#ikevam au

[arsnovacadenza]

Ikevam modern AU headcanon

Jean tries working in a cafe and their uniform includes a tight-fitting polo shirt that emphasizes his chest and back. This leads to him being ogled by the customers. 

#ikevam headcanons #ikevam jean #ikevam au

[shookspearewrites]

Shookspeare Royal Romance: Sebastian

Wow good evening everybody, would you believe that #ShookspeareRoyalRomance is finally back?! I took a long break from this mini series over the last 2(ish) month but, we’re in the home stretch now ^^ With only 4 more suitors left after this upload! I hope you guys are as excited for this as I am - and it also means that there will be my 5th mini series coming soon, too~ 

- JJ x

~~~~~~~~~~

Another Suitor, Sebastian

Princess MC giggled and fanned her face as Prince Napoleon took her hand in his own and kissed her knuckles carefully, while Prince Sebastian scowled quietly to himself in the corner. Sebastian didn’t much care for court parties, especially not ones where he knew his former lover and best friend would be in attendance together but, his grey eyes watched on nonetheless, jealousy painted across his face like the blush on MC’s own cheeks. He sighed, his eyebrows pointed downward when his loyal friend and cousin Prince Dazai approached him, “Sebas? You look unsettled.”

“You would too if you could see what I’m seeing,” the younger prince grumbled before taking a long sip of his red wine, still staring at MC whilst his heart beat painfully and she laughed unaware of his yearning, “Dazai, what should I do?” Sebastian asked but when he turned around to meet his cousin’s gaze, the older man was nowhere to be seen - like he’d vanished into thin air. He lifted his gaze back to watch the ballroom where on the other side of the hall, the prince saw his eccentric cousin speaking to Princess MC and taking her arm in his own and leading her out of sight. It was then that Sebastian noticed a small note that had been placed in his lap - in Dazai’s handwriting, of course - it simply read, “Rose garden,” and before he knew it, Sebastian’s legs were carrying him in the direction of the gardens.

Prince Sebastian stepped out in the rose garden and the cold air seemed to warm instantly when he saw MC: She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in her champagne pink evening gown, her hair styled down and her lips lightly rouged. Princess MC stood up and closed the gap between herself and Sebastian, offering him her hand to kiss before curtsying politely to greet him, “Good evening, Prince Sebastian.”

“A pleasure to see you again, Princess MC,” he replied a little awkwardly as he bowed lowly to her, meeting her eyes with his own steely grey pair when he stood back up, “You look ravishing tonight.”

“You say that to all the noble ladies, I’m sure,” the princess rolled her twinkling eyes.

“No, your majesty.” Sebastian knelt before her and held onto both of her hands carefully, gazing up at the young woman hopefully. He confessed, “I have never met a more beautiful, kind and clever woman in my life. Princess, my heart belongs to you and you alone, I assure you.”

“How bold of you, Sir,” MC smiled softly but before long, her expression saddened into something solemn and resigned, and she sighed, drawing her hands away from the prince who wore his heart on his sleeve, “Your highness, I am to be wed to his grace Prince Napoleon. As much as I love you,” the princess’ eyes filled with tears which Sebastian quickly stood up to wipe away with his handkerchief, “We’re not children anymore. Sebas, politics determines I must marry him.”

“Of course I mean no ill to Prince Napoleon but,” Sebastian felt his heart brimming with determination as he took MC’s waist into his gloved hands and squeezed her sides carefully, just as he used to do when the pair were happy together - before Napoleon came into the picture - “But tell me, Princess, what can I say to convince you that you are making a mistake with him? What can I offer you for you to take me back?” The prince brought his left hand up to his one true love’s cheek and cradled it gently, gazing into her eyes and hoping she could see the sea of love which flowed within him for her. 

“Walk with me?” MC’s voice was quiet, unsure as she asked.

“To the ends of the earth if you wished me to,” he took her hand and squeezed reassuringly before he led her deeper into the gardens, passing pristine roses and perfect chrysanthemums as they walked. The couple walked in silence, the sounds of the party long forgotten when they stopped beside a small patch of white lilies,

“You kept them?” The princess knelt down to touch the flowers’ petals delicately, her eyes slightly widened at the sight of her flower, the symbol on her personal crest. She laughed a little self-deprecatingly, “I thought you would’ve had them dug out and replaced.”

“And take you from my garden? My lady,” Sebastian offered MC his hand but the princess stumbled over her high heels, falling forward and on top of Sebastian who landed on his back in the grass with a soft thud. The prince grinned up at MC who was straddling his waist, letting one of his hands linger on her side and the other reach up to caress her hair, “My lady the day I lose sight of you is the day I cease to see anything. You are my entire world.” 

Princess MC gasped softly, blushing at Prince Sebastian’s admission as she felt the tears begin to well up in her eyes again, “I’ve been so blind,” she whimpered, lowering her torso to hug her former lover tightly; a hug that was returned without hesitation. “I- I,” the young lady was crying against Sebastian’s fine suit now, her breath ragged and her heart beating hard in her chest, “I’ve loved you all this t-time, Sebas.”

“And I’ve waited for you, Princess,” his hand stroked her smooth hair, his steady pulse skipping like skimming stones across a lake when MC pulled back to press a kiss to his yearning lips. Sebastian reciprocated her kiss, his slate grey eyes closing before as he continued to kiss her as he’d been longing to over the agonisingly long year that she had been seeing her other suitor, his hands now both cradling her face. The young man broke away from his ladylove’s lips, smiling at her with all of his natural charm, “Stay with me, MC. Don’t return to France on that man’s arm with his ring on your finger. Instead,” Sebastian rolled the pair of them over so he now hovered above his beloved, pulling a simple golden ring adorned with a single sapphire from his breast pocket, “Please accept this.”

“My ring …” the princess gasped in awe, nodding carefully and breaking out into the brightest of smiles when the prince slid the ring onto her left ring finger, “You kept it with you?”

“As I said,” Prince Sebastian grinned, kissing the ring in its rightful place on MC’s hand before placing another kiss onto her lips, “I’ve been waiting for you to return to my arms.”

#shookspeareroyalromance #Ikemen Vampire #ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire sebastian #ikevamp sebastian #ikemen vampire x reader #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire x mc #ikevamp x mc #ikemen vampire sebastian x mc #ikemen vampire sebastian x reader #ikevamp sebastian x reader #ikevamp sebastian x mc #sebastian ikemen vampire #sebastian ikevamp #ikevam #ikemen vampire au #ikevamp au #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen games #ikemen series

[silversparkz]

that moment when you and your ex arrive at the same place at the same time to do the exact same thing

#Ikemen Vampire #ikevam animal au #ikevam shakespeare #ikevam charles #ikevam isaac #ikevam comte #ikevam vlad

[rierru]

The proposal

When Arthur asks Theo for help

Ahahah if Theo appeared in Arthur’s With This Ring story event

#イケヴァン #fan art #ikemen series #otome game #rierrusketch #otome #ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp arthur #arthur conan doyle #ikevamp theo #theodorus van gogh #with this ring part 1 au

[maladaptivedaydreamsx]

i just had a random, sort of sad thought/scenario come into my head just now. so you know that trope where one of the two lovers is immortal but their lover isn't, so they have to wait until they reincarnate over and over again? ......yeah that, but with poor dazai 🥺

"Normally I don't connect with anyone this quickly but you know, there's just something about you. You feel like a kindred spirit somehow, even though we've only just met. Haha, could you imagine if it was because we were lovers in a past life or something? Wouldn't that be such a coincidence?"

There was a flash of emotion in Dazai's warm amber eyes so quick you swore you'd imagined it. Had it not been so intense you'd have just shrugged it off... but something about the sad smile and offhand comment he gave you made you that much more curious as to the mystery shrouding the writer sat beside you. Little did you know how many lifetimes Dazai had spent with you, only to be forgotten each time, left with the lingering aftertaste of despair and regret, constantly torn between mourning your loss and looking for you anew. And yet, with a heart so heavy he was doing all he could not to choke on it up in his throat, all that left his mouth was a casual response. "What a coincidence it would be indeed, Toshiko-san." But the smile never quite reached his eyes, as he knew all too well this lifetime would end just the same.

#ikevamp #ikevamp dazai #ikevam dazai #dazai angst #ikevamp angst #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp hcs #ikevamp dazai osamu #ikevamp au #dazai au #(trying to be careful w/ tags bc ik there's multiple dazai's out there;;;;;) #but also uuuhhh sorry to hurt anyone & sorry if this sucked not usually one much for writing angst (even if i have a lot of sad hc's/ideas) #sucked;;;* #aerin.txt #my post 📫 #aerinposting #my writing #aerin.writings #l'hôtel.ikevamp #l'écriture de l'hôtel #l'écriture de aerin #sad hours: *flashing neon sign that reads* OPEN #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp fanfic #well... more like a drabble or prompt/idea.... ijdk wtf to tag this as ;;;;; 😥 #ikevamp drabble

[shimadalluvia]

Napoleon and the Duke of Wellington’s statue

Who’s visited Glasgow (Scotland)? The equestrian statue of the Arthur Wellesley, First Duke of Wellington stands in front of the Gallery of Modern Art. It was erected by Italian artist Marochetti in 1844.

It has become a thing to place a traffic cone on Wellington’s head after an allegedly drunk citizen did so for the first time in the 1980’s or earlier. The costs of constant removal of said traffic cone has led the City Council to propose a plan to restore the statue and double its height, which were largely opposed by the public and then dropped.

Now.

In a modern-day au le Comte’s boys have scattered a wee bit around the world and have resided in different places for a few years, visiting each other on occasion. Vincent and Theo are living in Porto, Portugal, Arthur and Dazai have taken some time living in Glasgow. Mozart is living in Berlin. Sebastian remains with le Comte in the Barcelona manor, where they gather around a couple times a year. Sebas visits the boys as well, especially Napoleon, who almost abducts him (with le Comte’s knowledge) to spend some time at his place, much to Sebas’ delight. Napoleon is currently living with Isaac and Jean in Loreto Bay, Mexico. He is happy to see them both in the calm setting and Isaac rejoices observing the night sky. The last time anyone’s seen Leonardo was when they last met at the mansion and Leo said he’d be heading to Thailand.

The first time Napoleon and the boys went to visit Dazai and Arthur in Scotland they went on a tour, visited Edinburgh, and went around the city. On a given day going down Queen Street heading to the river, Arthur pointed at the Art Gallery and stated with unrequired formality (and a tone of uncontained amusement) the identity of the personality portrayed with the statue. Napoleon took a few seconds to process the information, taking in the statue’s serious countenance, Wellington’s pose on the horse, the large orange cone lying elegantly on his head and the wee cone on his horse’s head. After some contemplation he burst out laughing so intensely he’d quickly been tearing up before his friends. He had to sit down on the Gallery stairs to calm down although he’d go pfffffff and start laughing again as soon as he laid eyes on the statue.

Since then, every time Napoleon steps anywhere in Britain he makes a point of dropping by Glasgow and taking a selfie in front of Wellington’s cone-bearing statue and sending it to everyone.

#ikevamp #ikevam #ikemen vampire #ikevamp au #ikevam napoleon #ikevamp napoleon #ikemen vampire napoleon #monsieur de wahaha

[rifroleplays]

Pokemon AU - Anya Nosferatu

Fun and random thought I had; what pokemon would x OC of mine have? For Anya I can see that she likes the more cursed types that are considered to be sorta eerie and macabre: 

Mimikyu - ghost/fairy; A pokemon that hides its true form and nature, much like Anya does.

Litwick - ghost/fire; A candle-like pokemon that sucks out the life force surrounding them.

Phantump - ghost/grass; Rumoured to be the ghost of a deceased child in a tree stump. Likes to bring travellers astray.

Roselia - poison/grass; Gifted to her by ‘father’ as a bedew and later on evolved into a roselia. It is Anya’s closest friend and it is from Roselia’s poison that she extracts the poison to mutilate herself.

Inherited from father:

Sinistea - ghost; A teacup with poison in its content. Not that it affects Anya much but it is part of the Nosferatu.

Polteageist - ghost; A teapot with a liquid that can only be drunk by its master. Anya never quite befriended either pokemon that served ‘father’ before, but she doesn’t feel a pressing need to either as their poison doesn’t affect her, much to their frustration.

Shumpert - ghost; Father used this ghost pokemon to sniff out potential clients and predict events, nearly feeding it with enough vile feelings to turn it into a Bernadette. Anya has opted for another path for the Nosferatu, though she allows the pokemon to roam around as it pleases.

Vileplume - poison/grass; A giant poisonous mushroom that the Nosferatu use to extract their poison from to use in the ritual.  

#Anya nosferatu #pokemon au #ikevam oc

[akirafanarts]

‪I just noticed I hit 400+ followers on tumblr and 100+ on twitter 🎉 💜 I can’t thank you guys enough 🥰 Please have one of my WIPs for this month as a little token of gratitude 🙏 ‬ Also I’m out of ideas 🙃 so if you guys have any suggestions for what I should do to celebrate this followers milestone please let me know in the comments 👀💕

I’ve drawn Kenshin as Ares for a fanzine before and ever since then I wanted to do something for IkeVamp greek mythology AU too. What better time than MerMay to draw Theo as Poseidon 😉

Hopefully I can finish it this May and not May next year lol 😂

#ikevamp theo #ikevam theo #he would so pass as a greek god won’t he 😉 #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #theodorus van gogh #ikemen vampire theodorus #otome #cybird #fanart #ikemen series #artists on tumblr #digital art #ikemen vampire fanart #mermay2020 #merman #poseidon #ikevamp au #ikevamp greek myth au #theo as poseidon

[instantmillktea]

Get in loser/hondje we’re going shopping

~Theo in the driver’s seat with Vincent to Arthur or MC, probably.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevamp imagines #ikemen vampire modern au #ikevamp modern #get in loser we're going shopping #theo ikevamp #arthur ikevamp #ikevamp mc #ikevamp theo #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp vincent #vincent ikevamp #incorrect ikevamp quotes

[arsnovacadenza]

Leocomte modern AU

Leo is a senior lecturer in his department and has his own room where his assistants and students under his supervision gather (Isaac is one of them)

His desk, is, surprisingly, not at all that messy.  It’s mostly empty save for a coffee mug, some documents, notebooks, some stationery, and a minimalistic PC set. The man uses a full keyboard that goes tack-tack-tack as he types. It’s soothing to listen.

His desk and the file cabinet that surrounds it are all neatly organized. Can’t have precious documents and papers missing in a pile of mess or he’s gonna lose his jobs.

Except for his work station, the entire room is an utter wreckage. Usually, it’s Salai (his research assistant) that helps clean up the room and take out the clutter.

There are two framed photos on the desk. One is of Saint-Germain and the other is of Lumiere.

At first, it was just a picture of his husband, but later he added the new picture next to it. Some curious students speculate that he and his husband just adopted a kid, only to be disappointed upon discovering that it’s just a photo of a black cat.

During break time when there are students in the room, Leonardo very randomly calls them over to his desk to show them a live feed of Lumiere in his house (yep, dude installs a petcam).

Rumors even float around that if you want to get liked by Professor Leonardo, you must either be a cat person or present him with cat toys or expensive cat food to make him like you.

When overhearing one his students talk about going to cat cafes, his response is: “Oh, I can’t go to cat cafes because then my clothes will be covered in fur and Lumiere will notice that I’ve been hanging with other cats. He will get jealous and avoid me and the thought makes me sad.”

His students and coworkers, internally: “This man cares more about his cat than his husband.”

The Lumiere bits are inspired from @metal-arms-and-golden-horns‘s headcanons about Leo’s furbaby Lumiere.

#ikevam au #riri tries ikevam #leocomte #ikevam leonardo #ikevam comte #I'm back fellas #but I'm not doing any jeanpoleon now I'm drained

[akira-zens-babe]

Cybird out there making dreams come true!!

LOOK AT THAT LITTLE KUNG FU MASTER THEO WITH A MAN BUN 😍😍

Guess what I’m gonna be drawing soon 👀😎

#kung fu master theo #Yakuza Jean #ikevam event #ikevam comte #ikevam #ikevam vincent #ikevamp theo #ikevam theo #ikevamp comte #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp jean #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp jp #gangster AU #ikevamp gangster AU #ikemen vampire #ikevamp

[silversparkz]

Omg I'm cackling at Jonah getting distracted and pulling a Mitsunari with the tea for Lancelot because he sees Mousse being carried by Rowlet. Are there any other Pokemon & Cybird suitors you imagine together?

Thank you for the request! I’m glad you like my silly little comic! And yes, I have lots of Pokemon ideas for a lot of the characters! I think about this AU a lot, but when I have time I always forget to draw for it lol \(●⁰౪⁰●\)(//●⁰౪⁰●)//

#request #anon #Anonymous #Pokemon AU #Ikemen Vampire #ikemen sengoku #ikevam mozart #ikevam comte #Sarutobi Sasuke #uesugi kenshin #one of these days i'll draw my ideas for this AU

[that-otome-potato]

IkeVam opinion question:

In a High School AU, what do you think each of the guys’ stereotypes would be?  Goth? Jock? Nerd? Etc...

#IkeVam #Ikemen Vampire #Highschool AU

[rosaliekali]

Soulmate AU for IkeVamp with MC and Comte?

So writing for Comte is so hard because the timeline is so skewed, but I tried my best. This is not written to be true to history so bear in mind the inaccuracies and the modern language.

Contains spoilers to Comte’s route in JP and is a little angsty-ish?

The first time he meets her, she is the daughter of a Duke in an English court. Her family has decided to throw a lavish ball to flaunt their wealth. As a member of a powerful noble family in France, he is invited and taking the place of his father for the evening.

Meanwhile, her own father, a tall and proud man something-in-line for the British throne, welcomes Comte eagerly as he arrives at the Manor and a servant takes his coat. The year is 1335 and Europe is under Edward III. The British Duke clasps Comte’s hands eagerly.

“Monsieur, how brilliant you could join us! Has your father not come?” The Duke tilts his head and takes a step back.

Comte shifts uneasily and brushes a lock of his long hair behind his ear. His father has sent him in his stead. The British Duke is wealthy enough to be of importance in Europe, but not powerful enough to intrigue the Patriarch of a Pureblooded Family. Comte, expected to take his father’s place one day and join the ranks of the nobles, has been sent in his place. His family is hoping he will gain a shred of honor on this excursion and return ready to assume the mantle of a noble.

“Unfortunately, he feels ill,” Comte soothes and pretends to be apologetic, “His wishes are with you and your family.”

The British Duke quickly loses interest once another noble walks up. He makes a sound at the back of his throat and motions for Comte to enter the Manor. He can see a dance is starting deeper in the home and the festivities are well under way.

“Enjoy tonight!” The British Duke declares. He waves his hand at Comte and his Soulmate Stamp glitters in the candlelight. With a final smile, he hurries past Comte and joins another noble couple with the flourish of a host.

Comte makes a face and wishes he had been allowed to bring his friend Vlad with him. He toys with the buttons of his coat and makes his way inside. While humanity intrigues him, the role of the nobility does not. His family may want him to become a well-bred Pureblood like the fussy men his father often dines with, but the world of customs and propriety is a boring one.

Fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, he absentmindedly traces the words inked on his own skin from birth. Like the human Duke, he too has a Soulmate Stamp, a mark depicting the first words his True Intended will ever say to him. On his wrist are the words, Pardon, Monsieur.

Comte has yet to meet his Intended yet, has no idea if they have even been born given the long lifespan of a Pureblood, and a part of him is relieved he does not know who they are. The thought of tying himself to just one person when there is an entire world out there of women seeking company and waiting to be wooed is not one he appreciates. He has seldom turned 21 by human standards, is nothing but an infant in vampire standards, and settling down is not on the forefront of his mind. Not to mention his family, as Purebloods, has raised him to understand that any Intended that is human will never work. To be tied to a human would be a cruel fate.

No, he’d much rather enjoy life and get up to no good with Vlad and a few of the prettier women in Europe that will be temporary distractions with no strings attached.

The music is in full swing when he enters the dance hall, most of the eligible ladies have already been partnered for the evening. Comte stands by the doorway with his arms clasped respectfully behind his back. He feels out of place among the humans. While he loves humanity, he does find their never-ending need for rules a bother.

If only Vlad had joined him, he thinks, his oldest friend could turn any activity into something fun. Vlad would shine in a party like this, he would make Comte laugh as he teased the stuffy older men and winked at the young ladies seeking dance partners, and then they would probably find someone to bring home for the night. The taste of blood freshly drawn from its source was very satisfying after all.

As the waltz draws to a close and Comte glances at his pocket watch wondering if his father would be upset if he left before making rounds around the hall, the British Duke arrives again. Accompanying him is his wife and young daughter. They take their stand at the foot of the steps and the Duke calls for attention.Comte tries not to yawn into his hand as the Duke delivers a speech thanking his guests and how he hopes they will have fun. Lately, balls have been all the rage in Europe. Anyone who has money and a title to pair it with seems to want to throw one. Comte is long past over any festivity that demands he follow a noble code.

When the Duke is finished, he raises his hand in a toast. His Soulmate Stamp is visible on his arm as his wife joins his side yet their Stamps do not match. Like every other Noble, they do not marry off a mark. Humans, especially those who fancy themselves wanting to marry above their station, ignore Soulmate Stamps all together. In the world of the Nobility, marriages are a business transaction used for elevation. A Soulmate Stamp is nothing but a fancy birthmark.

The Duke and his guests toast to each other and Duke’s young daughter hangs back uneasily. A girl of about his age, she remains quiet and offers a timid smile to anyone who glances her way.

When the Duke descends the staircase, the music picks up again and another song leads the couples to the dance floor. Feeling bored, Comte decides this is his chance to escape. The hour is not so late, if he leaves now perhaps he can find Vlad and they can go to a much livelier atmosphere with attractive company and strong liquor.

Just as he raises his hand to beckon a servant for his coat, his arm slams into something light. A sudden gasp makes him turn and the daughter of the Duke is behind him. It seems he has accidentally hurt her.

“Pardon, Monsieur,” a timid voice apologizes.

Right as the words leave her lips, a sudden burning light lights up the inside of his wrist on his Stamp and a sweet scent floats towards him. Startled, Comte takes a half step back. His arm goes to his Soulmate Stamp and his fingers press to the burning skin there in utter shock.

“The fault is mine,” he echoes without thinking, and the young girl tenses in place. Her hand goes to her own wrist and Comte can see a light emitting from underneath the long sleeves of her gown.

For a moment, neither speak. The girl seems startled, color flushing on her cheeks, and Comte tries to think of what to do. Meeting his Soulmate was inevitable at some point in his long life, but he wishes he had paid more attention to what to do once it occurred. His father had tried to teach him multiple times how to deflect from this very occurrence, warning him that any Soulmate that was not a Pureblood would be a Failed Match-that is a match that was rejected-but Comte had seldom listened. Now, he regrets it.

“Are you-?”

He cuts himself off with a growing feeling of unease. The mark is still burning faintly on his wrist and the girl looks like a startled doe. It seems she similarly shares his apprehension over meeting now.

Nobles are taught to not like their Soulmate Stamp, Comte recalls from his tutoring. Human nobles see marriage as a transaction for profit, they marry for advancement and income. It is rare for a person to be wed to a Soulmate. Marriages in Europe do not consider Soulmate Stamps as something of importance, his own parents do not have matching Stamps, and they instill in their children the belief that a Stamp is an unfortunate event.

“My name is Eleanor,” the girl says. She worries her fingers over her sleeve and glances around her. The people around them seem oblivious to the exchange, not that they’d care had they been privy to it, Comte knows. Soulmates are boring to nobles; they’d probably just gossip about yet another Failed Match.

Realizing that she is still expecting a response, Comte clears his throat. Briefly, he wonders if he should give her his true name, the name he only shares with his family and Vlad, then decides against it. He feels uncomfortable enough as it is and there is no hope for anything to transpire between them.

In fact, he does not want anything to transpire between them.

She is a human, he realizes. Her blood smells sweet and it takes every ounce of restraint he has to look away. Humans and vampires are a Failed Match from the beginning, his father will never agree to any union between them. Although his family could potentially sweet talk the British Duke into allowing his daughter to marry her Soulmate, his family would never pull strings for someone who could not give them the Pureblooded grandchild they want and even less for someone that would die with a few passing decades.

The girl, Eleanor, must realize it is a Failed Match between them too because she seems uncomfortable. Her fists tighten against her sleeve and she clasps her mouth tightly together. To meet a Soulmate as a noble girl with no say in marriage or reputation to spare for an affair is a tragedy.

“Comte de Saint-Germain,” Comte answers at last. He looks away as the dance around them draws to a close. The scent of her blood is strong, makes him feel thirsty, and the entire night has been soured. He is not ready to meet his Intended yet, especially if she is a Failed Match. 

The girl inclines her head and does a half-curtsy. She blinks and Comte realizes she looks distraught. She moves her skirts and nods at him. Her every movement tense, she moves to sidestep him.

This is what should be done, he knows. Soulmates are nothing but an inconvenience for those of noble birth. He should just say goodnight to her and move away. She will be wed off to the highest bidder soon, he has an entire eternity to live, and there is no hope for any match.

Still, a part of him demands he move. Without thinking, he calls her name and extends a hand towards her. Eleanor freezes, startled, and Comte does not allow himself time to think. Turning his palm up with a flourish and bowing the way his tutor showed him as a child, he clears his throat.

“May I have this dance?” Comte inquires.

Eleanor glances around her, visibly upset, but knows better than to reject a dance from someone so important. She takes his hand hesitantly and their Stamps light up in acknowledgement all over again.

A twist of the knife for both, Comte realizes.

Despite the Stamps beckoning them together, society is a wedge keeping them apart. One dance is all they can afford with a Failed Match. Afterwards, they will have to go their separate ways and ignore the way their Stamps want them to meet again.

He leads her to the center of the ballroom where another lively dance is starting. Comte is grateful for the music serving as a distraction. He may be a lousy noble by his family’s standards, but he knows how to dance like the best among them.

Eleanor does too, he realizes, as she keeps up with his every move. Her eyes, a pale green, look in every direction but at him. Her mouth is pressed thin and she looks like she wishes she could leave.

For her, it must be painful to have met her Failed Match. Afterall, a human has only one match in their short lives. She must have daydreamed about meeting him as a child only to grow up and be told her Stamp did not matter. For a young girl growing up with a romantic fantasy of what could never be, the realization that life was unjust must be very difficult. Comte, at the very least, was never allowed to dwell on the possibility by his father at all. For him, tonight is nothing more than just a bitter memory that centuries will surely scrub away.

“You dance well,” he voices. He glances away from her at the many dancing couples. No one around them has a matching Stamp. All of them are Failed Matches united only by propriety and a desire to advance.

“As do you, Monsieur.”

Eleanor meets his eyes for half a second before looking away. Her scent is slowly starting to become stronger. He forces himself to relax the way his father taught him, allow the blood lust to fade away, and counts the beats until the song begins dragging out its last notes.

Once the dance draws to a close, he bows formally. Releasing her hand, he feels a dull ache over his Stamp. The connection between them wants them closer, he realizes, it wants them to acknowledge each other and live out a happily ever after. Unfortunately, the world has different plans.

Eager to get away, Comte makes an excuse about the hour being late and moves aside. Preparing to leave, he startles when a small hand catches on to his sleeve.

Turning in surprise, he realizes Eleanor has taken a hold of his arm. He raises an eyebrow as she drops his hand. Their Soulmate Stamp aches for the contact but she makes no move to touch him again. Her skin flushes and she evades his gaze.

“M-May I write to you?”

It is a bold ask, they both know writing will only make everything seem worse, yet Comte doesn’t outright refuse. The best thing for them both is to go their separate ways. Eleanor should marry a man-a human man-who her family selects, she should forget all about her Failed Match and live the rest of her short life in comfort wedded to a wealthy man like every other noble girl. Comte should go back home and forget all about his first human Failed Match, should allow his family to select a Pureblooded Bride for him who he will wed and continue the line, and should not let a human of all things take up his time-

Yet he feels rebellious. Perhaps it is because he wants to disobey his father, perhaps it is because he wants to break some rules in polite society, or perhaps he just wants some more time to get to know his current Intended, either way, he finds himself nodding.

“You may,” he presses a hand to his immortal heart, “I will respond.”

–

In the end, their letters are nothing but a brief hobby. The first letter arrives months after the ball, Eleanor writes a small letter full of polite platitudes, and Comte responds with his own detached words. Vlad urges him to write more, really get to know his Intended, but they are both aware that a Failed Match is a Failed Match.

After a year of correspondence, his father forces him to stop. Eleanor, he tells him, has married a Spanish Lord and any more correspondence between a married woman and a bachelor-especially that of a Failed Match-is improper. 

Comte sends his final letter, a brief farewell wishing her the best in her marriage, then sets his quill down and runs a hand through his long hair.

Vlad, beside him, purses his lips. His old friend rubs his own Soulmate Stamp absentmindedly and Comte is envious of how he has not met his Failed Match yet.

“Does it hurt?” Vlad tilts his head at Comte’s Soulmate Stamp.

Since saying goodbye to Eleanor, the mark has been a constant dull ache. Comte awaits the moment when Eleanor’s short life ends, and the mark leaves him alone.

“It will go away soon enough,” Comte feigns boredom, “Give it a few decades.”Vlad says nothing in response and the two of them look away from each other. 

They have been raised to know better than to hope for a True Match when it comes to Soulmates. In their immortal lives, there will certainly be several heartaches.

In the end, Comte is wrong.

It takes only another 3 years for his Soulmate Stamp to stop hurting. The pain finally fades when the Black Death ravages Europe. Quarantining with his family in their estate, a letter reaches him from an old acquaintance. Eleanor and her husband have died of the plague.

Vlad offers him a sympathetic look as he reads over his shoulder, and Comte tosses the letter to the side feigning disinterest. Standing up, he suggests they practice sparring as a distraction.

–

It is about another 100 years before he meets his Intended again. The year is 1440 and he and Vlad are in France. They have just left a ball thrown by another Noble and are still decked out in full formal gear. Vlad swings an arm around his shoulder and laughs in Comte’s ear. His breath smells of liquor yet his steps are even as he walks.

“Shall we find a pretty thing to dine on for the night or just go home?” Vlad asks.

Comte gives a disinterested response and glances down at his pocket watch. The hour grows late and the moon is in full view. He beckons a carriage over for the two of them.

“Tomorrow. I’m too tired for tonight,” he states. Vlad shrugs and puts his hands in his pocket. His Soulmate Stamp still emits a faint glow.

Vlad had the misfortune of meeting his first Failed Match a few years ago, Comte recalls. She was a pretty thing who Vlad met while traveling. A Gaelic girl with a melodic voice and big red curls. Vlad almost chased after her, despite the warnings of his family, before Comte talked him out of it. His Intended was human, would no doubt live barely another decade as was the nature of humans, and Vlad would be worse for it.

Climbing into the carriage, Vlad yawns into his hand. He stretches out and tilts his head back.

“We should go to that tavern you like tomorrow, I bet there is at least one good brawl before the night is over,” Vlad closes his eyes lazily, “Or at least one pretty skirt willing to be fed on.”

Comte makes a sound at the back of his throat in amusement as his friend begins to doze off, he leans his forehead against the carriage window as the roads become cobble. They are now moving through the harshest parts of Paris, the ones nobles know better than to frequent, and he peels the thin curtain back. The streets are too dark to make anything out except for a misty fog. 

Disinterested, he drops the curtain and shoves Vlad’s leg aside to make more room for himself. His friend kicks him in response and yawns again into his arm.

“What do you think Margarette of Scotland would do if I asked her to dance?” Vlad inquires, lips turned in a smirk.

Comte raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You? Dance with the Queen? Don’t flatter yourself, mon amie. She probably has a whole line of men asking for her hand. The odds of you coming anywhere near here are about as great as the odds that my father will stop asking me to marry.”

Vlad rolls his eyes and gives Comte a good natured kick again. Tempted to hit him with his cane in response, Comte raises his arm ready to strike-

When the carriage slows to a stop.

“We are stopping,” Comte remarks. Vlad sits up straight and peeks out the window. They are still in the worst parts of town, they both realize, Vlad grimaces.

The driver of the carriage calls for them to sit back while he adjusts the harnesses of the horse. Vlad and Comte don’t bother to listen. Throwing open the carriage door, they both descend and look around.

It is hardly past midnight and the air is cool. Comte tightens his coat around him as he taps his cane on the ground. Vlad’s breath comes out in a chilly fog.

“Do you hear that?” He turns to Comte with his eyes narrowed.

It takes Comte a moment to realize what he means. To the left of them, deeper into the rougher parts of the town, a woman is shouting. He and Vlad give each other a half glance before rushing towards the sound.

Deeper into the poverty district, they can hear a woman argue. When they round a street, they see a man clearly intoxicated and a young girl around their age in human years trying to move away from him. She is dressed in clothing of ill repute, Comte does not have to guess what her profession is or why she is out this late at night with a stranger, and she bats at the man’s hand away with a scowl on her face.

“Is there a problem?” Vlad’s voice echoes in the night.

At the sound of company, the man startles. Letting go of the woman’s hand, he spins around. His countenance is very much intoxicated and his voice slurs. 

“Who are you?”

Free of him, the woman shrugs his arm and wraps a thin cloak around herself. Her dark eyes are fierce with anger.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” Comte smoothly tells the man. He puts a smile on his face, the sort he uses when he wants to hide his irritation with important people, and places a hand on his heart.

The man smells thickly of liquor as Vlad takes a step forward. His gold eyes are hard and the smile on his face isn’t as reassuring as Comte’s. “Perhaps we should take a coach home, da? The hour grows late. One would not want to be caught here.”

The girl huffs and smooths out the creases in her cloak. She regards the three of them with disgust and braces herself against the frigid air.

“Pardon, Monsieur,” she states. She stalks past Comte the moment he feels his Stamp begin to burn and light up.

The sheer shock of it all makes him freeze. His hand goes to his arm where his Stamp has lit up again in a hundred years and he feels some of the color draining from his face.

Another Failed Match so soon?

“Wait, you-“

He cuts himself off, but the damage has already been done. As soon as he has spoken, her own Stamp has lit up. Even with the cloak covering her arms, the light is evident peeking out the fabric.

The girl freezes mid-step but does not turn around. Her hand cups the inside of her wrist and her entire body goes rigid.

The night suddenly becomes quiet. Vlad, now supporting the drunken man with an arm around his back, turns to look at Comte. His gold eyes are narrowed as if waiting for Comte to make a move.

Comte feels a cold pit form in his stomach.

To have found a second Failed Match in just a hundred years is the epitome of bad luck. Fate has played a mockery of him yet again. His Intended is a human once more and a human of a different class than he. While he could have potentially married her the first time as both members of the Noble class, this union would be impossible. A woman of ill repute and a high-born Noblemen together would have made for a scandal that would have rocked Europe like no other.

The girl must realize it too because she doesn’t turn to look back. It seems she has already made up her mind as to what will transpire between them. Europe has still not embraced the custom of Soulmate Stamps and its people still think of them as awful things. Like the other human girls, and with more on the line as someone who cannot afford to have a partner in her profession, she despises it.

Vlad elbows him in the ribs and the gesture brings him back. Comte realizes that he has been frozen staring at the girl in shock. His Stamp aches and the light is starting to turn into something less bright.

“Mademoiselle, shall we give you a ride back home?” He throws Comte a look, “It is not safe for a lady to walk on her own.”

The girl makes a sound at the back of her throat and turns to regard them for the first time. Her eyes are a dark brown, Comte realizes, a nice, rich color. His throat begins to feel tight as a rustling breeze drifts her scent over. Like the first time, her scent is something incredibly sweet and alluring. He has to look away.

“Non,” she draws the hood over her dark hair and looks away, “Not necessary.”

She turns to walk away and Vlad elbows Comte again. His friend is waiting on him to say something, perhaps ask the girl to reconsider, but Comte already feels uncomfortable enough. Comte is not Vlad. Vlad may have been tempted to run off with his Intended upon first meeting her, but Comte knows a Failed Match is a Failed Match.

Since his childhood, his family has allowed humans to be in contact with him. Comte was raised and educated by human tutors who he learned to care for and had human governesses who gave him all the love of a mother for as long as his family could risk. He has loved and he has lost, and he does not need the heartbreak of a Failed Match to torment him in the sleepless nights he spends. 

Perhaps Vlad could let himself lose, but Comte refuses to do so.

“Bonne nuit,” Comte finally voices out. He turns around and does not wait for a response. Sticking his hands in his coat and tapping the cane on the ground as he walks, he turns his back on his second Failed Match and hopes once more it’s his last.

Just behind him, so quiet he almost believes he imagined it, he hears his Intended whisper it back before disappearing into the shadows.

–

Back at the carriage, Vlad joins him after dumping the intoxicated man at his home. He eyes Comte wearily as Comte traces his Stamp still glowing a faint light. A dull ache throbs on his wrist and Vlad raises an eyebrow.

“We can find her?” He tilts his head waiting for a response.

Comte turns his back and stares out the window as the carriage begins to roll along. He squeezes his hand into a fist and wonders how long it will be before his Stamp stops aching. 5 years? 10? 

“No.”

The response is quiet and thankfully Vlad knows better than to prod. He clambers into the seat next to Comte and they both try to forget the encounter.

In the end, it only takes 5 years for the mark to stop aching. 

–

A field of roses blankets their vision. Vlad is laying down on the grass and his gold eyes are watching the fading sun with a hard expression. Comte sits next to him leaning back on his hands. 

They are both quiet, watching the sun go down, and Comte bites down on the inside of his cheek.

Vlad is in mourning. 

A year ago, while traveling Russia, he met his Intended a second time. She was a beautiful Slavic girl named Zofeia. Unlike Comte who has learned to turn away each Failed Match and forget them the way a Pureblood is to forget every human match, Vlad refuses to learn the lesson. He chased after her and wedded her in a private ceremony. According to Vlad, she was a loving girl who had eyes the color of the bright sky and made him strawberry pastries. He taught Vlad to garden and brightened up his immortal life for a year-

Up until a disease ripped her away. She died in Vlad’s arms and the Pureblood returned to France with a deep melancholy and a dim Stamp.Comte pities him. 

Vlad was always the more sensitive of the two when it came to humans. Vlad loved humanity every bit as much as Comte, but he had largely been shielded of the pain of losing those he cared about. While Comte’s family hired human staff and allowed humans to befriend Comte, Vlad was raised by his family with only Lesser Vampires for company. His family only interacted with other Purebloods and Vampires and Vlad had never truly learned to say goodbye to humans. While Comte has been careful in turning away his Intended each time, Vlad has always let himself get too close. Perhaps after this Failed Match he will learn to not let humans in. To have to say goodbye to someone you loved…

No, Comte was better off alone until his Intended introduced themselves as a Pureblood.

After a long pause of silence, Vlad finally speaks up. While his voice sounds even, as if nothing is the matter, the sadness in his gold eyes speaks volumes. Comte knows the wounds of loss are still too fresh. 

“I believe in a world where humans and vampires can coexist. A world where we can all live together in unity and equality…” 

He lets his voice drift off and his fingers reach out to a rose in full bloom. He strokes the petals and Comte glances at him from the corner of his eye.

“Do you still think humans and vampires can coexist?” He tries not to let the surprise register on his face. After the pain Vlad has just endured…he still wants to believe in the impossible?

“Of course. I have decided I will always love humans,” Vlad responds. His fingers trace his Stamp idly. The skin there has ceased glowing and now looks dull in the fading sunlight. A testament to his loss…now a signature of his vow.

“Humans will die. They are not eternal. Time flows differently between us, Vlad, they will leave our sides with time,” Comte responds. 

He recalls his Intended each time she has graced his presence. He has met her as an English noblewoman with doe eyes and a shy demeanor, and a French woman of ill repute with fierce eyes and independent nature. He will undoubtedly meet her again and again, each time different, through his immortal life, but he has long decided he will never allow her near.

His family may have been ruthless in their dismissal of human staff and ruthless in the way they allowed every human he ever cared for leave without so much as a goodbye, but at the very least they were honest. Humans were fragile things who lasted less than the lifespan of a rose. They would age and they would die, and the loss of an Intended he allowed himself to love was too great for him to imagine. 

The fact that Vlad, at his side, had lived it before and still believed the pain was worth it was as poetic as it was pathetic. 

Still, Comte closes his eyes and recalls every human he has loved as a child. 

The elderly tutor that had gifted him his pocket watch and treated him as a son, the young governess with a brilliant smile that had raised him as if he were her own, the butler his father had hired when he was young that would make him laugh with his stories, the maid his mother had hired that would sing Comte to sleep as a child and was the only one who could soothe him during his tantrums…

Each human, each temporary. They had all left him once and he had been devastated by their loss. Comte could not imagine what losing a Soulmate would do to him. Vlad was stronger and much braver than he.

“Humans are beautiful,” he said at last, “Their ephemeral quality makes them beautiful, like roses, but they fade faster than the flowers. They are a different species from us, and I should have listened to my family as a child. My family tried telling me every time I cried over a human caretaker being dismissed that an eternal life was a life of goodbyes.”

Vlad turns to him and his fingers tighten over the mark on his wrist. 

“I do not care. I have decided to love a human’s ephemeral moments too. They bring joy even if it is only temporary.”

Comte was willing to give him that much. “True, it is their mortality that allows them to shine even if only temporary.”

A silence reigns over them both and they dwell on everything. Vlad on the Intended he just lost and Comte on the ones he never allowed himself to meet. Finally, Vlad stands, and the stars illuminate his silhouette. 

“Would you close yourself off then? Never allow a human to come near you?”

“No, that is not possible. I cannot avoid humans forever; I will have to be near them at some point. Even if I tell myself I will only visit Purebloods and will marry someone my family wants me to, I will never be able to avoid humans all together. Fate will always have a different plan,” Comte stands.

His Soulmate Stamp seems to mock him in the moonlight. He might want to close himself from humans forever, but his Soulmate will always find him someway or another. Avoiding is futile, the best he can do is to simply ignore it.

Vlad gives his back to Comte and stares up at the moon and stars newly reigning over the horizon. His hand with his dim Stamp drops to his side and his jaw locks. Suddenly having made up his mind of something, he spins around.

“What if we could prolong human life? Bring back great humans so that their gifts will extend the test of time and can brighten the world,” He walks towards Comte and his eyes have taken on a new light, “Create life that will withstand time? A rose that never withers?”

Staring at him, Comte raises his eyes. “A rose that never withers?”

The corners of Vlad’s mouth turn up and he grabs his hand, shaking it. A sealed promise. An agreed upon vow.

“Let’s make it together. A rose that never withers.”

–

Centuries after that fateful decision, Comte sits next to a new friend. Leonardo da Vinci, an Italian polymath and Pureblood, joins him for a smoke on a balcony of a newly furnished mansion. Vlad has long since become a stain on Comte’s memory and the relationship between the two has soured. The only remnant of their friendship is a door that can travel through time. Comte intends to use it soon to bring back his first prolonged human life, a famous playwright named Shakespeare.

Leonardo leans against the railing of the balcony and the smoke seeps out of his mouth. He raises his hand to brush his hair back and his Stamp is illuminated in the moonlight. Unlike Comte who has seen his Stamp light up over and over, Leonardo has yet to meet his first Failed Match. Comte is almost envious.

“Still haven’t met your Intended?” Comte needles and he holds his cigar a loft.

He’s been doing that a lot lately, he realizes, smoking. Leonardo likes to mock him although the Italian freeloader taking advantage of Comte’s hospitality certainly could do with looking in a mirror and recognizing his own smoking habit.

Leonardo glances at Comte and shoves his hands into his coat hiding his Stamp from view. 

“Nah, I never want to. One partner for all eternity seems like too much work.”

Comte makes a sound at the back of his throat. “I pity the poor girl who has your Stamp wherever she may be or whenever she may be. I would never recommend you as a prospective match.”

Leonardo shoves him in response. He leans against the railing and clenches his jaw. Thinking hard, he finally decides to return the question in kind. 

“How many times have you met her?” He tilts his head to the side.

Comte takes his time answering. A myriad of names and faces clouds his vision and he can almost feel his Stamp ache if he dwells on them too long. Failed Match after Failed Match. Too many already. 

A British Noble girl, A French Lady of the Night, An Egyptian peasant, a British nurse during wartime, an American creole recently freed from bondage…and so many more he has never allowed himself to get close to. Failed Match after Failed Match. For some, he does not even have a name to a face. for others, he does not even remember how long ago it was. 

They all blend together, at some point, when your life is an endless stream of failed encounters and goodbyes.

“Too many,” Comte finally answers.

His voice is final, closed off, and Leonardo knows better than to pry. The Italian gives him a look of almost sympathy before obscuring his emotions from view and raising the cigar back to his lips. The topic of conversation dies away just like every Failed Match of his has in the past.

--

By now, Comte has lost count of the Failed Matches he has encountered. His Intended has come and gone in many forms and each of them he has kept at an arm’s length never wanting them near. He has long since decided to ice his heart and not allow them in the way Vlad has in the past.

Instead, he fills his time with a makeshift family he has created for himself. His home is full of Residents collected from different time periods. Writers, musicians, geniuses, and soldiers. He welcomes them all into his home and creates a family out of them. All men who have never met their Intended either, careful to bring back only those who consent, and those who are willing to taste immortality however briefly. Pretty soon, his home is full of lively discussion and the occasional argument he must break up like the father of a mansion.

He travels time and meets new people. He has ventured to all time periods, even those in the future, and has met so many new people. His Stamp has become nothing but a bother at this point.

Europe may have changed its attitude towards Soulmates, cultural revolutions have now embraced and promoted the ideal in media, but Comte refuses to be swayed. After centuries of goodbyes, he learns to keep it all at arm’s length.

The Louvre is his current destination. After a month in the future, he is ready to return home to his little quaint family and have their dinner together. He can see the door leading back to his estate at the back row of exhibits.

Still, something makes him stop. Something gold glitters at his feet and he bends down to pick it up. A pretty earring in the shape of a half moon crescent. Comte stares down at it in his palm and has only to turn his head to find its owner.

A young woman stands with her back to him. She stares at a painting and makes no notice that one of her ears is missing a piece.

Comte walks up to her and his Stamp begins to itch. The air seems to shift but he’s long ago learned to stop paying attention to it. The young woman remarks about the size of the painting before her quietly to herself. 

Comte walks up to her side. “Did you know, it’s the second largest painting in the Louvre.”

Surprised, the woman turns around. She’s pretty, Comte realizes, with Auburn hair. A tourist. She holds a smartphone in her hand, and Comte’s eyes are drawn to her wrist. 

A light has lit up on her wrist and her Stamp begins to spark. He feels his own Stamp respond in kind just as she opens her mouth and repeats the same phrase she has said repeatedly each time in different lifetimes.

“Pardon, Monsieur?” Mystified, she blinks brown eyes up at him. 

Used to meeting his Intended, Comte ignores the burning in his wrist and extends her earring to her. He hopes his face is neutral, showing nothing, and that she will not try to keep him longer. He has long since sworn to himself he would never let her get close if she were a human.

“I knew it, this earring belongs to you.”

He deposits the piece of jewelry into her palm as her fingers fly to her ear. She asks herself when she lost it yet her eyes are still startled. It is as if she believes herself in a dream, Comte realizes, cannot begin to comprehend her Intended is before her.

“If you hold still, Mademoiselle,” he suggests. Not waiting for her reply, he takes the earring and adjusts it for her tightening the backing to her ear. 

Up close, he can sense her. His Stamp flares at the contact and he tries to ignore the way she tenses. Her scent drifts up, a sweet smell, and he forces himself to step away. Centuries of saying goodbye have made him rather good at evading her. Practice makes perfect.

“That’s a lovely fragrance,” he murmurs. He knows it by memory, the smell of her blood never changes despite the lifetime she meets him in. 

“T-thank you, I bought it in Paris,” the girl blinks up at him dazed. 

Her fingers clench tightly unto her own Stamp. She struggles to find a way to broach the topic, tries to find something to say to her Intended who she has no doubt fantasized meeting her entire short, short life-

Comte turns away. 

“Oh, but I wasn’t referring to your perfume,” he looks back towards the door and ignores the way his Stamp begins to ache, “Bon voyage.”

The girl balks at him and tries to stop him. Her eyes are wide and her Stamp is still glowing stark against her skin. Comte briefly wonders how long his will glow before her life ends and it loses its color. 50 years? 60?

Either way, he is uninterested in finding out. Ignoring her calling for him to stop, he shoves his hands in his coat and tells himself she is nothing but another Failed Match. Fate has seen fit to torment him once more.

Walking towards the door, he fails to realize the girl has taken chase and will follow him into another time period.

It seems this Match intends to be True.

#Ikemen Vampire #cybird #cyikemen #ikevam comte #soulmate au #writing request #not entirely proud of this one tbh

[ikevampfg]

Ikemen Vampire Boys- Their position as Mafia Members

Le Comte de Saint Germain

The Godfather. The boss of all bosses and is the mind behind everything they run. Is the founder of the mafia.

Napoleon Bonaparte

The boss. The dictator, the emperor and makes all of the important decisions in the mafia family. Greatly respected and feared by his subordinates.

Leonardo da Vinci

The underboss. A close and trusted confidant of the highest person in the mafia. His level of authority varies on his command. Is ready to go behind if there are dangers revolving around the boss.

Arthur Conan Doyle

The consigliere. The chief advisor of the boss and handles the strategic information. The boss trusts him goes to for advice, counsel or information regarding the mafia. Offers unbiased information based on what he sees best and solely chosen for his vast knowledge.

Jean d' Arc

Captain. Powerful to execute any instructions to the subordinates and reports to the boss. Thinks for the best as well and orders a vast number of soldiers to achieve victory.

Isaac Newton

The guns man/dealer. He gets hold of the firearms of the group and also develop weapons for them to use, maintains the weapon count.

Theodorus Van Gogh

The information broker. He supplies information through his connections with aristocrats and other highly associated people.

Vincent Van Gogh

The one who keeps the associates in check. He keeps their number count and recruits them, often picks up the money from the banks and running errands.

Dazai Osamu

The assassin. He is often called to execute the ones who will get in their way and does it his own style.

William Shakespeare

The one who executes the extortion, death threats, blackmailing, witness intimidation and jury intimidations. Also tortures the captured men.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

The hitman. He uses long range guns to kill people from separate building up to running cars.

Sebastian

The one who keeps all of the information from the bottom to the top secret ones even the strength and weakness of every member of the group.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #cybird #ikemen series #ikevam napoleon #ikevam saint germain #ikevam leonardo #ikevam arthur #ikevam vincent #ikevamp isaac #ikevam theo #ikevam jean #ikevam mozart #ikevam shakespeare #ikevam sebastian #ikevam dazai #mafia au

[ieyasukenshinsandwich]

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 

#ikevam #ikevam fanfic #my writing #reset theory #reset theory au #in which le comte is doing things he knows he shouldn't #in which le comte really wants a hug no matter the consequences #in which Shakespeare remains shady #in which dazai knows more than he should #in which hourglasses are very important #ikevam discussion #i really love le comte honestly...i just think that he knows more and plans more than he lets on... #i also think that he is in desperate need for loving affection #and capable of making poorly thought out decisions #a powerful triumvirate of dubious actions made in the name of love #le comte de saint germain #leo #dazai #shakespeare #sebastian #the other characters appear too...well most of them...but they are not major players #at this point in time anyway