like PackageVoiceStory. As an example, let's grab the data.cpk file inside PackageVoiceStory > 1.

Place all the files onto your Desktop.

Also make an empty folder called output on your Desktop.

Open the Terminal, copy, paste, and run the following commands in order: (If you are not familiar with the command line, cd stands for change directory.)

cd ~/Desktop/ cd FastHCADecoder-master/ make cd .. ./quickbms_macosx/quickbms cpk.bms data.cpk ./quickbms_macosx/quickbms acb.bms VOICE_STORY.acb output/ ./FastHCADecoder-master/clHCA output/*.hca

What your Desktop should look like at step 7:

What your terminal should look like as you run the commands:

Some intermediate logs printed on the screen that you might see:

g++ -o clHCA -Ofast -pthread -std=c++11 -g -w *.cpp ... offset filesize filename -------------------------------------- 00001000 3425248 VOICE_STORY.acb ... 0031bfe0 75168 9014.hca 0032e580 88428 9102.hca - 50 files found in 0 seconds ... Writing to output/9102.wav...

Now we have all the WAV files in the output folder ;) I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it XD

Some additional technical details

Apple Configurator places apps downloaded but not yet installed/deleted in a “temporary” folder. Therefore, once you respond to the pop-up about overwriting the app on your phone, Apple Configurator will delete that folder along with the app files.

The .awb file contains the actual audio file and the .acb file contains the key to decrypt the .awb file with the same name.

The key consists of two 8-hex-digit encryption keys. Fortunately, smart people on the Internet have already figuared out the two longer keys, 00A06A0B 8D0C10FD.

Disclaimer: This is for personal use only. Cybird owns all the assets.

#ikevam #vg music #visual novel #Ikemen Vampire #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #game rip #game audio #gaming #game #game assets #otome game #japanese voice actors

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