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ranhanabi777 · 1 year ago

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i have never read something like this before

Heya Violet! I'm going to request an ikevamp fic for the first time, so how about either of the Day 4 prompts for Leonardo? I'm excited to see what you come up with 👍

A/N: Hi @scorchieart 💜 Thank you for your request! This is for the Different Universe Same Love CCC hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

This combines scorchie's request with an anon request for Soulmates AU with Leonardo 💜

Leonardo x f reader

WC: 5254

"There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." -Vincent Van Gogh

“I hate this,” you grumble as you check your phone for the hundredth time. Where the hell is this place? It feels like it's been hours of California coastline rolling past your window. Beautiful, yes. But also so inconvenient. You lean forward towards the front of the town car.

“Abel, how much longer?”

Your driver glances at you in the rear-view mirror, smiling good-naturedly.

“Another 15 minutes, chérie.”

You flop back into the cushioned leather, sighing. If you had known this would be a part of it, you would not have taken the role.

Maybe.

Ok, fine. You probably would have taken it anyway.

The story of a woman who breaks all tradition to become a famous 19th century painter? You can practically hear Theo’s words in your ear all over again: “You want to be stuck in rom-coms forever or do you want to be taken seriously? Make art that matters?” The Dutchman is a tough agent, too direct for most actors’ fragile egos to handle but that’s why you like him. He is always honest with you.

Outside the town car window, the ocean continues to roll by, a blur of slate-gray and white. Picking up your phone for the hundredth time, you type in the name of the artist you’re on your way to see.

Just like every time you’ve done it before, all you get is his Instagram page which is entirely too sparse and full of only half-finished paintings, close ups of brushes, a few small, charcoal sketches. Nothing about the man himself.

You swipe Instagram away and tap on Spotify, closing your eyes and allowing a podcast about the Golden Age of Hollywood to help pass the remaining time.

“Love the vibe,” you murmur as you step out of the Mercedes, pushing up your tortoise-shell sunglasses in order to better take in the picturesque brown and white wooden house. It really does seem like something out of a Kinkade painting. It's perched on the edge of a plateau, facing a slope of green hillside that disappears into a smattering of gray rock. The rocks give way to a stretch of dark brown sand which leads you right to the blue-gray beauty of the Pacific Ocean. It's here the warm vibes end though. This beach is nothing like the sandy beaches of Southern California. This is something wilder, something sharper. There is no manicured, processed beach feeling here. This is nature allowing you into her world, the crashing of the waves onto the shore not an invitation but a reminder. You’re here with her permission.

Abel comes around, carrying your luggage and pauses, taking in the house. “It’s lovely,” he murmurs.

You shoot him a Look. “It’s miles from just about anything. I hope Vlad knows what he’s doing.”

Vlad is the director of the film you are going to star in. The one who said you needed to spend some time with a real-life artist in order to understand the lifestyle, the thought process, the way of viewing the world. And he knew just the person. A friend of a friend, an artist of some small renown, who made money on the side by working as a consultant for various productions. He had invited you to stay with him for a few days, to teach you basic painting and drawing techniques so it would look realistic on film, and to answer any questions you had. Vlad vouched for him, claiming he was a good man, one he would trust his star with.

You turn to Abel. “Only leave if I give you the sign.”

He smiles indulgently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’ll be fine. But I will wait until I see it.”

Steeling yourself, you gather your bags and make your way down the short driveway and up the dark wooden steps. There’s no doorbell so you knock loudly.

You aren’t sure what you expected. A man named Leonardo made you think he would be older with flowing white locks and a long wizard-like beard. What you did not expect was the door to be opened by a golden-eyed Adonis with ombre hair and one of the friendliest, most open smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Benvenuta, cara mia. Welcome.”

That voice. Your heart is doing tiny backflips inside your chest as a horde of butterflies excitedly flutter their wings inside your stomach. It takes you a moment before you figure out the way words work again.

“Thank you.”

Behind your back, you wiggle two fingers at Abel furiously.

The driver covers his grin with the back of his hand, nodding once to Leonardo in greeting before sliding back into the vehicle. He watches through the car window as Leo takes your bags and you follow him inside, the white wooden door closing behind you.

“Good luck, chérie,” he chuckles softly. Somehow, he is certain you will be just fine.

You are utterly charmed. The main house is small, and the guest house just behind it even smaller, but they are both unique, beautiful in their own ways. Everything is simple, clean. Wide windows keep the ocean in view at all times. In every room there is something to look at. A miniature painting of sunset over the water on the living room table. An antique nautical map hanging on the wall of the dining room. An oversized forest green couch that looks like it's just waiting for you to snuggle into it.

Leonardo has just brought your bags to the guest house, a one room structure with a brass bed, rustic homemade dresser, a small desk and a tiny en-suite bathroom.

“I know you are probably used to more luxurious accommodations.”

“No, this is lovely. Really.” You glance down at your phone, considering whether to post a picture to your socials and hear him laugh softly at the expression on your face. The sound settles itself into your bones, warm and welcoming.

“Reception is a bit shoddy out here. You have the best chance when you go to the living room.”

Tucking your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, you flash him a smile. “Thanks for the tip.”

He holds your gaze a moment and you feel like sand, being pulled towards an irresistible ocean.

“You must be starving. Let’s eat before I show you my studio.”

With a pleasantly full stomach and a glass of red wine in hand, you step inside the studio and gasp. Gone are the clean lines, the simplistic beauty of the rest of the house. Here is a world of color and chaos, paint and pandemonium, art and anarchy. Canvases are everywhere, paint pots and brushes, charcoal and sketchbooks. And while it may look like mayhem, there is a truth about it that stirs something inside you. This is the man behind the easy-going smile. This is his heart and soul made tangible, made material.

He notices the way you’re looking around, sees the look in your bright eyes and he knows that you see it, the love he has for his craft. You're not some Hollywood actress looking down her nose at a mess. You're one artist taking in another artist’s medium and appreciating it. His heart unexpectedly shifts, sliding closer to some unseen edge.

“This is…incredible.” You walk slowly through the space, stopping in front of whatever catches your eye. A half-finished sketch of a whale breaching the surface of the water. An anatomically correct drawing of the underside of a starfish. A canvas of yellows and oranges and reds, a practice in blending.

“How come I’ve never seen you post a finished painting on your social media?” You stop when you come to a whole row of them, leaning casually against the back wall of his studio. Crouching down, you inspect a painting of a man from behind, his arms spread out wide towards a turbulent, white-capped ocean, daring it maybe. Or welcoming it.

He shrugs, running his hand through his hair, a tick you’ll come to recognize as something he does when he is uncomfortable.

“I sell a few here and there. Not enough to earn a living but that’s what jobs like this are for, yeah?”

You rise slowly back to full height, taking a sip of the rich wine.

“Have you ever showcased your work?”

He scoffs as he lifts a paint-stained rag from one corner of his supply table and toys with it before tossing it right back.

“To what end? I paint for me. That is enough.”

That sounds like someone who is too scared to try. But you keep the words locked in your mind, aware enough to know that might be reaching a bit too deeply into his psyche for comfort.

“So….when do we begin?”

He smiles slowly and it burns through your body, warming you more than the alcohol.

“Tomorrow. Sunrise.”

All those hours you could still be sleeping. Instead of being warm and snug in your very cozy guesthouse, you are shivering on a beach, sitting on a blanket next to Leonardo as he flips open the sketchbook in front of you. He’s in an oversized brown knit sweater and jeans, looking like a model for some outdoor clothing company whereas you, trying to pull your fitted sweater down over your exposed lower back, look like some Hollywood wanna-be who wasn’t prepared for the cold California morning.

He places several small gray pebbles in front of you on the blanket.

“Sketch these.”

You tilt your head. “They’re rocks.”

“There is challenge in even the simplest of forms. Please try.”

You’re skeptical as you yank down once more on your sweater, sitting cross-legged and staring down at the pebbles. It can’t be that hard. Picking up the pencil, you begin trying to capture their form.

It proves to be much harder than it looks.

Your brow furrows as you look from your sketch, which is doing a fantastic job of being horrible, to the smooth stones in front of you.

“You must relax,” he murmurs as he scoots closer. “You’re gripping that poor pencil like you wish to strangle it.” He reaches over, covering your hand with his. You’re immediately hit with the faint smell of tobacco. Does he smoke? And something else….something earthy and rich and entirely too appealing for this early in the morning. His fingers, graceful and strong, carefully manipulate yours, sliding over your skin and leaving small ripples of heat in their wake. He touches your wrist, over the place where your heart is beating so quickly, tilting it just so.

He holds you there, moving your hand like a puppeteer might the wooden cross of marionette. You watch as the pebbles slowly come to life, flowing from the tip of your pencil.

“Let go,” his voice, gentle as the morning breeze, deep as the sea, whispers in your ear. “You must let go and allow the pencil to do its job.”

Slowly he removes his hand and the sudden lack of contact spurs a tiny whimper from your throat. Luckily, he mistakes it for dismay at his lack of coaching and chuckles.

“You continue on your own, cara mia.”

You’ve been called many things: The Girl Next Door, America’s Sweetheart but somehow, that nickname rolling so casually off his tongue suddenly means more than any of that. You’re smiling despite the cold, despite the wind, despite your stupid, impractical sweater.

Inhaling, you try again, the pencil less a tool in your hand as an extension of it. And while your pebbles don’t look amazing, they do look much closer to what you are trying to accomplish.

“Well done,” he says, looking over your shoulder. “You're a quick learner.”

You smile at him, his words washing over you, warm as sunshine.

“Can I try something else? Maybe try the sand and the ocean?”

He nods, reaching for the hem of his sweater. The next thing you know he’s removed it and wrapped it around your shoulders, leaving you surrounded by soft wool that smells like Leonardo. Your heart stumbles.

“Si. Let’s try.”

My life has never been this disconnected from work and yet, so full, you think as you wrap the beige blanket tighter around your body, watching Leonardo paint. You’re sitting outside on the large porch, the breathtaking view of the sand dunes, the boulders, the sand and the endless sea stretched out before you like a slice of paradise.

You’ve been here almost a week and the world has changed. The bright lights of Hollywood seem so far away. Now you’re concerned with daylight and sunrises, the way light falls across an object or a person, how to capture its essence with charcoal and acrylics, watercolor and wax. You haven't even touched your phone other than to reassure Theo you are fine, doing well and learning a lot, soaking in the experience of being an artist so that you can find it again when the cameras are on you. You’ve abandoned your socials, only leaving a message saying something about the life of an actor and secret prep work that you can’t talk about. It’s technically not a lie.

You watch as Leonardo dips his brush into a red that looks far too bright and finds a way to make it exactly the right shade of sunset, adding an element to his painted sky that you didn’t even know was missing until he put it there. He’s relaxed, his body loose, movements like flowing water as he almost lovingly drags the brush along the canvas. He showed you how, a few mornings ago. You’ve been haunted ever since by the feel of his larger body behind you, the way he reached around, gently taking hold of your wrist, and showed you how to hold yourself, teaching your body the dance of a painter. He is patient, always answering any question of yours the best he can. And so intelligent. The other night you curled up on his overstuffed green couch to look through several of his notebooks, filled with sketches and half-finished designs for contraptions that looked more sci-fi than present day. One entire page was devoted entirely to drawing various animal wings. The next was an excruciatingly detailed drawing of his own hand.

He talks about art the way you talk about acting: a way to conduct emotion, to spark a connection between people. You feel like he understands when you explain how acting is a form of devotion to humanity, an expression of love. Most people roll their eyes when an actor begins talking about their craft. His smile tells you all you need to know about how well he truly does understand.

He shakes you from your reverie when he joins you on the bench, wiping his hands on a towel and reaching for his glass of wine.

“And? What do you think?”

You tilt your head, pretending to study the easel with its beautiful interpretation of the actual sunset that is happening behind it. He has not replicated it exactly, but captured the symphony of colors, the dramatic brass of the oranges and romantic woodwinds of the pinks, the clouds with their warmly colored underbellies and of course, the ever present sea, gilded in gold.

“It’s beautiful, Leo.”

“You like it, which means I’m pleased.” He takes another sip. “Consider it a gift, yeah?. It is, after all, our last weekend together.”

Those words carve themself into the moment, slicing away the peace you’ve been feeling. Dismay bleeds from your heart. You were going to have to face it, the fact that your time with him, magical as it has been, is coming to an end. But you had hoped, irrationally, that maybe if no one said it, you could just stay here, in this beautiful house with this beautiful man as long as you wanted.

Your face, the tool of your trade that you can usually control so well, betrays your thoughts.

“Cara mia.” He reaches out, his fingers curling inwards for a moment, hesitant. The man who never has a problem touching you when correcting your hand or positioning your arm now needs a moment of courage. Because this isn’t a teaching moment. Maybe none of them ever really were. He only knows that from the second he opened the front door and you were there, with your smile like sunshine and eyes bright with intelligence and excitement, he felt drawn to you like he's never been toward anyone before.

You turn your face into his touch, reaching up to cup your hand over his. You press a kiss into his palm. The lull of the waves is drowned out by the roaring of your heartbeat. And then he leans towards you, taking your face in his beautiful hands, and he kisses you.

Your heart cracks open and oceans of desire and want and something else, something nameless underneath those wild waves of emotion flood you. He feels so good. This feels so right.

You kiss with the exhilaration of new lovers, wildly and without a care for anything else in the world. The sunset and her majestic colors be damned. There is nothing as beautiful as the wildfire of gold in his eyes, the melody of his breathing. You’re on his lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, pressed as closely as you can be and it isn’t enough. He slides his hands under your blouse, pressing the palms of his hands to your bare back. It isn’t enough.

You manage to tear your mouth away from him long enough to get out one word: “Inside.”

He stands up and you wrap your legs around him, his strong arms supporting your weight as he carries you inside the wooden house on the plateau, impatiently stealing every kiss he can before laying you down on the oversized green couch, covering your body with his. He softly growls your name in a way that sends fire cascading through your veins.

The sky outside darkens as the last rays of sunset disappear. Her show is over. You both belong now to the night.

Heart, say good-bye because you are no longer mine. You lay on your side, facing the open window of Leonardo’s bedroom. The ocean breeze, cool with night’s kiss, waves the pale curtains and skims over your skin, raising goosebumps along your bare arm and shoulder.

You close your eyes, reveling in the heavy feeling of your body, tempest-tossed and satisfied, peppered with the light marks of your lovemaking. You're a goner. You’ve fallen overboard, heading further and further down into the churning depths of your feelings for Leonardo. And you’re not sinking. Not at all. You’re kicking your legs and diving, excited to explore the deep and all its mysteries.

He stirs in his sleep and you roll back to face him, watching as he slowly surfaces from whatever dream he was lost in. His warm eyes, framed by such dark lashes, flutter open. When he sees you, laying on your side, facing him, he smiles slowly and reaches out a hand.

“Come here, cara mia.”

The thought of resisting doesn’t even cross your mind. You slide over into his arms, marveling at the feel of his body against yours, strong muscles, long legs. He presses a kiss to your temple, then nuzzles your neck affectionately.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You smile, tipping your head up to meet his gaze. Now may not be the right time to tell him everything you’re thinking. You don’t want to scare him away.

“No thoughts. Just....” You slide your hand over his chest, over the lean muscles of his abdomen, and then lower. His golden eyes flare bright with immediate hunger. His lips part as he exhales.

With a groan he pulls you to him and you close your eyes, letting his greedy mouth and wandering hands take you away.

This is only the beginning after all. You have plenty of time to figure out what's next.

A Year Later

“Now that’s just one review! The rest are all like it!”

You listen to Theo’s exuberant voice as he names all the various publications that are writing rave reviews about the film. Funny, everything you thought you ever wanted is coming true. You made a movie that is earning positive reviews across the board, with your performance hailed as a stand out, a tour de force unlike anything you’ve ever done. There’s already talk about awards and other dramatic parts and are you interested in endorsements?

And yet, you’re miserable.

Leaning back into the plush seat of the town car, you stop Theo’s voice message and tap on Instagram and, like a lemming drawn to a cliff, go to his page.

All comments are turned off and there is only one picture posted: a short message thanking people for their interest but he is on hiatus.

The post is six months old.

How did it all go so wrong? You had been so happy.

Your eyes fall closed and memories play themselves out in front of you, like a flickering movie reel from yesteryear.

You and Leonardo on his porch, cuddled together under a blanket as you watch the sunrise. He can’t stop touching you and you him.

Driving with him back to Southern California, his eyes widening when you pull into the driveway of your home, modest by Hollywood standards, a palace compared to his small wooden dwelling.

Your pool. Cold water. Hot mouths. His hand pressed against your lips, stifling your sounds even as he continues moving.

The paparazzi finding you after a few days of blissful privacy, snapping a shot of you two leaving Starbucks, his hand casually resting on your hip, thumb stroking the stripe of bare skin between your jeans and the hem of your shirt.

Your names splashed across gossip sites and social media. He gains thousands of followers in a matter of hours, people hoping he’ll post an image of the two of you together. An older picture of him from several years ago at an art gallery opening in SoHo is all they have and it is everywhere. And it is not enough. They want more.

They follow you home. They follow you to work. They follow you when you go out to eat. They follow you to appointments, to meetings, across town and back. They yell your name, they ask about him. They are relentless.

And then they start to follow him. To your home. To the restaurant where you’re meeting. To his home. They wait by the wooden house on the plateau, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and him. They yell your name, they ask about rumors, they demand to know when the wedding is.

They swarm you both like locusts blocking out the sun, sucking up all your air.

And then his paintings begin to sell. Never has there been such a demand. He can’t keep up. And he isn’t happy.

Because he says he did nothing to deserve it aside from being with you. No one cared before. He has not earned this success. It’s the side-effect of loving you. Side-effect, you repeat one night, staring at him across your marble kitchen island, that makes it sound like loving me is some kind of disease.

He cures himself by leaving. You wake up one morning and all his things are gone. He is a ghost who has vanished back into the nether of sea-spray and morning fog from whence he came.

All he leaves you with is a note, the paper torn from one of his notepads, in his messy, slanted writing: “I’m sorry.”

A note, and all the splinters of your broken heart.

And now you’re almost at your destination. The tiny bed-and-breakfast tucked away in a remote corner of the California coast. Your refuge from the rest of the world. The place you come to heal.

You’ve been here a few times since he left. The owners, Wolf and Jean, are like family. They took care of you before you became successful, when you were a starving artist looking for your big break, and have continued to do so even now, when you could easily stay at any five-star hotel across the globe but always come back here, to warmth and comfort.

The first time you came here after he left, they filled your room with macaroons, your favorite dessert. They must have heard the news from some entertainment program or maybe some celebrity news ticker. You could have killed the Starbucks barista who spoke to the press, saying how you suddenly were coming alone to pick up your coffee and how pale you were, your eyes red from crying.

Another time they subtly laid a newspaper on your bed. At first you weren’t sure why but then you saw the tiny article about Leonardo having a small but successful showing in Denmark, worlds away from the bright lights of Hollywood. Like a 1950’s schoolgirl, you had cut out the small black and white picture of him and folded it, hiding it in your wallet. Doing so felt both pathetic and comforting at the same time.

Another winding road, dipping between tree and rocky coast and then one final turn. The familiar blue and white building comes into sight and you can feel yourself breathing easier already. The car slows to a stop and a moment later, Abel opens the door for you.

“We’re here, chérie.” His champagne-colored eyes have a twinkle to them which leaves you wondering if he knows something you don't.

Forever ago, this place used to scare you with its pointed roof and close proximity to the edge of a very steep cliff. But it’s become your home away from home and you’re soothed by the sight of it.

“I’ll just get my—” Your weekend bag is already on the ground next to you and the town car is halfway down the drive. You frown slightly before hoisting up your bag. Well, he was sure in a hurry.

You bound up the familiar steps, opening the friendly blue door and step into the foyer.

“Jean? Wolf?”

Odd, they would normally be here to meet you, food and drink in hand.

You glance around, taking out your phone to make sure that you had sent them the correct date and time when you spot something hanging on the wall. Your fingers go numb and your phone falls, landing with a harmless thud on the thick carpeting.

Hanging on the wall is a new painting. It’s a woman, sitting on a beach at sunrise, wrapped up in an oversized, cozy brown sweater. Her head is tipped back, eyes closed, a serene expression on her face. It’s soft and romantic. Not a brushstroke wasted nor a color excessive.

The sea is a deep gray-blue.

The sky is a garden of pinks and lavenders and orange.

The woman is you.

You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

How....

“Cara mia.”

Like an apparition he is suddenly standing there, in the doorway. Not some memory or picture or dream, but Leonardo, flesh and blood, right there in the same room as you. The sight of him hits you like the full force of a typhoon, draining all the color from your face and sending you back a step.

As you recover from your shock, you notice now how nervous he is. His hands, normally so strong and steady, whether creating art or touching you, are shaking. He has dark circles under his golden eyes, shadows of what has been haunting him.

“Leonardo.” His name is twisted upon itself, hollow and aching when it passes your lips.

“May I speak? I have something to say to you. Please."

You nod, your breath held prisoner in your lungs, your wounded heart limps in circles in your chest, aching at the sight of him.

He draws a deep breath.

“I was a fool. I pushed you away because I was afraid. Your world is so much bigger than mine and instead of joining you, proud to be by your side, learning how to navigate new waters, I ran.” He pushes a hand through his hair, an inhale needed to steady his nerves. “That was wrong. I hurt you. I’m so sorry, cara mia. So deeply sorry for how stupid I was. I…I regretted it immediately but it was too late...Dio, sono un idiota.”

He shakes his head, defeated. The failure of words in the face of what he did is stark and he finds himself unable to go on. Nothing can begin to explain the festering regret he's lived with from the moment he walked out your door. He isn't good enough with words to explain how the minute he was heading away from you all he wanted to do was to turn back. How without you the world was drained of its vivacity, its color. He trapped himself in a gray existence of his own making and now his escape lies solely in your hands.

You breathe in and out, taking a moment before you respond.

"You did hurt me. Badly. But…." You take a second, searching for the right words. "I could have helped prepare you for what it means to be with someone like me. It was so much to ask of you to just be ok with your life suddenly being turned upside down. For that, I'm sorry."

Silence grows between you, thick as brambles and just as thorny. Neither of you can meet the other's gaze. It hurts, every second that ticks by without a word. Neither of you knows what to say, neither wants to leave. It is Leonardo who finally clears his throat, a throat where so many words are bottlenecking in their fury to get out.

"I'll leave you in peace then."

The words are clipped, his accent thick as emotion chokes him. The final, tenuous connection between you is close to crumbling. He's about to turn away when one word shoots straight from your heart like a rocket.

"Wait!!"

He freezes, his sunrise gaze locking with yours. Dare he have hope…..

The minute you start towards him he rushes to meet you.

And then you're in his arms and your cheeks are wet and he's holding you so tightly your ribs feel crushed but it doesn't matter because he's turning and turning, the world is spinning, your heart is rising light as a feather, and then your feet touch the ground again and he's showering your face with kisses, painting you in his love, holding the back of your head, whispering your name breathlessly over and over and over, a song, a declaration, a prayer.

You hold on to his neck, your laughter as bright as sunlight across the waves, returning his kisses with ones of your own, all over his beautiful face, kisses pulsing with hope, with desire, with promise.

He leans back, lowering his mouth to your ear and whispers. His words engrave themselves onto your heart and you pull away to answer him the only way you can answer something like that: with a kiss deep as the sea, tender as the night.

You've found each other again. And you'll never again be parted.

(What did he whisper? This fic is acrostic so check out the first bold word of every section) 💜

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

#He holds you there #moving your hand like a puppeteer might the wooden cross of marionette. You watch as the pebbles slowly come to life #flowing from the tip of your pencil #was speechless #leonardo?historically accurate and more #can cybird start to make him like violet's?#scenery and the way we can read it all as paragraphs #and the genius of making us play a game to find out he said #“i love you with all my heart now and forever!”#epitome of beauty #even reader is cool and likeable #fav #ikemen vampire #ikemen leonardo

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iphigeniainaulis · 1 year ago

Text

Background paintings in Ikevamp and why they matter

...even if you are not familiar with art.

Warnings: minor spoilers for all routes, though I tried to keep it as vague as possible

Time to talk about background paintings in Ikemen vampire because…why not?

First, let me warn you that the following is nothing but a theory based on some visual resemblance. While it may occur that Ikemen designers wanted to hide a few Easter eggs, it's also fair to mention that sometimes the sky is blue just because it's Sunday morning, and that’s all.

Nevertheless, one detail may hint at the former statement being true. And this is because there’s a significant difference in how different paintings are shown in the game.

Some of them are blurry, overdark or too bright. While we can distinguish some unclear silhouettes, the rest is on our imagination.

For example, it seems that the first picture is the natural landscape (probably, sunset in the forest) as well as the second one with the Ionic style columns being placed in the center of a garden. Still, we’re not sure.

But the thing is it doesn’t matter. The amount of details the viewer is given is too small for us to make any art-historical assumptions. Based on these mere images we can figure out neither the artist who painted them nor the narrative. Therefore, these paintings have only a secondary function of background decorations and proof of demonstration of their owner’s wealth.

On the contrary, there are paintings that we can easily detach because their creators are too famous to be unfamiliar with. But even within this scope of paintings there is a slight differentiation due to the way they are incorporated in the game design.

Some of them have been revived by the hands of geniuses who once created them. This is the case of Leonardo’s Study of a woman’s head and Study of Hands

or Vincent’s Sunflower and the Olive trees

While it’s easy to reduce the meaning behind this design decision to simple hype, I think that it also serves as a visual representation of the suitors' character traits. What is the point of redrawing the painting that was already brought to life a long time ago? For Vincent it means years, for Leonardo - centuries. My guess is that for artists like them it's never enough. Life is too beautiful to be captured once and forever. A woman’s face is never a mystery solved. While for many people it’s okay to achieve a goal and forget about it the exact minute they are done, for geniuses like Leonardo and Vincent it’s always different. You must improve. You have to work further. There is always something new an artist’s eye can capture. That’s why they painted it again, again and again.

Let's move to another group of paintings. Spotting The Starry Night in Theo’s room is not a surprise because we know that, first of all, they’re brothers with Vincent, and, secondly, Theo is an art dealer.

What deserves to be brought into focus is that this work is regarded as the elder Van Gogh’s magnum opus. Sure, you can argue that the real Theo and Vincent thought little of this painting, calling it “a failure”. To which I reply that, again, this is a game for numerous people across the world, including those who are not familiar with art history. For many of us The Starry Night is viewed as one of the most popular art works, a special work, a valuable one. Therefore, by omitting historical accuracy Ikemen writers and designers try to achieve something more contributing to the plot - they try to evoke certain emotions. Putting the art of such great significance in the room of one of the brothers should be a clear indicator of the amount of respect and love the two of them share. Describing the emotional bond between them is mainly the prerogative of writers. But sometimes game design plays no less if not more meaningful role in the process of us as readers getting familiar with characters. The painting here becomes a subtle part of the plot as it highlights certain prerequisites of their relationship and prepares us for what is going to come next.

The latter is especially relevant to Vlad's route. The female portrait in the pureblood’s room is what takes background paintings in Ikevamp on a fundamentally new level - the level of plot-forming core.

Unlike those paintings I mentioned at the beginning, these ones are no longer a substitute for the room decor. Instead, they serve as a device that pushes the plot forward. It accumulates three major points that are relevant to the plot:

It adds the mystery element for triggering our curiosity. The portrait is ‘faceless’, and even though we all see the resemblance in features, there is this ‘if’ element. What if they decided to go with a classical Dracula plot? Eternal vampire loses his lover and waits for her to be reborn? Is this MC? Why can’t he remember her face?

The portrait itself allows us to get for a second into Vlad’s head and understand his feelings towards the mysterious woman. Vlad drawing her portrait is caused by the act of kindness she showed him. His entire motivation is connected to the single painting. She was the one who he wanted to be with. In order to do so, he had to become strong, to accept his tragic loss and move forward. The portrait serves as a silent reminder about what was his goal and why he chose the path he chose.

It circulates the narrative. At the beginning, MC faces the challenge of being the third one in the relationship with Vlad and his unknown lover. She questions the identity of that unknown counterpart of hers and secretly wants to learn more about her. By revealing the truth of Vlad’s past and their connection, MC figures out who was the woman in the painting which in some way pushes her to find enough strength for making a certain groundbreaking decision.

Finally, there is the third group of paintings that possess what I call ‘potential meaning’. These paintings maintain the main features of the two previous groups, namely, vague silhouettes combined with a rather clear narrative that somehow increases the possibility of them being more than a decorative object.

Take a look at the two paintings in Vincent’s room. In comparison to all other paintings these ones differ not only in terms of shape but also in terms of color. The lines seem to be more fluid, and the color palette is dominated by ochreous, blue and black which is typical for East Asian classical ink art. By taking a closer look, you can actually see the vague outlines of the sea and shrouded in mist mountains in the background. Personally to me such landscapes together with a specific composition angle remind of Hokusai’s Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji which can be a great allusion to Van Gogh’s obsession with Japanese prints and their role in his artistic career.

The huge painting in Comte’s living room has been haunting me for years, I shall admit. It portrays a marine landscape with a single boat chasing the wild waters in the dark or right before the sunrise. When talking about marine art, the first person that comes to my mind is Ivan Aivazovsky. Yet, it is evident that Aivazovsky’s style was pure romanticism with heavy realistic elements, whereas this painting looks like it's more about light and colores rather than clear and precise lines. And also this sun, this strange orange sun..that can be spotted only in Claude Monet's Impression. Sunrise.

The mansion’s copy is a darker mirrow image of the original work. Nobody knows why Comte chose this painting for the mansion, but isn’t it a bit of irony that the painting that praises France, the country that suffered from the war with Prussia and was on its way to revitalisation, is located in the house that is about to face the battle between the lesser vampires and their haunters or rather the figurative war of two different morals (we are yet to know about it, though)?

Another version is that the painting serves as a metaphoric description of the character. In various routes MC mentions how Comte reminds her of the sun that made manifest, and everything supports this claim to be true, from his golden eyes and hair, to the brightness of the room and..paintings that symbolize the master of the mansion.

Finally, I wouldn't forget about the massive backlash Impressionists had to face at the early stage of the movement’s existence. It was only until the 5th Impressionist exhibition in 1880 that the artists finally got praised by critics. Just a bit more than 10 years before the MC’s appearance. However, we know that the creation of the mansion had taken place before this event. So, my point is that probably Monet’s painting was purchased by the greater vampire during the times when Impressionists were still harshly criticized by the Salon. And if so, the display of the painting that represents the les misérables of the art world speaks so much volume about Comte’s character and devotion to fulfill what he perceives as his noblesse oblige - to support those in need, to help them reveal their talent no matter what social class they belong to.

The game room’s central painting is another amusing detail as it’s completely out of mood. Playing cards, watching chess games or taking any other light leisure activity with a glass of brandy in your hand, you rarely expect to raze your gaze from the table only to stare at the image of ruins. Yet, this is what we get here - a typical capriccio painting like those of Alessandro Salucci and Leonardo Coccorante.

Capriccio artists dared to do something new in the history of art - they put real archeological signs into fantasy surroundings, sometimes from the same time period that the artists lived in. To an extent, they brought the ancient past and allowed it to live in the future, which is not a bad allusion to the original purpose of the mansion’s creation.

And here is what we can spot in Shakespeare’s room. At first, I didn't think much about this painting in Will’s bedroom but something felt odd. And then I understood.

You see, there’s this famous Vincent’s work named Cafe Terrace at Night. The painting is created from the north eastern corner that allows us to see the starry night without facing an obstacle in the form of the cafe's roof.

But this is how the modern cafe looks from a different perspective. Yellow elongated building with two wide niches that serve both as windows and entrance.

Do you see it, right? RIGHT?

I headcanon that Vincent was so eager to spoil his new friend with a present that he decided to redraw his favorite work and give it to the bard. But being an empathetic and observant one, Vincent immediately figured out Will’s admiration of everything unique and rare, so he decided to create a completely new version of his own painting instead of just redrawing it from the same angle as he did with sunflowers.

Aaand this is what we get in the living room. Random at first sight, the composition of various unrelated pictures actually makes sense. The most evident one is, of course, the image of theater curtains. What else should we expect to see in the manor of the great Bard of Avon? The same curtains, by the way, appear in almost every scene where MC and her suitor are invited to Shakespeare’s play.

Just a small detail, but I think this is one of those rare occasions when we can actually name the place Ikemen writers took inspiration from (apart from, of course, Louvre and the University of Paris). What helps us here is the curtains over which we spot golden metal lambrequin with a cartouche that imitates the image of the sun.

Such a prolonged lambrequin with the sun image (in honor of Louis XIV, the Sun King and also the father of the Paris Opera) in the center actually exists only in one Parisian theater - Opera Garnier, where in 1888 Shakespeare’s Roméo et Juliette was staged.

Just to make sure, look at the curtains in some of the most popular theaters that existed during the historical period in Ikevamp - Théâtre du Châtelet or the Opéra-Comique. You won't find a similar one.

Two last possible Easter eggs may be related to the two historical objects that existed during Shakespear’s era. The first one is still connected to the curtains for as you see, there were rumors (modern archeological findings prove them to be true) that the first venue of Shakespeare’s plays was called ‘the Curtain Theatre’.

And the second thing I want to point at is two images of the chair. Honestly, I highly doubt that a person like Will who has an almost narcissistic obsession with expensive staff would put a painting of such low value in his private apartment. But I can understand it, if this is not an image of some random piece of furniture but the well-known Shakespeare’s Courting Chair, wherein, according to William Henry, ‘the bard was used to sit, during his courtship, with his Anne upon his knee’.

Anyway, I hope it wasn't too much. Thank you for reading!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #cybird #ikemen series #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp comte #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp theo #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen le comte #ikemen leonardo #ikemen theo #ikemen vincent #ikemen shakespeare #ikemen vlad

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drachonia · 2 months ago

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𝐟 𝐢 𝐫 𝐞 𝐚 𝐧 𝐝 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 .

Leonardo x OC insert (Julliet)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i've had this sitting in my WIP folder for like..well over a year. decided on a whim to finish it, thanks to @valkyyriia and @natimiles for the encouragement! i appreciate you both very much. i hope you both like this little fic of the boy. <33

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fictional interpretation of a historical figure (ikemen vampire), drac's weird little ideas, william jumpscare at the end.

Parties were never really his favorite, at least aside from the wine and the numerous opportunities to observe something interesting. The young man with ash brown hair drew out a small bit of charcoal and glanced around the room from his place against the wall, eyes scanning the ballroom for a subject to study.

He briefly contemplated sketching one of the pillars to the edges of the staircase scanning from the ceiling to floor. Once amber eyes reached the bottom, they locked with a pair of contrasting burgundy hues that reminded Leo vaguely of blood, cliché as that sounded to him. His lips quirked up as the wide-eyed maiden seemed to start at the realization he was staring at her. Fingers gripped the charcoal as he started to sketch her features, quickly managing to get down the softness of her jawline and the sharp curve of her brows before moving to the intense eyes and looking back up again only to see she vanished from the base of that pillar. His ever-present heartbeat stuttered for a moment, brows furrowing as he glanced around for where she may have gone.

“Are you looking for someone?” A soft voice reached his ears, turning his head to meet those same eyes again, but this time much clearer and closer, “You know it’s impolite to stare. Especially without introducing oneself.” She tucked her boyish fringe behind one ear, a teasing smile on her lips as she curtsied to him, “My name is Julliet, what’s yours?” She looked up to the young vampire, a grin on her lips as her own fangs showed the slightest bit. He hadn’t seen her before now. Was she a new vampire? Just someone he hadn’t paid any mind to? No matter, he was finally close enough to get a proper look at those eyes.

“Leonardo.” He grasped her hand, lifting it and pressing a kiss to the back of it with a smile even he didn’t think he could give. Fingertips brushed hers as he drew back, feeling a faint crackle of nerves. What was this? Who was she? What exactly brought about so much curiosity toward her? Maybe it was because she was an unknown to him, but he could practically taste the freedom she exuded on the tip of his tongue when he breathed in. She gave off a fresh scent, noticeable but not overpowering, like rosehip or sage.

“Well, Leonardo, what are you drawing?” She peered in to look at what he’d been scratching out, only to freeze for a moment, “Is that..?” Her bright eyes glanced up to meet his and felt the blush creeping up his neck to his ears, ready to retort and make an excuse before she quieted his thoughts with a happy smile and a gentle giggle. Leaning on his arm she reached her hand out a breath from his sketchbook, careful not to touch his work.

“It’s so well-done…how did you do all of that so fast? You only looked at me for a few seconds!” Her eyes shimmered in wonder as he chuckled lightly at her pure-hearted admiration. He glanced down at her other hand where it rested on his forearm, supporting her from falling into his side. For the first time, Leonardo noticed how small another’s hands could be next to his own. Briefly he wondered to himself if he could capture the feeling in a drawing or figure a way to better remember it in this irritatingly eternal existence of his.

And he thought, only for a moment, Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she would be mine?

The thought itself caught him by surprise as he returned to his senses, rubbing a hand over his mouth to soothe the sudden ache in his fangs.

Just then, he heard a call across the room, “Giulietta!” He almost jolted at how much the timbre reminded him of his father. A man who resembled the young woman at his side climbed the stairs across the hall from them. He felt her stiffen at his side, “I-I should go before my father sees me.”

“Do you make it a habit to hang around unsuspecting men?” He teased her lightly, “The scandal..!” That light smack to his bicep was every bit deserved.

“Never! You’re the first I’ve gotten curious enough of.” She muttered low to herself, but loud enough that he heard, a boyish grin stretching across his face as he opened his mouth to tease her.

“Giulietta!”

She shrunk away from him, “I should go…”

“Do you think we’ll get the chance to meet again?” The words practically pushed past his lips before he could stop them, not that he would have bothered.

“Maybe.” She seemed to like the idea from the bright smile that lifted her rosy cheeks. Giving a sheepish smile as she darted off to the call from her father

“Giulietta di Cappelletti!”

“Yes, father!”

The name was one he was vaguely familiar with, it wasn’t a family his parents held a high opinion of. He knew as much as he leaned on the railing and continued to polish her portrait. Strange, the name she had given him wasn’t something he was familiar with, but the one his father called was very much Italian.

“Julliet.” He mused, brushing his thumb over the page to mimic the flush on her cheeks in monotone.

In the darker part of the corridor, a young man scratched out his own notes, having been watching like a spectator at a theatre. And the titular words he scribbled with a flourish at the top of his parchment were ‘Romeo & Juliet.’

lace headers by saradika.

#drac writes #ikemen vampire #ikevamp oc #ikevamp leonardo #oc insert

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lukkabloom · 10 months ago

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Fun Facts abt the residents according to Ikevamp Radio (ヴァンなま) Part 1

Found a playlist of Ikevamp Radio that occurred multiple years ago so I decided to collect my findings about the residents in a list. I haven't seen anyone translate it or talk abt it so I decided to do it for a bit of fun. Anyways, here are episodes 1-3!!

Some quick things to note before:

Vincent/Aramaki Yoshihiko (Makki) is the MC, Sebas/Morishima Shuta (Morishi) is a guest (but he’s in every episode he might as well be the 2nd MC). They also have other people as guests in some episodes (other ikevamp VAs or others related to the game itself)

Episodes 1 & 2 occur before Ikevamp’s release

most of my findings are from a segment from the livestream where the residents (mainly Vincent and Sebas) talk to each other & ask each other questions about the lives while they spend some bonding time in the thermae. The segment's called "I love yu" which is a pun on "I love you" and yu (湯) which means "hot water" or "bath"

There are also other segments where the VAs draw based on a designated theme & the viewers vote on the best art (van Gogh's drawing section), and another one where the VAs read the summary of the game in their in-character voices (but the VAs interrupt and make it funnier & less romantic) called "Ikemen Vampire, a guidance for you" (I won't talk abt these sections much tho)

ALSO!! This is not a translation of the whole livestream, just bits and pieces of it. I don't have the time and energy to do that

Episode 1: feat. Leonardo's VA Tsuda Kenjiro

youtube

Question: Which historical figure/genius do you respect the most?

Napoleon: Oda Nobunaga

Mozart: Johann Sebastian Bach

Leonardo: Michelangelo (which I thought was interesting since real-life Leo and Michelangelo had some beef w each other)

Morishima (Sebas’s VA): Newton (bc of the apple & theory of universal gravitation), Edison

Tsuda (Leonardo’s VA): van Gogh

Aramaki (Vincent’s VA): Liu Bei, Zhao Yun (I think that's who he was talking abt? I'm not familiar much w/Chinese figures' names in jp---they're read differently in Eng)

The other VAs joke that Aramaki’s similar to Napo in the sense that they both admire soldiers/military commanders

Question: Favorite part of a woman’s body? (This sounds so wrong in both jp & eng)

Napoleon: from the neck to the shoulder, he's prob talking abt the shoulders to the neckline or vice versa（首から肩まで）

Mozart: voice (so he can understand what his partner’s thinking & feeling)

Leonardo: thighs (bc it’s soft & he likes lap pillows)

Tsuda said Leo’s a bit of a pampered/attention-seeking child (甘えん坊), and not an ore-sama (which he thought Leo would be), an unexpectedly cute reason considering how reliable Leo looks

Vincent gets a bit sad when he’s bathing alone

Leo can sing a song that he’s only heard once (as expected of a genius)

Sebas can be seen hanging the sheets outside from Vincent’s room

Leo’s unsatisfied that there’s only men in the mansion (this was before MC stumbled to the mansion)

Vincent doesn’t want women in the mansion bc he wouldn’t know how to act in front of them

Sebas thinks Leo is an expert in handling women, Leo is confused when he became one

Leo’s weak against Vincent’s pleas/suggestions (honestly who isn’t??)

Sebas thinks it’s impossible for a woman to stumble upon the mansion (foreshadowing)

Leo thinks that fate will play a trick on them, his mumbling confuses Vincent and Sebas (more foreshadowing)

Episode 2: feat. Jun, singer of Ikevamp theme song "Rouge"

youtube

Jun is a repairman who fixes things around the mansion… HE'S ALIVE IN THAT ERA???? (Idk if its canon)

He also sings “Rouge” while he works which means the song exists in the 20th century (again idk how much of this is canon)

Jun also sells milk in the mansion, acting as a different person as the repairman, although Sebas & Vincent are suspicious of him (he literally just enters the bath to sell milk to Vincent and Sebas lol)

Vincent and Sebas talk about MC, she has arrived @ the mansion

Vincent worries abt her since she is surrounded by vampires in an unfamiliar environment, but to Sebas, it looks like MC enjoys her life and is headstrong (aka Vincent is just nice to others, nothing new)

Vincent believes that Sebas is cool and can do anything, to which Sebas indirectly disagrees (he coughs)

Sebas is weak to Vincent’s innocent eyes (just like Leo from the previous episode, again, who isn't?)

Sebas breaks the 4th wall talking abt a popular romance game where you can fall in love w/vampire-turned historical figures

This is literally the beginning of how Sebas goes ooc (becomes weirder) throughout the series (is it even ooc if it’s basically approved by official??)

Sebas says that Theo is overprotective of Vincent, Vincent comments that he’s supposed to be the older one

they also introduce my fav segment (Can you tell me... your name?) where they have listeners vote on quotes they want the VAs to say, and they will say the line w/the listener’s names so it sounds like the VAs are speaking to them. Vincent's & the guest (if there is one) will have legit cool lines (like “(y/n), Don’t let go of me” or “(y/n), you’re the only one in my eyes”) but Sebas always has one funny line as one of his options (ex. “Hey, do you wanna have a takoyaki party?” or “Do you want to fry one more sanma?”) and every single time the weird line gets voted and ITS FUNNY AS HECK

Also in the same segment the viewers will sometimes submit funny names for the VAs (especially Sebas) to say & it adds to the laughs

Ex. for Sebas’s “Hey, do you wanna have a takoyaki party?” some viewers gave names of Anpanman characters (a children’s anime in Japan) so Sebas will literally say things like “Jam-ojisan, hey, do you wanna have a takoyaki party?”

There was also one whose name was Tako (octopus in japanese) so Sebas would say “Tako, do you wanna have a takoyaki party?” so he’s asking the octopus to have a takoyaki party where the octopus will be eaten (the irony as well as the dark underlying meaning behind it is very funny)

Also the way the other people are laughing while Sebas’s VA is trying to keep his cool is so hilarious

It’s predetermined and agreed upon the Ikevamp staff that Sebas (or Morishi) is willing to do/say weird things for the audience

This whole segment is a whole ride in and out of itself

Episode 3: feat. Leonardo’s VA Tsuda Kenjiro once again

youtube

Sebas once again breaks the 4th wall by referencing episode 1 of the show

Sebas teaches Leo the basics of manzai (a type of japanese comedy)

Leo says “Vannama” (the name of ikevamp radio) and “tendon” (the food and a manzai phrase) in a weird accent further proving that he doesn’t understand Japanese (or maybe it's bc the two phrases are too specific idk)

Sebas tells Leo to ignore what he’s saying as he is saying metafictional expressions (メタ発言) basically how he is breaking the 4th wall, and Leo just accepts that as another one of Sebas’s quirks

Vincent comments that Leo’s very manly, Sebas further compliments him saying that Leo is a man amongst men

This episode has one of the funniest (imo) “Can you tell me… your name?” segments ever. Vincent and Leo’s VAs had amazing lines, but Sebas… oh gosh where do I even start. (ok Leo’s VA did say “Ushi (cow), wait for me by the bed,” and “Namamono (raw food), wait for me by the bed” & that was funny too but…)

One of the options for Sebas’s lines (and the one that was ultimately chosen to be said) was “Do you want to fry one more sanma (a type of seasonal fish eaten in fall)?” and the viewers got crazy with this one.

There were some legit names but most were for jokes, choosing names going along with the theme of fall foods and creatures (tuna, matsutake, karaage, grasshoppers, etc.)

There was “Akashiya, sanma mouipikki yaku?”(Akashiya, do you want to fry one more sanma?) which was the funniest one. Akashiya Sanma is a very famous Japanese comedian and it’s very genius of the viewer to connect the person with the food. I laughed straight for like 10 min when I first listened to this (I still laugh just remembering it. The double-entendre!!!)

Literally any episode with Tsuda is chaotic (this isn’t the last time where he shows up)

At the end of the episode, Vincent’s VA couldn’t stop laughing and messed up his lines multiple times (I don’t blame him everything is just so funny)

#this is such a fever dream #the VAs are just as chaotic/if not more #im so late #ikevamp #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp radio #ikemen vampire #rough translation #lukka talks

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