, . ' ? , .

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐, 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚛. 𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔? 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.

𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

𝙸𝚔𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚘𝚔𝚞

1. EVENT: BE MY VALENTINE [hosted by @xxsycamore and @chaosangel767]: LET'S GET NAUGHTY [Masamune Date X Female MC]

2. EVENT: BE MY VALENTINE [hosted by @xxsycamore and @chaosangel767]: NOT A VALENTINE'S DAY TO REMEMBER [Mitsuhide Akechi X Female MC]

3. EVENT: SPRING BOUQUET CONTENT CREATION CHALLENGE [hosted by @atelier-maroron]: A TALE OF A FOX AND A RABBIT [Mitsuhide Akechi X Female MC]

𝙸𝚔𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎

N/A

𝚃𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚜

1. EVENT: BE MY VALENTINE [hosted by @xxsycamore and @chaosangel767]: A SURPRISE PROPOSAL [Artem Wing X Female MC]

𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜

1. MY FIRST POST ON TUMBLR: A KENSHIN UESUGI EDIT

2. PICREW TAG GAME!

List five things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last ten people who reblogged something from you. Spread the positivity ✨💛🌻

Hello! Thank you for sending!

Five things that make me happy:

Books

Flowers

Shiny things

Art supplies

Journals

Hi Violettduchess!!!!!!!! Just saw your blog!!!! Wow you're amazing!!!! I really hope you're having a lovely day today!!!

I was wondering if your requests are still open?

If not then please ignore and I'm very sorry!

I was hoping to perhaps request a fanfic of Faust from ikevamp! I've always wanted to request something about him!!!

I saw prompt 20 of the touches ask game which is bandaging/stitching up a wound! And I'd really love to see Faust do that for the reader if that's ok!!!!

But if that's annoying or difficult to do at the moment I completely understand!

And mostly I just wanted to come say hi!!! And say that you're amazing!!!

Hugs!!!

A/N: Thank you for the request @mcofthemansion!! I love Faust but this was my first time writing him! What a treat. I know this prompt usually takes you into fluff territory but this one took a bit of a different direction. I hope you like it anyway! 💜

TW: stitches/ needles

Angst with a dash of spice

Word count: 1518

The last thing you remember is the world upending itself. One minute, you were practically being lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the carriage. Rain was falling as steadily as a heartbeat against the roof. You felt safe and sleepy, a babe in its mother’s womb. 

The next thing you knew the entire carriage exploded with light. The horses pulling the carriage screamed in terror. And you tumbled into blackness.

…

Consciousness returns, insistently tugging at the curtain of darkness in your mind, yanking at it until you feel your eyes flutter open.

“You’re awake.” An accented voice. The smell of disinfectant. Mechanical humming. You try to focus on where any of these things are coming from, but it feels like a train is roaring through your head, its blindingly white headlight filling your vision.

“Nee,” the voice chides sharply and you feel strong hands pressing you back. Apparently you had been lying down. “Do not attempt to sit up. You will only injure yourself further.”

Pain and frustration leave your lips in the form of a heavy groan. You keep your eyes closed for a moment, willing the roaring to subside, the train to stop rumbling, the world to stop wobbling. You feel a large hand reach behind your head, helping you lift yourself slightly. It’s strength gives you a sense of comfort, of stillness. A glass is pressed to your lips.

“Drink.” It is a command, authority deeply embedded in a voice so rich it soothes. You part your lips and do as it says. Cold water fills your mouth and you swallow gratefully. You reach up to take the glass, to drink more of it but it is cruelly moved away.

“No. Enough.”

You attempt opening your eyes again. This time it doesn’t send you reeling. Slowly your eyesight adjusts, the world coming into focus, like when corrective lenses restore the world to faulty eyes. Speaking of eyes…you find yourself staring into a pair as green and sharp as broken pieces of sea glass. A tremor runs through you and you aren’t sure if it's from the accident or that viridian gaze.

“What happened?” Your voice feels sticky in your throat and your head is still pulsing. The man is seated on a stool by your side as you lay on some kind of examination table.  One sweeping glance around the room tells you that you’re in some kind of laboratory. You turn back to him. “Are you a doctor?”

He regards you a moment, then stands without answering. You take in his dark clothing, watch the movement of his broad shoulders as he prepares something at a counter. When he turns, he holds a metal basin with a cutting needle and thread. He moves back to his stool by your side, setting the basin down on the small stand by the head of the examination table.

“You were in a carriage accident.” His voice is smooth like polished brass. “Lightning spooked the horses. Unfortunately they panicked and ran right off the road into a ditch. You’re lucky I found you.” His words are crisp and short, relaying information and nothing else.

The news is too much for your addled mind to take in all at once. “W-what?” You start to push yourself up, panic rising like bile in your throat. The room begins to sway and again, his strong hands catch you, steady you. 

“Lie still. You have a head wound. It is foolish to attempt moving until I have closed it.” His voice is authority laced with displeasure as he again forces you back down. You try to collect your thoughts as he threads his needle.

“What happened to the driver?” The doctor, or at least you assume he is one, leans down, his fingers brushing your hair away from the cut on your forehead. His touch is cool, distant, as if he willed all warmth and comfort out of his hand the moment it made contact with you. 

“Be still,” he snaps as he leans closer. His face is now close enough that you can see just how green his eyes are, forests fringed by guardians of dark lashes. The lines of his face are almost aristocratic, high cheekbones,  sharp chin. He smells faintly of rubbing alcohol and valerian root. You can’t help but wince as the needle begins its work. But his hands are steady and after a moment, the stinging ebbs. In less time than you thought, he is finished. He leans back, placing the needle in the metal basin before reaching down again to hold your hair back and examine his work. His hand on your skin feels cool. An odd sense of relief fills you as his hand lingers, sharp eyes reviewing his stitching.

“Sehr gut,” he mutters more to himself than you. 

“Doctor….?”

“Faust.” 

“Dr. Faust, how is the driver?”

He stands up, movements abrupt and brisk. “He was killed. His neck broken in the fall.”

You inhale sharply. You can still see the driver’s kind smile, his white beard and blue eyes, framed by deep wrinkles as he waited for you outside the concert hall. You had been at one of Mozart’s concerts and the evening had run late. Much to your chagrin, it was then made even later by your being roped into a conversation with a very drunk, very insistent red-headed baroness. The driver had assured Comte he would get you back to the mansion safely before the storm arrived. 

You lower your head, heavy with sorrow, at the idea that the compassionate man with eyes like summer had died alone, in the dark, so suddenly.

Fingers suddenly grasp your chin and force you to look upwards. The doctor is looking down at you, his expression puzzled.

“Why are you crying? Did you know this man?”

A tear slides down your cheek, over Faust’s fingers. He doesn’t move them. If anything they tighten their grasp on you.

“No…I didn’t know him well. But he was a person. And he didn’t deserve to die.”

Faust is watching you, those hemlock eyes of his probing, looking for a way in. Like he would love nothing more than to break you into pieces and examine each one.

“Everyone dies. It’s not a matter of merit.”

You blink, unable to stop the tears. He keeps a hold on your face, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to let him watch you cry. His fingers are now damp with your heartache.

“But to die like that….without family? In the dark? Poor man….he was doing me a favor, staying so late. I…I can’t help but feel responsible.”

If you expect empathy or comfort, you are in the wrong company. What you get instead is a loud scoff from his sculpted lips.

“People rarely die in comfort. And everyone dies alone.” His words are curt, but there is something in them, a heaviness born of personal experience, a weight that pulls on your heart.

“You must have a lot of experience with death.” His eyes flash, the blinding glare of a lighthouse spotlight rotating into your field of vision. His fingertips press into your jaw as if to stabilize himself. More words spill out of you, a haphazard attempt at course-correcting.  “I mean, with you being a doctor and everything.”

Faust runs his poison-ivy gaze over you and you burn as if touching the real thing. His hand is still holding your face when he leans down, his face now very close to yours. His fingers loosen their grip, become cloying and gentle as they trace over the line of your jaw. They skim the planes of your cheeks, still damp with grief, until they finally reach the corner of your eyes. His thumbs wipe away the tears on the verge of falling. One hand tilts, cupping your face, holding it in his palm. The other travels back down, thumb boldly running over the curve of your lips. Your breath is a wisp, small and light, fluttering inside your chest. You hold it inside, afraid if you move, he’ll stop. Afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t.

“You must taste divine,” he murmurs. 

At his words, you instinctively jerk away and the moment breaks like cobwebs in a strong wind. His hands leave your face and he steps back, his mask of indifference briskly back in place.

“Another carriage is waiting outside to return you home. The storm has passed and your injury is mended.” He walks away from you, back turned, busying himself in front of several vials and glass tubing.

You push yourself off the examination table, your emotions a swinging pendulum between never wanting to see him again and inexplicably wishing you could stay.

“Good night, Dr. Faust. And thank you.” When he doesn’t turn around or answer, you collect your things and make your way to the door. 

What you don’t see is the way he turns, his green-eyed gaze following you as you leave, then lingering on the closed door for a long, long time after you’re gone.

*

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelier-maroron @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks

Sorry to bother do you take still request for ikemen vampire and prince do you have any rules? Thank you Have a nice day :)

Hello!! You aren't bothering at all! Although I've taken a hiatus, I'll break it soon! I'm still taking requests for both ikevamp and ikepri (am currently working on a few asks!)

The only rules I have are: I don't write extremely abusive relationships (between the reader and the characters) and anything underage! Other than these, I accept everything!

Thank you very much for taking the time to ask!

I will soon make a new post with the rules and the Fandoms+characters i write for!

(Also, I hope you don't mind me following you! I remember reading your ikevamp fics without remembering the user😭They are amazing👀❤)

I wonder who my favorite ikepri character is

Blood and bright colors (+ full doodle page) under cut

Omghdhsj Chaya, this sounds so perfect👀

🌹👀

Thank you darling Nadia ❤❤

I promise I'll protect you." He had cupped her cheek that first night, knowing he was tricking her. To think she had so willingly trusted him.