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#comte de saint germain
neversetyoufree · 4 months
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God it just hit me.
Names are power in VnC. We call the piece of the world formula that defines a vampire their "true name." Learning and altering a vampire's true name gives you near-absolute power over them. Vanitas hides his old name as part of his "Vanitas" persona—a defense mechanism to hide his vulnerable self.
And names are an axis of discrimination too. The main way we've been examining discrimination against the dhampirs is through the lens of vampires refusing to call them by their names. And Luna, the perennial outsider, seems not to have been given a real name. They certainly didn't have a name that they liked or identified with for most of their life.
So with all that context, even more than it might be in another series, Teacher's whole name shtick becomes such an insane power move. He changes his name constantly and will brutally punish anyone that gets it wrong. Nobody has the power that would come from knowing whatever his first/true name was. He has the physical and social power to punish and correct anyone that doesn't call him what he wants to be called. He is in complete control of how people address him, or at least close to complete control, which is such a big deal within this story.
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weird-profiterole · 1 year
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Since I'm currently at Rouen, I feel like it's the right opportunity to share you those,
When le Comte saved Jean from the stake, the 30th May 1431 at Rouen,
Don't repost, only reblog
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chevlvrs · 8 days
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In honor of Leonardos birthday
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violettduchess · 2 months
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Hello Vi! I have a request for you, only if it inspires
Tutor AU! With one or more of your fave suitors tutoring you for your upcoming exams;
Leonardo, Comte, Gilbert, Leon, Silvio and Clavis!
I'd love to see what you come up with ❤️❤️❤️
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A/N: I had a very immediate idea for Comte so I went with him for this request!
Comte x Reader, Tutor AU/ Modern AU
WC: ~1.9k
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The library looms large as you hurry up the wide, slate-colored steps under a sky exhaling its last breath of evening color. The stars are slowly blinking into existence, determined to shine before they are hidden behind the slow-moving blanket of clouds heading their way. You would pause to enjoy the ephemeral moment when dusk ebbs into night.....
Except Comte is inside, waiting for you.
You’re still not sure how it’s come to this. Comte as your tutor. Your mind travels back several weeks….
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Several weeks ago:
One minute you're balancing an armful of books along with your backpack and several bags of uneven groceries that are seriously testing your stubborn decision to do it all in ONE trip. The next, however, everything is falling onto the polished grey tile floor of your building’s lobby, the objects seeming to leap like lemmings out of your arms. As you stand there, staring defeatedly at the scattered mess, lost in the gravity of your poor decision, the elevator doors you were originally trying to reach slide open and like the pearly gates unveiling an angel, Comte de St Germain steps out, in the process of buttoning his elegant camel-colored coat with one hand.
Before you can say a word, he takes in your forlorn expression, the embarrassing pile of your things at your feet, and he is by your side, kneeling, helping you gather up your stray apples and the mini-boxes of cereal you are probably way too old for but love anyway. Your cheeks flush as you stammer a thank you. 
You know him more by reputation than actual acquaintance. He lives in the sprawling penthouse at the apex of your building, the crowning glory of the gothic structure, and is usually spoken about in whispers and sighs by the other residents:
“Comte? He’s a museum director downtown.”
“I hear he is a world-famous antique dealer who has made millions.”
“He’s gotta be a tech-millionaire with all that dough.”
“Well I know someone who knows someone who swears he’s a member of the royal family of some tiny European country.”
“I don’t care what he does. He’s got to be loaded to live up there.”
“I hear he’s never been married.”
“My cousin’s best friend’s neighbor's babysitter says he’s divorced from someone super famous.”
“You know what he is? I'll tell ya. Drop dead gorgeous.”
This mysterious man with eyes the color of desert sands is on the ground in his expensive suit and coat, helping you gather your plebeian things and oh, do you want to melt into the floor and disappear.
Until……
He stops, holding one of the books you had been juggling, a surprised expression crossing his classically beautiful face.
“‘The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’ by Edward Gibbon. Fourth edition.” He seems impressed, curiosity flaring to life in the mesmerizing gold of his eyes.
And you take that lifeline, words stumbling over themselves across the knot of your tied tongue as you explain you are a graduate student, majoring in history, mentally preparing yourself for the avalanche of final exams heading your way.
And how he smiles, his long fingers tracing the embossed lettering along the spine of your book, borrowed from the local library. Entranced by the movement, you can't look away from his hand, reverence hushing his voice as he explains how he works for a museum (Points to the woman in Apartment 15B for getting that one), how he also studied history.
And then one thing leads to another and your rambling about the stress of your exams and crunch for time has evolved into Comte St. Germain, the mysterious Bruce Wayne of your building, offering to tutor you.
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The Present:
And now here you stand, the night of your final session, heart prowling, turning circles in your chest like an unruly feline.
Taking a steadying breath, you continue up the steps and head inside, enjoying the sound of your heeled boots across the polished wooden floor. Past towering shelves filled with books you go until you reach the narrow iron staircase in the back, the one that spirals upwards to the second floor. Your feet follow the path they have gotten used to over the last few weeks, through the racks, down a narrow gangway until you reach the small cluster of tables at the western corner of the library, the ones underneath the imposing arched window that allows you a clear view of the darkening sky and the pale orange glow of the streetlamp across the street.
Comte looks up from the book he has been reading and offers you a smile, at once familiar and exotic.
“Ah, there you are, chérie. Ready for our final session?”
Something inside you constricts at the thought that this is the last time you will be here with him like this, tucked away in the surprising intimacy of a large public library, listening to his honeyed voice as you discuss not only history, but also the mundane: what music he listens to when he goes on long drives, his favorite type of wine, the best tea for a rainy Sunday morning. And it isn't just his speaking….Comte listens. He really listens when you talk, when you ask questions, when you give an opinion. He rests his chin on his hand, head tilted ever so slightly, his entire attention focused on you, whether you are explaining the fine points of one of the many Treaties of Paris or doing your best to convince him that dipping your French fries in your milkshake really does make them taste better. 
With the glow of remembrance in your smile, you slide into the seat next to him, running your fingers along the soft grain of the elegant wooden chair as you settle in.
“Ready as I'll ever be,” you say, returning his smile while looking at the array of books he has spread out across the table. “Let’s do this.”
“Oui,” he says as his smile curves into a grin. “Tonight we’re focusing on art for your art history final. You already sent me the list of pieces your professor wants you to know for your exam so we can work our way through those.”
You breathe in, trying not to get distracted by the warm, earthy scent of his cologne.
“Professor Leonardo is great but it’s such a long list….” Your shoulders slump at the thought of tackling everything on it. And then you feel Comte’s hand there, on your forearm, warm even through the soft material of your blouse.
“Then let us begin.”
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He spends hours, guiding you through Girl with the Pearl Earring, The Birth of Venus, Las Meninas, and Water Lillies. You wander through the great masters like an enamored visitor in an enchanted garden, listening as Comte helps you to remember what you have learned about the paintings as well as unlocking secrets you have never heard before. He leads you through the design of the Colosseum, the Parthenon, Hagia Sofia, Notre Dame, his voice a golden thread that spins you across the architectural wonders. And now, in your final hour of study, he opens the book of sculptures. You visit Rodin’s Thinker, Michelangelo’s David, the Venus de Milo. And finally, you come to the last sculpture on your list: Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss by Antonio Canova.
“Ah…” He pulls the book closer, the photograph of the sculpture filling the page. “This….is a masterpiece of….” He glances over at you, brow lifted as he waits for the answer.
“Neoclassicism…but with strong elements of the Romantic, given the subject matter.”
“Bien joué.” The praise falls from his lips softly, slides over you like melting wax, sends a jolt of heat across your skin. He doesn’t seem to notice as he flattens down the pages with both hands, his bright eyes roaming over the image.
“So you know the story of Cupid and Psyche?”
You try to remember what Professor Leonardo explained in class when he had introduced the sculpture. “She opened a forbidden jar and was put to sleep as punishment?” 
Comte nods. “Venus forbid Psyche from opening the jar. It supposedly held Divine Beauty. Psyche could not resist temptation and instead of beauty, she was overcome by the Sleep of Innermost Darkness.” He grins slowly. “Very dramatic. Cupid sees his lover unconscious and pricks her with an arrow, awakening her. This sculpture captures that moment.”
Outside the library window, the streetlamp glows a soft orange. A light rain is now falling, making the light seem as if it is dancing, shimmering against the night.
“Just look at the lines,” he murmurs. He takes his index finger and slowly begins tracing the line of Psyche’s body. It follows the curve of her torso as she stretches up towards Cupid. “Her arms reach back for him.”
You lean in, closer to Comte, watching the path his finger makes along the glossy page. Your heart is suddenly hammering a woodpecker’s song against your breastbone.
“Her hands are in her lover’s hair, the gesture so familiar, so loving.” He traces down the line of Psyche's neck. “And here….she is bent back to him, so exposed and vulnerable, tilting to look up into his face. What do you see there?”
His voice winds itself around you, wrapping you in golden vines of warmth and want. You need a moment to find your own. When you do, it is only capable of expressing itself in a breathless whisper.
“Tenderness. Joy.”
He nods slowly, trailing his finger down Cupid’s strong arm. “And what do you see in him?”
Your thoughts are bright butterflies, sparks that fly up into the haze of your mind and explode in little pinpricks of light. Blinking, trying to control the overwhelming wave of attraction that threatens to pull you under, you reach out and touch the same page, your fingers scant centimeters from his.
“He’s…..adoring. The way he holds her head, his fingers touching her face. And he’s smiling at her, affectionately. Openly.” Your gaze drops down to where Comte’s finger points to Cupid’s left arm. You clear your throat and continue. “He covers her breasts with his arm, shielding her from the viewer, and yet that one hand holds her in a way that’s….it’s so intimate. It feels somehow more intimate than if we would see her bare.” Your voice is a whisper, soft and woven through with delicate wisps of yearning. “He touches her as if he’s done it a hundred times and still revels in it…..” You trail off, pressing your lips together, unable to go on.
Comte’s fingers brush against yours and you turn your head, startled to find that your faces are so very close. Outside the rain gently rolls down the massive glass window. The streetlamp flickers. Comte’s gaze is a steady golden sun.
“He adores her,” he murmurs, his voice rolling through you. You feel his fingers move, covering yours on the page. 
“She marvels at him,” you answer quietly, your fingers curling around his in response.
He leans down ever so slightly, his mouth so close you can feel the warmth of his words on your lips. “He dreams of her……” 
“.....and he is what makes her waking sublime…” The words are hardly more than the breaths between heartbeats.
His mouth brushes faintly against yours, the softest touch, a silken feather, a velvet caress.
“....He wants nothing more…..” His hand tightens around yours, his chest rising and falling with the contained power of his emotion. “...than to kiss her….”
“He should,” you say, soft as a nightingale welcoming a summer evening. "He should kiss her."
And he does, pressing his lips against yours as the wave that has been looming ever closer pours down upon you both. One hand rises, gripping the nape of your neck with tender ardor. You plunge your free hand into the soft wilderness of his tawny hair, opening your mouth to taste him.
Your other hand? It is still tightly holding onto his, a promise you won’t let go.
An echo of Cupid and his beloved Psyche.
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Pysche Revived by Cupid's Kiss- Antonio Canova, 1793
Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @fang-and-feather @bubblexly @kiki-tties
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lucyw260 · 7 months
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Oh god Comte😂😂
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ikevamp-twitter · 10 months
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nuttytani · 3 months
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random comte headcanons
he likes it when you're the one who initiates physical affection like hugs, hand holding and kisses. it makes him melt like icecream on a hot day, it turns him into a giddy teenager experiencing love all over again.
he won't ever admit it but comte enjoys it when you play with his hair. lightly scratching his scalp with your dull nails and massaging the area behind his ears, it makes him sleepy.
comte thinks that your eyes are the most captivating thing about you, they show so many emotions! and your eyelashes, the way they frame your eyes so perfectly- which is why you'll always find him giving your eyelids a peck every now and then.
whenever he sees you wear his gifts, he feels joy. because that means you liked it enough. sure, comte might love showering you with gifts, that's just a habit he has acquired over the years and it's his way of showing love. but nothing tops when you actually put his gifts to use.
comte is the type of person who will always have cookies and biscuits on the side while he drinks tea.
he wears glasses while reading newspaper, even though he has perfect vision. comte just wants to feel a bit human, besides, you always compliment him when he wears those glasses.
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aquagirl1978 · 4 months
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Auld Lang Syne - Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader (Ikemen Vampire)
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A/N: Ny last fic of 2023 - Happy New Year's Eve! Day 6 of my 12 Days of Christmas. Also part of my New Year, New Celebration follower celebration.
Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader
Prompt: kiss on the hand
Word Count: 353
Tags: fluff with the tiniest hint of spice at the end
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“You look absolutely ravishing tonight.”
Comte was standing next to the carriage, his hand extended to you as he waited for you to make your way down the mansion steps.
You were alight with excitement as you held the hem of your new ball gown, careful not to trip in your new shoes. You paused as you slipped your gloved hand into his; his dazzling smile hid the hedonist lurking underneath the elegant black tuxedo.
“After you, ma chérie,” he said. Lifting your hand to his lips, he brushed a chaste kiss across your knuckles. Your cheeks flushed with warmth as he flicked his eyes up, his golden gaze burning with unbridled desire. 
It was cozy in the carriage when Comte slid into the seat next to you. With your bodies pressed together, the heat from his body quickly radiated to yours. When he placed his hand on your knee, flames of passion ignited in your core.
“I thought we'd start the celebrations early.” Comte reached for the bottle of champagne that was chilling in a bucket of ice on the seats across you. He opened the bottle with a loud pop, causing you to giggle as the champagne bubbled from the top of the bottle. Comte quickly filled two glasses, and handed one to you.
“Bonne année, ma chérie,” he whispered. 
“Happy New Year,” you whispered back as you clicked glasses. The champagne was light and sweet on your tongue. However, the cool liquid trickling down your throat did nothing to cool off your body.
By the time your glasses were drained, you had arrived at your destination.
“We're a bit early,” Comte commented as he took a peek outside. After shutting the curtains closed, he leaned his face dangerously close to yours, his large hand slowly sliding up your thigh.
He dipped his face a little closer, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing kiss. He pulled away, only a millimeter or two away – just enough to tempt you to lean in and kiss him. 
“I think we have a few minutes to kill before we have to go in.”
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Tagging: @redheadkittys @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @crypticbibliophile @yarnnerdally @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea @randonauticrap @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @nightghoul381
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comoront · 6 months
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dracula faustina & lion tamer germain 🎃
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lichtluv · 5 months
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∘₊✧─────── ˟*̥✧*̥˟───────✧₊∘
𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐩
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𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞...
𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥.
∘₊✧─────── ˟*̥✧*̥˟───────✧₊∘
↬𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙩𝙚 𝙙𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙗𝙤𝙖𝙧𝙙.
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tayovampr · 8 months
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How Gossip Spreads Through The Mansion.
ikemen vampire headcannons
( warnings? ) none. ( notes? ) THIS HEADCANNON CONTAINS MY OC. just a few thoughts about how these vampires are extremely nosy and love to spread false information unknowingly :0
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It all begins in the kitchen. As the coffee brews for the mansions residents, our lovely helpers: Sebastian, Mitsuki (Y/n) and Temi seem to be cooking up some trouble…
Mitsuki would unintentionally reveal something that happened thorough out the day. Maybe it was something she overheard while shopping, on the balcony or watching Napoleon and Jean spar. She always tells Sebastian and Temi what she hears about the residents—since Sebastian has that interesting hobby of his.
“Hey Sebastian, Temi?” Mitsuki calls out to the two as they washed the dishes. Sebastian was scrubbing, Temi was rinsing, and Mitsuki was drying and polishing.
The two turned their heads to look at their friend, wondering what was the matter.
“I was in Comte room earlier helping him open up some letters, and that’s when I came across this one letter. Now mind you, it was scented, had a very prestigious emblem on the wax and included a dried rose in it.” Mitsuki began.
“Le Comte gets letters like that all the time.” Sebastian responded. “Was there something special about it?”
“Well, it clearly came from a girl. And when Comte read it, he was so happy! I mean I never saw him like this before, but it makes me think if he has a secret lover—” Before Mitsuki could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by Temi, who had accidentally dropped a plate into the sink, causing the water to splash up at her.
“Secret lover?!” She exclaimed in disbelief. “What makes it worse is that it’s believable…”
“What if she’s a vampire bombshell who was childhood friends with him and lives in a gothic castle lavished in red and riches? I can’t compete in that race…” Temi grumbled afterwards. Sebastian however looked at the two thoughtfully.
“Well, we’ll do no good sitting here pondering. At dinner let’s go ask Le Comte ourselves.”
Most of the times, it’s something tame. No big deal, and not needing of attention. But as always, if your trying to keep a secret in a mansion full of nosy vampires with supersonic hearing—you better believe this game of telephone will spiral out of control.
Isaac, surprisingly, is the main catalyst for this disaster. Jean coming in a close second. ( I mean, you can see it in some events when it’s almost always these two mishearing something (*´▽`*) )
But it would always be unintentional! Isaac would just walk past an open door and when he heard something shocking, he couldn’t help to stop and get a closer ear. Jean on the other hand wouldn’t stop. He would take the bits and pieces he heard and formulate them in his mind, completing the story for himself.
‘Comte has a lover?’ Isaac thought to himself as he listened in to the conversation. ‘Why has he been hiding it from us all this time? Well—I could understand. I hope he introduces us to her…’
‘That rascal!’ Jean grit his teeth when he heard the news. Although heard would be a stretch. ‘Playing with Temi and Mitsuki’s heart even though he has a women of his own. I will get him to confess…’
And now we have three stories. The truth, an assumption, and a incomplete statement. Which one will travel throughout the mansion quicker?
Jean obviously tells Napoleon and Mozart. It slips out during their sparring lessons, and he tells Mozart on a whim—since they’re friends.
“Wait so—Comte is married?” Napoleon exclaims, as he puts his sword back into its hilt. Jean nods, sitting down of the ground to catch his breathe.
“He has refused to tell us about his secret lover for this long. It makes you wonder what else he has been keeping from us…” Napoleon loosely claims, wiping the sweat that adorned his forehead.
Jean however was thinking in his head, that he was right all along not to trust him. “That shady man…”
With Mozart, he looked a bit confused. “There is just no way Comte is married Jean, did he tell you himself?”
Then for Isaac, the words accidentally slip when he was getting teased by Arthur and Dazai. Of course, these were the worse people to tell out of everyone in the mansion.
Arthur applauded Comte on his fruitfulness. Claiming that it takes skill to hid a lover for so long. While Dazai takes this information with interest. It just so happened when he was scaling the windows, he overheard Mozart and Jean’s discussion.
For Dazai, he didn’t really believe this. As he saw in the music room, Jean wasn’t sure who he heard this information from. But being chaotic as Dazai is, he naturally wanted to be included in the fun. So he often changes up the story.
“How sly of Comte, it seems that he has not only hid his secret wife, but the fact that she will be moving in to live with us soon. Isn’t that great Ai-kun? Lovers reunited at last.” With these words Dazai left, not daring to explain anything.
“Move in with us? By Jove, you would think that old man would tell us before making the decision?” Arthur comments with a sigh.
Dazai doesn’t tell anyone else after that. He is more interested in seeing how this spreads and which one would reach Comte’s ear first. Arthur however tells his best buddy Theo. Theo tells Vincent and Vincent tells Shakespeare. By now the rumor has morphed into something unbelievable.
“Comte is a pathological liar who is hiding his wife from the residents and is planning to make her move in with them because she is expecting soon.” Don’t ask how.
Leonardo hears about this from Temi, who asks if Comte had a lover. Leonardo laughs and answers not anymore—wondering why she was asking.
“Are ya worried about “Comte’s” love life cara mia?” Leonardo jokingly asks.
Although he was joking in that moment, it just confirmed his suspicions that something was spreading in the mansion. Throughout the whole day Leonardo was hearing bits and pieces of a story that including Comte—so it was time he saw the truth for himself.
When he gets to Comte’s room he wastes no time to ask him about it.
“Have you just been in your room all day? Looks like you don’t know what’s happening outside.” Comte looks up from the papers he was sorting at Leonardo, a confused look on his eyes.
“Outside?” He asks, to which Leonardo takes out a cigarillo and begins to light it.
“Yeah…something about you being a compulsive liar who is hiding his pregnant wife from us—it gets a bit tricky because half are saying she’s gonna move in with us, and half are saying your gonna move in with her.”
Comte is just astounded. He just stares blankly at Leonardo…an awkward laugh sounding from his throat. “…Really?” Is all he could muster, as Leonardo begins to laugh.
“See I knew it wasn’t true. But you know might as well confirm before I do damage control right?”
Comte was still shocked. After all he’s done from the residents, was this how easy it was for their views to change—and when did he get a pregnant wife?
“For these being the great men I choose to revive…I wonder how great their intuition really is…” Comte mumbles to himself.
“Well, let’s go straight if things out. I’m fairly certain I know who started this.” Leonardo claims, laughing to himself. “I want to know where the story changed too.”
The residents were all gathered for dinner, the main goal being to clear up the misconceptions. Each person was made to go around and tell what they heard and what they believed, and from there they traced it down to Mitsuki, Isaac and Jean.
Mitsuki explains her thinking to Comte, I’m which he clarifies that he has no secret lover and that the letter was just from an old friend he saved years ago.
Everyone breathes out a sigh of relief. It looked like none of them were ready for a new arrival. And some, specifically Mozart, wasn’t particularly fond on a baby crying and running around…
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grelleswife · 11 months
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lorei-writes · 9 months
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Current brainrot: Comte oh so lovingly helping you into the corset, his fingers dexterously pulling at the laces to tighten them just enough, his hair brushing against the back of your neck as his lips linger over it for just a second too long for it to be chaste. His fangs lightly scrape against your skin before he draws away to fetch your blouse.
He knows you could do it yourself. However, it is a part of his adoration to tend to you... And you may need this moment to calm your heart, pink blush creeping up the tips of your ears.
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azulashengrottospiano · 5 months
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Hey aubs <3
Saw the ikevamp reqs and i keep thinking about how germain was my favorite, but back when i played his route wasn't even out (sadge) so i was thinking if you could do me a solid* (you always do and are such an amazing author fr fr <3)
So i was thinking, can you do me frienemies-to-lovers germain and gn! vampire "hunter"! reader? You can make it whatever prompt you feel like <3
HAVE A GOOD DAYYYY <3
*it's ABSOLUTELY no pressure, you can absolutely delete this req if you don't wanna do it
SUMMARY: you run into comte (or rather, he runs into you) after you kill a vampire.
WARNINGS: none!!! :D
COMMENTS: UM THIS ISNT QUITE ENEMIES TO LOVERS BUT . I THINK IT TURNED OUT OKAY ^^; not beta read because im lazy if theres typos DONT READ THEM THEYRE NOT THERE
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Your vision goes blurry as you’re thrown against the wall of a dingy alleyway, sharp nails digging into your skin. A loud hiss and hot breath against your neck make your heart jump in your throat. Grasping at your wooden stake, you smack the back of it against the vampire’s head, sending them reeling. Taking the chance, you kick them up against the opposite wall and drive your stake through their hand.
Their scream of pain smells like blood and flesh.
You aim a well-placed kick at their head, knocking them to the concrete, and they still. The sickening crack of their skull meeting the pavement gains no reaction from you.
You reach down, yanking the wooden stake out from their hand. They don’t move.
You raise it over your head and bring it down, stabbing straight through their chest.
A raspy breath escapes the body as their muscles twitch, and they fall still once again.
“I see you’re out and about again, mon chérie.”
You don’t even acknowledge the familiar voice as you stare down at your most recent kill. Despite what people in the business say, you know you’ll never quite get used to this.
Not killing the vampires, and certainly not the vampire that’s taken to following you around on nights like these.
His name is Comte de Saint Germain, and the tension between you two has always been palpable.
“Indeed I am.” you finally respond, turning to face his towering silhouette. It’s at times like these when you’re fully aware that he is, indeed, a vampire, despite what the upper class of France may believe.
It’s not that you’re wary of him because he’s the type of beast you hunt.
You’re wary of him because he hasn’t stopped you yet.
“I’m assuming that poor soul attacked an innocent.” he mused, stepping closer to you in order to examine the body.
“They did.” you answer curtly.
Comte hums. He kneels next to the body and murmurs something under his breath.
You reach for your stake.
“There’s no need for that.” he turns back to you as if sensing your movement smiling up at you.
The smile is tense. Fake. Meant to make you let down your guard.
You grip your stake harder.
Comte stands up, not a single speck of blood or dust on his clothing. He’s facing you, the smile on his face still plastered across his lips.
“You should consider taking a more peaceful approach next time. You never know what the vampire you kill could be suffering from.” Comte says, and although his voice is soft there’s a steely edge to it.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” you reply coldly, eyes narrowing as you wait for the slightest movement.
He makes no move towards you. Instead, he chuckles and disappears into the night, and you’re left in the alleyway with blood-soaked clothing and a racing heart.
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xx-lemon-drop-xx · 10 months
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Warnings: Likely incorrect french, short fic, Female reader on period.
Request: No.
Words: 461.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
"Ma Chérie?"
Comte ignored the large waft of blood that hit his nose the moment he opened the door to your shared room, quietly stepping in and closing it behind him. The floorboards creaked under the shuffling of his shoes as he slid them off, seeing you curled up in bed in a tired heap of pain and misery.
"Oh dearest," He sighed out, sitting down on the bed next to you. Without saying a word you rolled over and curved around him, face buried in his lap. "Have the cramps started up again?"
"Yes." Your answer was muffled against his pantleg, though he heard it all the same. Brushing his fingers through your hair you groaned out, relaxing under his touch as he gently scratched your scalp.
"I've brought you hot cocoa. Sebastion made it was a tad bit more chocolate. Just in case you where craving something sweet."
Comte helped you sit up, bringing the warm cup he'd set on the nightstand moments ago to you. Holding the cup with a firm hand you raised it to your lips, taking a long sip. Breathing out with a steady sigh you offered a smile.
"Thank you."
"No need to thank me. I'm only here to make you feel more at ease for the moment."
"You're too good for me."
"Nonsense. I treat you good because you deserve to be treated good."
Comte pressed a gentle kiss against your temple, walking around to the other side of the bed and carefully climbing in as not to spill the cup in your hands. He offered you an embrace with outstretched arms, pressing another kiss to the top of your head when you'd leaned into his arms.
Pulling you close his hands slipped down to massage your lower back and hips, making you sigh at the uplift of pain.
"Is that enjoyable? I hear women cramp here." Comte murmured, breath ghosting over your ear. His fingers kept moving, pressing into your hips to rub out some of the pain.
"Yes." Your words came out a steady sigh, "Very nice." You murmured, he chuckled against your neck, pressing soft kisses across your collarbone. You took another sip of the hot cocoa, comfortable as can be in his arms.
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
"I do not know, Chérie. I wonder what would have happened had you not have walked through that door."
His lips pressed against your cheek this time, his fingers coming up from your hips to pull some hair behind your ear before continuing to massage you.
You may have still been in pain, though with Comte the pain was just a bit more bearable.
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ikevamp-twitter · 1 year
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