ikevamp scenarios 💌

hi! your request is here: https://starryikevamp.tumblr.com/post/182398569955/a-napoleon-imagine-by-admin-xuan-note-in-case. honestly this is probably the longest i’ve written for an imagine (it’s nearing 2k words actually) and also it turned out to be much darker than i initially thought it would be. hope you enjoy it~

a napoleon imagine.

by: admin xuan

note: in case you were wondering, i really wanted to just title this ““the light of love” but both the count and arthur imagine had “love” in it so being the unoriginal person i am, i gave up and named this in japanese.

There’s many people who would claim to have no fears.

They would either boast, with an impressive inflated ego and a spectacular ignorance, or some others would simply say this devoid of any emotion. The proud, and the dead. But there’s always something that strikes fear into our souls— we are, after all, human. It is natural for humans to fear, and such sources come from million of things, including holes, sharp objects, etcetera.

And there’s one of them. It’s not darker than the rest, but it’s horrible. Nobody human in a sense could possibly come to like it. And this thing, this source of fear, is war.

You don’t know when an area was going to be blown up, or marched down by soldiers, and you don’t know when you might end up dead. All you can hear is the thunderous roar of aircrafts zooming past the sky like ravens meant to kill. To your left, there’s a mother holding her newborn, her hands working deftly to soothe the high-pitched high, while her eyes tremble. On your right, there’s a family who looked like part of their soul left along with their loved ones. The air stinks of uncertainty along with gunpowder, and fire is everywhere, and you don’t know where your feet is leading you to.

If you take cover for a few days, at the best, you would probably stumble upon a man with fatal wounds. There’s a piece of ripped cloth stained with black, a sign of long-dried blood wrapped around his shoulder, and his clothes are burnt and tattered at places. He barely has the energy to breathe, much less spare a glance towards you. He can’t move, can’t fall asleep, can’t do anything except to wait till he’s saved or succumb to death itself.

Fire. Screams. Gunshots. And blood.

Blood.

-

“...Napoleon. Napoleon? Are you listening?”

The sight of your eyes basked in worry snapped the said man back to reality and away from the snares of his mind. He reminded himself, briefly, that you would trouble yourself to no ends just to make him feel at ease, and immediately rearranged his features to a more relaxed one.

“I’m sorry.”

“Geez, you… oh well, whatever. I was just asking if you’d like to go with me to Theo’s art exhibition this weekend. He was just boasting about it to me this morning.” If Napoleon wasn’t listening, he hid it well. It’s almost like a default mode he’s in, especially when you’re at this proximity to him, he just can’t help but admire you, all while absorbing your words completely. Today, like any other days, you’re glowing. It wasn’t like a harsh glare of the sun, but more like the comforting dim lighting from a bunch of fireflies in a dark field. The type where you can fall back onto the soft grass, and allow those tiny sparks to overtake you gently.

Other suitable comparisons would be like the streak of light across the night sky as it approached dawn, or the silver threads of moonlight. It’s all about light with you.

“If you want to go, I’ll come along too.”

“Really? In that case then, thank you!”

There was only one thing that was comparable to the sun, in his opinion. And that was your smile.

It had been a Tuesday when you told him that, and as clocks tick away, the much beloved weekends finally arrived. The whole mansion was very much alive with buzz, however subtle it was. You and Vincent were of course, the middle of it all, being two balls of pure excitement, jumping around and being all over the place since early morning. The rest would’ve no doubt loved to join in, but it was too amusing to watch from the sidelines than to be directly involved.

Out of the rest, a few weren’t going, but majority was. Isaac couldn’t place the priority of his student’s education before this, and couldn’t join with much regret; Jeanne said he had some business to take care of, which probably wasn’t a really good thing. As an ally and friend, Napoleon would step in, but the former assured that he would be fine, and won’t she be sad if you came with me? convinced him well enough.

Regardless, the rest travelled together, something rare since everyone did what they wanted to do all the time. Until you arrived, that is. Somehow, your smile has been their motivation to do anything, and it was one common goal they all had— whether Napoleon’s happy or not, he couldn’t deny that you did have that effect on people. It was kind of like a drug in some sense. Even now, as you skipped happily alongside him, your arm carelessly linked with his, there was a carefree and beautiful smile, blooming like the most vibrant of flowers. The sight brought butterflies in Napoleon stomach.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?”

A most nondescript building, just like the one Theo described, stood a few hundred meters away. From here, Napoleon could spy a few people streaming into it just as you spoke. Theo must’ve done something to attract them, since all the artworks were by talented, but unpopular artists. It was truly a kind thing to do, he decided, as the group drew closer to the entrance.

The exhibition, in summary, was an interesting one. Napoleon wasn’t one to pay much attention to the arts, and he realises it even more so whenever Vincent or Theo ask about his opinion on something, or even Mozart. Literature-wise, he didn’t fare as bad, but the point was that he did expect to breeze through room after room in this building. And yet, something about these paintings rendered him speechless, made him feel as if he was sucked into this otherworldly place— the stoic woman, the merry young girl on the swings, he could see all this happening in front of his eyes, like a animated picture.

And then he saw it.

The enormous painting of two worlds merged into one, namely, Hell and Heaven. The way the artist expressed their form of Hell was painful to even look at. Bare, bloody bodies twisting and turning, people moaning for salvation, all while standing atop of a black, burnt mass, and fire could be seen dancing in the background.

It reminded him of something.

Fire. Screaming. Blood.

Gunshot.

The moment it rang out, he stiffened. For a while, Napoleon thought the nightmares that he thought had faded long ago rushed back all to him, and that he heard it all in his head, but there were people screaming, running and shoving past him, and smoke assaulted his nostrils. His reflexes told him to run, but his eyes searched for you; you should be around him, nearby, or with one of the guys, and Isaac was tugging on his sleeve with surprising force, so he caved in and ran to the exit. All was well, or so he hoped.

One person was missing.

“Damn. Damn!” Theo muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly.

The building was now in flames, shining like an unearthly light amidst the deep darkness of the night, and Napoleon was starting to think that it might not be a fleeting nightmare after all. This was real. There were kids wailing, people screaming, there had been a gunshot, and there’s a fire. To him, Hell just presented itself in the human world; and to make matters worse, you were gone.

“I’m going in.” He declares to no one in particular.

“Are you out of your mind? We don’t even know if she’s trapped in there for sure. What if she’s somewhere out here, safe?”

Anyone who’s seen his expression that night would’ve said that he looked like a man on the brink of desperation. That there was a insane fire in his eyes rivaling the one right in front of him, and that he ran into the fiery inferno without even a second’s hesitation.

It was hot. Of course it was, with the long tongues of flames licking any surface possible bare, and the wooden structure of the ceiling was about to collapse any moment soon. The cement floor, however, was safe enough to cross, and with a great kick, Napoleon easily unhinged the door to the next room. He seemed calm enough, and one would’ve thought that he’s got his nerves together. It wasn’t true at all, for his mind was a mess of thoughts, ranging from what if it’s too late to what if I don’t find her. His muscles were the ones that deserved the credit for his fluid actions, toned by years after years on the battlefield. It was so vividly imprinted into his mind, and the images flash across his eyelids whenever he closes them. Crimson-dyed dried grass, the remains of a tattered flag dancing its last solo— it makes him sick. Just like that first time, bile threatens to spill out, and his heart is hammering away at his ribcage. He can’t move an inch, nor mutter a single word. It was terrifying to the core, and everything stench of death.

A single, weak cough. Then two. It sounded like heaven compared to the crackling of fire surrounding him, and the sight of you curled up in a corner of the room almost brought him to his knees.

You were decently away from any flame nearby, thanks to the lack of objects in the room itself, except for one painting that’s reduced to blackened metal and ashes on the ground. Your clothes were dirty and soot stuck to your sweaty limbs and face, but all that matters was that you were very much alive, and without anything like a bullet wound found on your body. Napoleon silently held you up in his arms, bridal-style, and although you could barely crack open your eyes to look at him through the sting, the way you relaxed into his arms brought him back to earth a little. It was a reminder, of how you trusted him with your life, and that you two would never be apart in times like this.

And so, just like that, the whole thing ends with the both of you exiting the place from the window in the room. Thankfully, you were on the first floor, but Napoleon doubted that it would’ve been a problem even if he jumped from the second. There’s the rest of the guys, for one, who attended immediately and somewhat frantically to you, and secondly, you weren’t majorly harmed. Napoleon had got you out just in time before you could inhale too much of the smoke, and you obtained some first degree burns, but it was overall a miracle that you should be generally fine after being stuck in a burning building.

Everything afterwards passed by in a flash. The fire and gunshot were caused by a man called Gauguin, and Napoleon would’ve liked to personally give him a piece of his mind, but he entrusted the task to Theo instead. It wasn’t really his part to interfere, especially when it concerns past grudges and such affairs.

He remembers so clearly when it happened. It was nighttime, and there was a gunshot, followed by screaming and fire, and later he discovered that he obtained a bleeding ankle. It would’ve been an eternal night, if not for his love of the dim little fireflies.

an arthur imagine.

by: admin xuan

note: this is written in arthur’s POV.

One. Her smile.

I don’t know if there’s a proper, exact definition of an “pretty smile”, but there’s one thing I do know— she has exactly that. A pretty smile. She has pretty lips, too, for that matter, but one things leads to another and I’ll be getting nowhere with this.

It first happened when she appeared in the dining hall. I did hear the sound of some conversation and a voice that belonged to a woman’s, but the possibility of someone new joining us overtook my mind. Initially, I thought she was probably a famous actress back in the days that got revived by the Count, much like the rest of us residents, but those lost, confused eyes that met mine with some apprehension suggested otherwise. Her features were soft, and if not for the taut like that was her mouth, she would’ve looked beautiful.

All women are beautiful, after all, and it’s a policy of mine that I strictly adhere to. I would bump into her now and then, but for a period of time, she always had that on her face. That line.

I almost felt foolish for expecting her to be smiling. She was transported by accident to this unfamiliar world, with strangers all around her, no one she could trust even with an inch of her soul. No human could be smiling in these circumstances, really. And it wasn’t my business, either, but part of me yearned to help her in some way.

It wasn’t difficult in the least to strike up a conversation with her. She was kind, of course, though slightly surprised that I wanted converse with her. The proposal I presented was that I would take her around the town, for some eye-openers, and she agreed after little thought. Staying in the mansion and being cooped up was hardly entertaining, and the thrill of seeing the streets of a different century would cheer her up a little, or so I hoped it would.

The nineteenth century had its own charms. Pastel green lined houses, cobblestone roads and and rhythmic thumping of hoofs against it, as well as the buskers in the day— it was full of life. And then there was it. The quiver of the end of her lips, before it stretched into a wide grin. Her eyes sparkled with all the brightness of a million stars in the universe, and for a moment, she was so blinding that I was sure I squinted.

I knew she was beautiful. But in that moment, when time seemed to slow itself from its constant run to a walk, she was absolutely stunning.

If I thought that she wasn’t one to smile often, I was wrong. She smiled at the simplest thing, and every single time, clock hands stopped to watch the masterpiece that was her smile. To put it simply, I loved it. Love is a strong word, just like hate is, for it represents how tightly bounded your heart is to something, but there is no better word for this.

I loved that. The curve her lips made.

Two. Her heart.

She was the strongest creature I’ve ever met.

Her heart was like a bottomless pit, enduring things after things circumstances threw at her. Firstly, the sudden arrival in a different world altogether. I find her admirable for holding herself together so well in this situation, and when she gradually accepted that a bunch of blood-thirsty men were living in the same mansion with her. Normal people would’ve ran off, never to come back nor to be seen again, but in some strange ways, I suppose she wasn’t quite normal, much like Sebastian.

I believe that I have seen many things and types of people that it barely fazes me. Dazai and I ever so often enjoy to say that we’ve accomplished the great deed of peering into the dark abyss that was a human’s heart, but in order to adventure our way through it, we had to fall into it too. I had almost forgot what light looked like down there, at least until she came.

Imagine my utter surprise when she stands before me, shoulders broad, her form confident and resolute, declaring that she wouldn’t run away from us! In no time at all, she was helping out around the mansion, her nose buried in chores, and yet the smile I adore so much never leaves her face.

Perhaps it was because of the seemingly endless night that the sun looked so beautiful in my eyes.

Yes, she had times where she was scared out of her wits, but whenever she fell, she would always stand up again, ready to face the challenge. She would do it tens of thousands of times, never once collapsing from despair, even if it wasn’t for herself. She fought just as hard, if not harder, for the benefit of others, and it is as if an angel had descended into the gloomy depths herself to save me. To save us all.

Her usual, normal quirks were amusing and adorable too. Sometimes, I would catch her scanning through the drafts of my works, sitting on the unmade bed, a childlike smile upon her lips. This fond, happy expression would immediately morph into one of shock and embarrassment when she sees me, setting down the papers and stumbling past me, all while apologising in rapid-fire speech.

You can see it, how pure and lovely she is, always presenting nothing but the best to others, while keeping the painful shards to herself. You can see how she bears cuts on her soul, yet refusing to let anyone tend to it, shrugging it off with a nonchalant grin like it’s weighs nothing on her. I know too well that it weighs too much, and yet she still greets everyone with that smile of hers. Reassuring. Pretty. Positive. And a lie.

I had the privilege to be with her when it was too heavy for her to carry, and I have now taken up the responsibility to do this with her. If I was the demon, she was an angel. She saved me, and I would fight the monsters tormenting her. It all sounds complicated, but really, it’s simple.

Three. Her.

Many people say that I’m in love. I don’t deny that, because it is true, and now you can see why. Should I take up a role of a romantic poet, I would say that she was like a stalk of rose, the most beautiful star in the universe, or something grand, but there’s a reason why I’m not a poet. Instead, I would say that her beauty was so indescribable and intangible that it was rather like that one moment in a library— when sunlight flows through the windows, giving that desk right there a golden glow, and the uneven curve of a closed book is unusually clear to the eye. You’ll find yourself observing the little dust motes that seem to shine and flutter at every little breath, and before you know it, it’s all gone.

a theo imagine.

by: admin xuan

It was cold.

This thought popped into your mind without warning. It was strange, coming from nowhere, and past the sleepy fog of your consciousness, you could process that something cool was enveloping your numb skin. From the sleep, probably. You shifted a little to a more comfortable position, eyelids still weighed down by drowsiness. It wasn’t strange for you to wake up in the middle of the night, and nothing was really out of the ordinary.

Except that it was still cold, and it’s summer.

“What’s up?” A groggy voice behind you made you crack open an eye.

“Sorry. I’m just a little cold.”

A moment of silence, and then two strong arms wrapped themselves around you, bringing you closer to their owner almost effortlessly. They were comfortingly warm to the touch, and the gentle familiarity of it all made you smile on reflex. The hard torso that was now against your back, and you snuggled a little closer to Theo, him being a “human heater”, as you liked to call him at times. You immediately felt much better as the heat spread through your limbs, and allowed sleep to overtake you promptly.

So far, this was an account of what you vaguely remembered that night. What you didn’t know was that Theo, ever so accustomed to your body, realised with a startle that you were burning up, as if molten lava was incorporated into your soft skin. Plagued with worry (although he won’t ever say that), he got up and took the necessary measures to cool you down.

Thus explaining why you awoke for the second time that day, an ice cold and slightly uncomfortable sensation atop of your forehead, and your limbs very much constrained by the tight blanket wrapped around your torso. In other words, you were in a burrito-like state, and the male figure that’s draped over the chair beside you, snoring away, explained everything.

“Theo. Theo Theo Theo !”

You whispered urgently, desperately straining against the soft fabric of the blankets, but whoever that did this had considerable skill; it did not unravel an inch, much to your simultaneous dismay and amazement. Thankfully, Theo stirred, jerking his head up and standing so abruptly that the chair teetered a little. It was somewhat endearing, to see him all worried like that, brows drawn together and actions clumsy. The usual composed and cool Theo was long gone, at the sight of your sickly form.

“You’re awake. Is everything okay? I’ll have Arthur drop in later-“

“Everything’s fine. And thank you for that, but could you loosen these a little?”

You were freed of the soft bounds in a jiffy, and stretched out comfortably, much like a starfish. The fever wasn’t really terrible or catastrophic in any sense— it simply felt like your skin tingled strangely at the sensation of anything cool and windy. The window panes were shut firmly, and you shot a questioning look at the brown-haired man beside you.

“Oh, that. I asked Arthur to see you as soon as he can, but he advised me to do that first while he’s occupied with things. I don’t really know a lot about medicine and sicknesses and stuff, so…”

“Is that so?”

“I was a healthy kid. Rarely fell sick, actually. It was mostly injuries that kept me from running around.”

But of course. It only made sense that a youth like Theo, who was constantly protecting Vincent from thugs and bullies would be physically in tip-top shape. In return, he got those cuts and bruises littered all over his torso; you’ve seen it before, having already mastered their positions, the white lines that indicated flesh that was once split apart, and some new ones from the days after he got revived. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but it meant something to you. Theo was a kind, kind man, underneath his layers of personality, and he would never admit that for as long as he’s alive.

You look at the windows again, and smile.

“Thank you.”

Just for a moment, maybe, you thought you saw something pink dusted across his cheeks, but they disappeared with a blink, and the default tight expression returned once again. You first saw him like that, but now, however you see it, there’s always something that softened. His eyes, perhaps, or the way his lips curve. It’s softer, kinder, and it sends a wave of aching through your chest.

“Don’t go all soft on me now. It’s just my responsibility to take care of this.”

Ah, the fake curt voice. How you relished in it.

“I’m pretty sure I got sick from-“

“Fatigue.”

The new voice announces the arrival of its owner from the door. It’s lighter, higher in pitch, and has a mischievous ring to it. Arthur now stood there in all his glory, basked in the morning sun, a friendly wave directed at the both of you.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here. Your temperature is higher than normal, that’s obvious, and could you please open up your mouth for me….? That’s right.”

The said man wasted no time in crossing the room, and lifting your chin up to have a better view of your tongue. It reminded you of the health checkups you had back in the 21st century, technological advances aside. If you didn’t take it seriously that Arthur was a doctor, you sure did now. He spoke with the air of a professional, quick and deft in his occupation.

“The colour of your tongue is all wrong. Sorry Theo, but you gotta put a pause with the making out sessions. She’s got fever from the fatigue, like I said earlier. It’s not serious in any way, so I suppose she’ll be up and bounding in no time.”

“That sentence wasn’t necessary, you erotic frivolous four-eyed.”

And in the same way he arrived, Arthur left with the same genial wave. You weren’t particularly bothered by his words, partly because it did hold some truth to it, but also as you were too used to the teasing from everyone. They all did it at some point of time.

“How’d you overwork yourself? Sebastian giving you a hard time? Anyone’s not cleaning up after themselves? Or-“

You held up a hand.

“Theo, you’re such a darling for being worried, but this isn’t anyone’s fault. It isn’t yours either. I should’ve taken better care and awareness of my own body.”

There was another pause, not unlike the one you both shared the previous night.

“It’s such a pity I can’t kiss you right now.” Theo whispers lowly near your ears, and yet, contrary to his words, his lips trailed down the curve of your ear to your cheek, leaving butterfly kisses as they travelled. It was enough for your currently overly sensitive skin to turn even hotter, and you patted his head fondly in return.

“Keep it up, and I’ll never recover. That means no kisses.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll get you breakfast now.”

a count imagine.

by: admin xuan

It never stopped ticking.

The golden pocket watch was first given to him by an old woman on the streets a few hundred years ago; he didn’t know who she was, but helped her to cross the street nevertheless, seeing her poor mobility at her age. Subsequently, he was given this pocket watch— it looked nothing expensive, and he could probably get it in one of the thrift shops nearby, but she insisted that it would help him find his soulmate.

Soulmate. It was a curious topic to him back then, when he was still a sprightly young boy with no qualms. Love was a taboo subject between the other little wimps he hung out with, but he did overhear the servants in the mansion talking about the subject of soulmates. Everyone had someone destined to love them, and there were various method of knowing. Some had flower buds on their wrists, and when in physical contact with their soulmate, it would bloom; others had coloured vision once they laid eyes upon them. And after that day, that mundane, lazy day, the young Count found himself with a pocket watch that would stop once he found his own soulmate.

And so he stared at it whenever he could, in the middle of crowds, in his garden, any spare time he had. Yes, he did frown upon the idea of lovey-dovey things, but part of his boyish self couldn’t stand the suspense and excitement. What if it stopped an hour before he noticed it? He didn’t want that. This thought, however, disappeared as soon as he was a young man. With a more mature mindset now, he believed that such an abstract and formless thing as love couldn’t be restrained by such boundaries. He had the right to love whoever he wanted to, and that he did; a sweet girl from a noble family, a cheerful baker, and even a shy maid he’d grown up with. The hands of the pocket watch never did stop moving, ticking away as the seconds flown by, but he could care less.

That is, until they all passed away one by one, over the hundreds of years. If one heartbreak wasn’t enough, three was definitely ample. Three times he had to watch as their health got the better of their young, blooming lives, like plucking away a single wild daffodil in the spring. Three times he had to grasp their cold, trembling hands and assure them that they were going to be fine, that they were going to live, only for their slender fingers to go limp. And three times he had fallen in love with a woman, all while the pocket watch continues to go on, ruthless in its calculation of time throughout the centuries. The Count himself hated his long lifespan for it. He didn’t choose to become a vampire, and if he ever had a choice, he would wish to live as a normal human. To love, grow, wither and die with someone, and spare him the pain that resonated through his veins as he watched them die.

He’s in the Louvre now, and a small part of him is stunned every time he travels through the great door, past two centuries into the twenty-first. Little rectangular slabs of metal and glass where everywhere on people’s hands (phones, as he learned from Sebastian) and the mix of ethnicity never fails to remind him violently that two hundred years are a big feat. He should probably stop being so amazed whenever he drops by this glass prism of a museum to check up on Vincent’s artwork. Nevertheless, he glides through the usual throng of people with ease and familiarity, heading towards a certain gallery when-

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

The owner of the voice looked normal. At least, he should’ve thought that she looked normal, but he didn’t. Something about her captivated him. Her voice, maybe? It was a sincere tone, easy on the ears, but somehow comforting for him. Her eyes were opened wide, a glint of sprightliness accompanied by a slight tingle of worry. Again, it’s all very normal, but he found himself unable to look away.

“It’s alright. The fault lies in me for being so unaware. Are you harmed?”

“Not one bit. How about you?”

“Fine as one can be. See you, then.”

He didn’t want to utter the last part of his sentence, but of course he did anyway; he had came with a purpose that he shall fulfill in due time. Besides, even if he wanted more small talk, she had already disappeared into the sea of people.

Why was he so taken with her?

The answer occurred to him- or in more accurate terms, crashed down like a ton of brick onto him when the small, minuscule pulsing of a certain pocket watch against his shirt was absent. He’s felt it for hundreds of years, that it feels as if a part of him disappeared along with it. The part that was filled with agony, suppression, and only pure control could stop him from crying out for someone to save him. The Count turns around, ready to rush over to her again—

And the heads of people greeted him. Their faces were of all walks of life, and yet, purpose was etched into the fine lines of their faces. Purpose. It was on hers too, he remembers, mixed in with a weird sort of unearthly beauty that made it seem like she was a fallen angel. Really, how could he just take her through those heavy doors to two centuries back, robbing her of her youth and happiness? She had a family, friends, and god knows that maybe she’s even found her significant other. That maybe, this time, it wasn’t him who did the leaving. It was her.

It was wrong for him to feel excitement at the sight of the ever-moving pocket watch. Rather than a gift, he elderly woman gave him a curse. It had to be written in the stars that out of everyone, his soulmate, the one who he could love and truly loved him in return— was someone from the modern times. The Count found the said object to be in his hands, running a finger along the smooth metal circumference of it. Unconsciously or not, he took great care of it, for not a single scratch was there.

He didn’t expect it to be so hard to pass through those doors again.

The sight that greeted him was always the same— from the outside, it’s a seemingly harmless storeroom with a few discarded decorative items and furnitures, but a few more steps in, and a blindingly bright light would engulf him back into the past. Stray beams of sunlight filtered in through the windows, showering their golden glow upon the embroidery of cushions, and the layer of dust that swirled in the air. It could be calming in here. It could be, except that there’s a dull ache in his chest, knowing that he’d never see her again.

kurishiri here!! i tried to put in most of what you wanted i guess ahaha~ it was fun writing this so thankie a lot for the request, anon!

https://starryikevamp.tumblr.com/post/181421627775/time-of-friends

coming up soon !

 secrets unheard

wrong decisions and coddles

pas de deux

moonlit toska

time of friends

the love list

season of love: part 1, part 2

time of friends

time of friends

silver linings

coming up soon !

coming up soon !

coming up soon !

love of the centuries

incomplete redamancy

coming up soon !

an arthur, vincent and theo imagine.

by: admin kuri

Just… a little more… Using the side of the bookshelf as a means to support yourself, you reach up toward the top shelf, going on the tips of your toes and outstretching your fingers until they hurt. Even when you make miniature leaps, the effort is still fruitless. You feel ready to give up, and you lower your hand with a little sigh escaping your lips. That is, until you feel a light tap on your shoulder — if you didn’t know any better, you probably would have dismissed it as your imagination.

Slowly lifting your head to see who had gently tapped you, you see familiar blue eyes, the color of the deep sea, and nightish black hair. “Arthur?” You couldn’t conceal the surprise lurking beneath your voice.

With a little wave, Arthur holds out a book. “Were you looking for this book?”

“Eh, how did you know?”

“I sure wonder.”

Despite your curiosity, you decided not to pry any further. Who knows what he would say then; you had a feeling that the conversation could go just about anywhere. You look down at the book — Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.

“Do you enjoy Austen?” Arthur asks. It was an innocent question, as far as you could tell.

“Well… I did have the book for a while, but I didn’t read it yet. I also didn’t bring it with me here, so I thought I might pick it up.”

Arthur let out a little “hmm” in response, and the conversation ended there. Honestly, you didn’t know completely what to talk about, as you and Arthur never had too much time to converse with each other. In a feeble attempt to shatter the accumulating awkwardness, you ask, “Is there anything I can do to, you know, thank you?”

“Thank me?” Arthur lets a surprised expression play on his face; it’s not every day you see such an expression on someone like Arthur. Usually, I would be the surprised one, after all. Arthur thinks for a moment before smiling. “How about coming with us to the bar? Theo’s also coming.”

The bar? Come to think of it, I haven’t been to one yet, much less with Theo and Arthur, have I…

“Sure.”

By the time the two of you arrived at the bar, now bustling with people who are probably out of work now, you somehow managed to make out Theo and… Vincent? “Does Vincent usually come to the bar with you guys?”

Arthur shakes his head; he looks just as surprised, in fact. “No. I never took him to be a drinker anyway.”

“I see…” You trail off, unsure of what to say. Instead, you stay behind Arthur and follow him to the table, where Theo and Vincent were heartily chatting. When Vincent spots the two of you amongst the crowd, he smiles and waves.

Arthur is the first to speak. “Well, isn’t this new? Did Theo influence you so much that now you want to start drinking?”

“I just got invited, not much more.” Vincent laughs. You notice the clear liquid in his cup; he must be drinking water now, so either Arthur was teasing him out of good fun, or he was genuinely unaware that what Vincent was drinking was water.

Something told you the latter wasn’t true.

“This is quite a bar…” Vincent comments. It was most likely an off-handed one that didn’t require a reply, but he got one anyway.

“Have you never been to a bar?” Theo asks.

“It’s not that… I guess I don’t have as much taste for liquor as you and Arthur, and I guess I’m not too fond of the feeling of getting drunk and the hangovers.”

“As if I couldn’t tell,” Theo rolls his eyes, but it seems like he couldn’t conceal the trace of amusement seeping through his voice. “Can you even feel drunk? You couldn’t even finish a small cup of beer. Is there anybody who gets drunk on less than a little cup?”

“Ai-chan.” Arthur chimes in.

“Isaac?” you inquire. Come to think of it, you haven’t really seen Isaac drink any liquor before. Does he dislike it that much?

Theo sighs while Vincent chuckles. You can’t help but notice how their voices went well together, with Vincent having a higher voice than Theo. It’s almost like an alto and a tenor voice. “He really can’t hold his liquor,” Theo says. Although he rolls his eyes, he doesn’t seem particularly annoyed with it either.

“Hey, Theo,” Arthur says, “want to have a drinking battle?”

“No.”

“Ehh, why not?”

Theo doesn’t reply. You notice he also has his lips pursed together, as if outright refusing to say anything more. This doesn’t seem to faze Arthur, however, and he continues to interrogate Theo. “What, are you afraid you’re going to get drunk in front of your dear older brother now? I sure wonder what happened to that determined The—”

“Nevermind. Bring it on.”

“Oh? Now you have a change of heart?”

“There’s no way I’ll get drunk before you do.” Theo turns to the bartender. “Two beers.”

Vincent widens his eyes. “Do you two always do drinking battles when you’re together in the bar?”

“Is that a bad thing?” Theo replies, a little sharply, though Vincent doesn’t seem fazed. He just smiles slightly and shakes his head no before looking down and swirling his semi-filled cup. Vincent didn’t seem used to the bar’s environment, not that you were any better.

“Are you alright, Vincent?” you ask quietly, but loud enough so he can hear.

“Yes. I just haven’t been to the bar as often as Theo or Arthur.”

“Does that mean you went to a bar before?”

“Yes, but I quickly realize that I get drunk very easily.” Vincent laughs, his cheeks flushing a light shade of red — more so from embarrassment than anything. “I pass out.”

“I know what you mean.” You steal a glance at Arthur and Theo, who were still deep into their battle. “Look at them go.”

“Are you taking a side?”

“No, I just think it’s incredible how well these two can hold their liquor.”

“Haha, I can’t argue with that.”

“Looking at them makes me want to have a little beer.” You call the bartender over for another beer. “Just one.”

Once the familiar fizzling golden liquid is set down in front of you, you slowly bring the glass cup to your lips, letting the cold liquid run down your somewhat parched throat whilst listening to the bubbles fizzing like a mini applause.

“Do you get drunk easily?” Vincent asks. It’s an innocent question.

“Eh, well I wouldn’t say very easily, but it’s a given that I’m nowhere close to Arthur and Theo’s level,” you reply, sipping some more of the beer. Half the beer was already gone. Or they don’t serve a full cup because of the fizz.

The next time you and Vincent check on Arthur and Theo is several minutes later; both of their faces are already a little flushed, but they otherwise looked completely fine; that’s the only thing the liquor seemed capable of doing to them.

“Are they going to pass out?” Vincent lets worry seep in his voice. He really is like the sunshine.

You smile at the drinking duo — they really are one of a kind. “Don’t worry,” you respond, “we can always carry them back if it comes to it.”

“That’s true.”

The two of you continue to watch the battle unfold before your eyes. When they were done with a cup, they would shout, “One more!” with bold, determined blue eyes, albeit they are different shades.

You crack a smile. It isn’t every day where friends can hang out together like this.

a vincent imagine.

part I: season of flowers

part II: season of rain

by: admin xuan

As much as there are beautiful flowers and scenery in spring, there’s the torrent of rain, like a waterfall cascading down France, trying to wash away any loose pale petals scattered on windowsills, or rooftops. And as much as you hated the rain for stopping you from going outdoors, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed the whole process of it all— the faint acid smell mixed with the scent of flowers, brought to your open window by abnormally strong gushes of wind; the curtains framing the windows would billow around you, and it signalled the right time to shut them, and spectate as the sky gradually dyed into shades of greyish-blue. The first dashes of rain would be drawn across the transparent panes, and soon enough, you wouldn’t even be able to see the few buildings in front of you.

To sum it all up, you had a love-hate relationship with rainy days in spring. It was a healthy love-hate relationship, equally balanced, but when you realised that Vincent was caught up in one, the hatred level went through the roof.

“Where’s a mobile phone when you need it?” You grumbled, and made yet another round of frenzied pacing in the lobby. Vincent went out early before you woke up to get some art supplies, as Theo had informed you, and the fact that he hasn’t got back alarms you. The roaring of rain and the howling of the wind didn’t do any good to your nerves. What if he was somewhere out there, shivering from the cold under a flimsy shelter? Or what if he was running through the rain-

The front door slammed open, and a drenched scarecrow hobbled in feebly.

No, that wasn’t a scarecrow. It was Vincent, albeit with his blond hair stuck firmly on his forehead, his clothes dripping wet, and his shoes caked in mud. You almost smiled at the sight of Sebastian rushing to mop up the brown trail of footprints, but the severity of the situation casted a worried frown on your face instead. Of course you’d be worried, and rightfully so— anyone could get a nasty flu from being drenched in the rain, not to mention the awfully cold winds. The last thing you wanted was for Vincent to fall prey to viruses.

“Vincent! Are you alright?” Said boy nodded, and you crouched down to take off his leather shoes. A pity that it’s probably ruined by the rainwater, and you might have to go shopping soon again. Sebastian, ever so swift, swiped up the discarded shoes with some kind of ruthless sharpness, before heading somewhere else. You might’ve been at a loss at what to do without him, but definitely not now; you knew you had to get him into the bathing chambers. Some hot steam would do him no harm.

It was, for a lack of a better adjective, heartbreaking to see Vincent this ill. No doubt he already caught a fever, with his erratic breaths and scorching hot forehead, his eyelids quivering, as if under the stress of a weight; his lips almost colourless and parted, as if he was constantly out of breath. You couldn’t do anything except to murmur comforting words and to clean him in a terribly efficient manner, before getting him into your room (you weren’t going to let him recover on the creaky yellow couch in his) and wrapping him in layers of thick, warm blankets.

The said man, however, has long since succumbed to unconsciousness, and you slumped against a spare chair beside the bed; your arms stung with a sore ache every time you moved it, and beads of sweat rolled down your hairline. It certainly wasn’t an easy feat to half-drag Vincent everywhere around the mansion by yourself, since all the others were busy and Sebastian was in charge of transporting all the clean blankets available to your room.

Outside, the rain descended upon the windows like a shower of transparent bullets. A faint sigh made its way out of your parted lips; the rain in spring wasn’t usually so vicious. They were the types that you could run out and frolick around like a child, and not get sick all the while, but this clearly wasn’t it. You made a mental note to remind Vincent to bring an umbrella with him at all times, regardless how inconvenient it was.

A familiar pang in your chest directed your thoughts back to Vincent. This was, after all, the first time you’ve seen him this weak and vulnerable. After he awakes, you’ll call for Arthur to take a look at him, but for now, you could only hope that the saying “sleep cures all” works. Lifting the cold towel you’ve placed on his forehead, you dusted a light kiss onto the feverishly warm skin. Whatever dream or nightmare he was having, you wished that it would bring him a little comfort.

Maybe it was from the physical exertion from hours of changing towels, or some more before that, you found your eyelids to be heavier by the second; you were yawning at a questionable rate, and those lithe fingers that fiddled skillfully with the towels and tissues gradually became clumsier. And as much as you hated to fall asleep on your responsibilities, you were eventually seduced by sleep.

Dreams were something of a strange nature. You could never make sense of them, like images from a broken film, flitting past your mind far too quickly for you to retain it in your memory. It always made you feel as if you were drowning, and you would awake with a start, before relaxing and sinking back into the soft mattress when the pale sunlight pierces onto your face. It was unpleasant, per se; a more accurate word would be unexpected. Awakening from sleep would only bring you little wonder at how time passes so fast.

And now, as the mist surrounding your mind gradually decreases, it wasn’t wonder that hit you first. Rather, a strange sensation of touch, albeit a comforting, familiar one. You could feel it now— agile fingers threading themselves through the strands of your hair, and moving downwards towards the nape of your neck. It’s a little ticklish, but a smile twitches onto your facial muscles.

“Good morning.” Vincent says, swiping his thumb over your eyebrow, and you can hear him say this with a smile. His hand, now healthily warm, tells you that a long sleep did do him good. Maybe Arthur dropped by with some medicine as well, and he had another nap. It was morning, after all, and you deduced that you’ve probably slept through dinner.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Are you feeling any better?” You smiled sheepishly, placing your palm against his forehead. It felt cool to the touch, and you looked around to see that the towel has been folded up neatly atop of your beside chest. Vincent’s work, again, and you were glad that he had a speedy recovery. A light breeze invited itself in, through the open panes of the window, and light pink petals twirl in gracefully, coming to a halt on the pristine white sheets of your bed. Vincent looks ethereal now, laughing, the sunlight illuminating half of his face, giving him a soft glow that makes him seem like an angel that’s descended from heaven.

He reaches over, and with the gentlest flick of his fingers, a stray petal floats down onto the back of your hand.

“I should be sorry. It must’ve been hard work cleaning me up and tucking me in.” His hand stays on your head, and he moves it down, past the curve of your temple, coming to a rest on the convex shape of your cheeks. This was, once again, comfortingly familiar, and you place your hand over his, shaking your head.

“Don’t sweat it. Just promise me never to run out without an umbrella, alright? Or stay at an inn.”

“I did think of that, but you’d worry. And I don’t want that.”

You could feel blood rush upwards towards your head, making you feel slightly giddy, and the way Vincent looks at you straight in the eye— his bright, azure eyes twinkling like two jewels, yet smoldering with a hint of passion in them. You’re fatally attracted to him, and you’re physically unable to look away.

“Oh, Vincent.” You dust the faintest kiss onto his palm, and a faint blush paints itself onto his cheeks.

https://starryikevamp.tumblr.com/post/180028603685/a-mozart-imagine-by-admin-kuri-the-sun-brings hiii, sorry it took so long!! but i did it (‘: i think it’s a little on the short end but i also tried to put in more romance as well so! hope you enjoy, hahaha!! (i do not study asl but it sounds like a great language〜)

a leonardo imagine.

by: admin xuan 

Straighten your back. Suck in your stomach. Smile.

Those were the words that had been recited endlessly to you ever since you were born. They were what you supposed, or rather, what society’s perspective of a noble lady was like. Someone gentle, skilled in housework and the arts, submissive in nature; and it so happens that you were none of those.

Sure, you knew how to play the piano. You had your etiquettes down, and dancing wasn’t anything hard to get. The curtain of a ‘perfect lady’ was shrouded around you without any gaps, almost impenetrable for others to see you— when you shoved all the stray metal parts of a small cuckoo clock and the used tools underneath some clothes in your drawer, or the countless number of times you snuck out, wearing simple clothes that allowed you to climb over the metal gates of you family’s mansion to get to a local bar in the town. It felt like an endless game of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, two personalities that were starkly different.

And yet, you longed for the life of a commoner. They didn’t need to be stuck in an uncomfortably pristine room, with frills everywhere, and neither did they need to be stuck in a suffocating corset. The thought of it made you groan inwardly, as you attempted to loosen the vice-like grasp the contraption held onto your lower torso. Annual balls like these weren’t something foreign, much less rare for the daughter of a noble family like yours, but it was more like a night’s torture for you. Having to plaster on a smile and waltz around stiffly in a stranger’s arms gave you the chills.

“My lady, it’s time for you to go to the ballroom. Your father wishes to introduce you to a gentleman.” Of course he did. Dread creeped up your spine, just by imagining yet another night spent in the company of a snobbish, ignorant old man.

Maybe the angels pitied you, because when you made your way through the mass of people towards your father, he was aptly engaged in a conversation with a man— not an old man, rather, a good looking young one with an air of sophistication. His jawline was sharply defined, and so were his eyes, those of fiery amber. His shirt, too, was unbuttoned just enough to catch a glimpse of the sturdy chest that hid behind it. You weren’t someone who judged based on looks, but this person, whoever he was, had you staring and rooted to the ground.

“Just in time, my dear daughter. Meet Leo, an inventor. I’ll leave him with you, have a good time.”

An inventor. That certainly piqued your interest.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” Taking your hand in his, Leo dropped a kiss on the back of it. It was barely a brush of his lips on your skin; yet, you felt none of the dread you usually did. The sensation was somewhat pleasant, if anything, and he was surprisingly gentle, despite his appearance.

“So, Mister, what do you usually do as an inventor?” The question that formed from your lips was one you always asked, to satisfy your companions in the past; but you never so much as developed curiosity regarding their daily lives. This could not be said the same for Leo.

“All kinds of things. However, I do not think that you would want to hear about these.” He replied smoothly, leading you towards the centre of the ballroom as the group of musicians readied their instruments. You recognised that look in his eyes— yours often mirrored it, with something swirling underneath the facade of an easy-going character. So he, too, was a victim of this stereotypical world. You felt a sudden relief in your chest, although you were sure the corset did not loosen by an inch.

“Please do. I quite like tinkering with mechanisms myself, such as fixing an old malfunctioned clock.”

And there it was, the brightening of Leo’s face; you nearly smiled at the sudden sparkle in his eyes.

“It’s rare nowadays, to have ladies interested in this field of work… I must say, I’m glad I met you.” Wrapping an arm around your waist, the both of you started moving in sync according to the slow waltz played. If anyone were to be watching by the sidelines, they would describe it as perfect, a young couple moving gracefully across the dance floor, along with the others. It all fit in too well, and for that you disliked it.

Dance is a conversation between the soul and the body. But you didn’t feel any of that. It was too calculated, too systematic to even conduct a conversation. You bit your lips, sighing softly in frustration, as the rough inner material of your gown brushed against your ankles.

“You seem to be uncomfortable.” Leo notes, his brows furrowed together tightly in concern.

“I’m alright.” You didn’t usually show such annoyance and discomfort in front of anyone, but there was something… strange about Leo that allowed you to reveal this bit about yourself. Maybe it was the fact that both of you shared similar sentiments, and a rush of emotions ran through your veins. If the world had gave you a chance, you were going to take it and challenge your fate, that was supposed set in iron from the day you were born.

“Actually, would you like to accompany me outside of these grounds?”

“I’d be more than glad to.” He sounded pleased, at least to your ears. Maybe he, too, wasn’t here by his own will and enjoyment? You settled for the thought that he needed to make acquaintances for the sake of his job.

“Alright, then. How does a bar sound?” You sounded hesitant, just like you should be. If he ever turned towards you with a horrified expression, it was game over for you, and you had to go through all the lectures from your mother again. Those war flashbacks sounded an alarm bell in you, and you immediately regretted being so bold and brash.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“A bar sounds wonderful. I know a place that’s nice, and at a safe distance from here. What do you say?”

You really shouldn’t have panicked.

“I’m all for it.”

Ten minutes later or so, you were both seated comfortably on the wooden stools surrounding a round table, with Leo by your side, and you noted amusingly at how you were out of place, like a wrong piece forced into a puzzle. At least he looked good. You looked like a dove-gray marshmallow of tulle, and lamented at how you didn’t think of bringing something comfortable to change into.

“Strange that you would bring such a fine lady into a bar like this, Leo. Do you have any motives for doing so?” A cheeky blue-eyed male asked, sipping from his mug of beer. If you didn’t remember wrongly, he and the other angry-looking guy with a weird scarf were Leo’s friends, also frequent visitors of the bar. You didn’t mind the extra company, and they seemed like interesting characters, those worth talking to.

“Absolutely none, Arthur.”

“So she insisted on sneaking out herself? Impressive.” Arthur whistles, and angry guy (wasn’t his name Theo?) even shoots you a bemused smirk. You lifted your own mug and took a generous sip as a reply, running a tongue over your lips which were now stained with foam. The bitter, smooth draft cascading down your oesophagus made you sigh, almost in relief, at the familiar and longed sensation that spiked your taste buds. You had first heard of this legendary drink called beer, from the stories a maid would tell you, where people partied and enjoyed themselves without a care in the world over them. The first time you snuck out, you had stumbled upon a small, rowdy place where men and women were all armed with mugs and mugs of a golden sort of liquid, and it occurred to you that it was, indeed beer, the magical elixir you’re seeing with your own eyes.

It wasn’t long before Arthur fell asleep, most likely due to exhaustion, and Theo immediately started grunting something along the lines of “does this bastard prefer my back to be his pillow” and various crude and brash things, but the fondness was clear underneath them.

“Well, I better head off first. It was nice meeting you.” He gave a genial nod and a borderline friendly smile as he hauled Arthur onto his back, and the sight of him casually piggybacking a mumbling, sleepy-eyed male caused you to snicker behind your palm. Those two were an interesting duo, that’s for sure. You’d love to see them again if you didn’t get busted for sneaking out, when you were supposed to be dancing with another duke.

“Maybe we should go too. It’s getting late, after all.” You hadn’t realised that Leo had went off, possibly to pay for the drink you both had, and took in one last look of the place— it did have, after all, a small quaint quality to it. Again, the slight pang in your chest hit you when you thought of the things you were going to miss; Arthur and Theo, this bar, and last but most definitely not the least, the man walking beside you, his features seemingly glowing from the dim lights of the stone-cobbled street. He has been, after all, the one who entertained your various whims while being kind about it.

It took a single violinist busking by the streets to make you grab hold of Leo’s hand, and getting into the waltz formation. You had almost regretted it when you saw the shock registered on his face; maybe you shouldn’t have been so rash. But then again, the least you could do to thank him was to give him the dance you two never had. You only wished that he would understand the gratitude you were trying to convey.

“You dance beautifully.” He notes, and you were only glad that the poor lighting hid the blush on your cheeks.

“How so?”

“The steps of a waltz are always the same, but you dance lighter. I believe this reflects your emotions; in any case, I’m happy to have improved your mood.”