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#Comte de Saint-Germain

3rdgymbros · 1 year

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The men in his mansion who accepted his offer:

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp comte #comte de saint-germain

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alby-rei · 2 years

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Moonlight Waltz (Comte x Reader)

a/n: My dear Chase, this may come as a surprise since it’s been so long since you sent me your request! I know you like some angst in your reads, so I hope it’s to your liking! I combined the original prompt with one from @xxsycamore’s and @chaosangel767‘s Valentine event prompts, which greatly inspired me to write this story.

Wordless “I love you” Prompts #15: Calming them down when they have a bad dream

+ Be My Valentine Feb 11 Prompt: Dancing with each other while no one is around

[Requested by]; @crystal13unny

[Characters]: You, Comte

[Word count]: ~800 words

[Tags]: established relationship, fluff, comfort, lil angsty Comte

~*~

The scratching sound of the fountain pen was le Comte’s only companion in his room, at the late hour he dedicated to responding to his letters. The stack beside him hailed from all sorts of connections he had made—some during the 19th century and some even older. The routine of it became a chore to him, but one that he intended to keep. Le Comte reminisced back to a time when receiving a letter was the highlight of his day, especially one that arrived from a friend abroad.

As time passed beyond the span of a human lifetime, his enthusiasm for letters from his human connections waned. More times than he would like to admit, letters from so-and-so friend would cease to arrive without explanation; or rather, without written explanation. How bittersweet it had become for him to wait for a response. The more he looked forward to it, the stronger was his grief when it never arrived. He would learn through experience that he would rather hold onto the hope of waiting than to seek the reason for their discontinued contact.

Ink dripped from le Comte’s pen, hovering frozen in place above the letter. He would need to restart, but he could not stand being in the room that had overfilled with his sorrowful thoughts. A change of scenery was in order.

You woke up in the middle of the night. Strange visions haunted your dreams and robbed you of the desire to go back to sleep. The silence in the halls indicated that most of the resident night owls retreated to their dens. With a drink in your hand and a book tucked under your arm, you pushed the lounge door open, surprised to find that the lights were already on. Peeking in, you caught sight of le Comte.

“Chérie. What brings you here so late in the evening?”

The head of the mansion sat relaxed into the cushions of the armchair, accompanied by a stack of letters on the coffee table in front of him. You sat across from him, setting your drink on the table a safe distance away from those important-looking letters he’s got.

“I could ask you the same,” you replied. “Looks like we had the same idea to do some nightly reading. What have you got there?”

“This is, hm…”

He pursed his lips as he looked back at the letter in his hand. There was a sad glint in his eyes, the way one looks at an old photograph in nostalgia.

He continued, “Oh, this collection contains all sorts of things; invitations, well wishes, and a few marriage proposals that were meant for Leonardo, but alas. They end up in my hands, all the same.”

“Sounds like a chore,” you remarked.

“For many people, that would be the case. But truly it makes me happy to receive news from my friends. But enough about me, what about you, dear? Are you alright?” Le Comte pushed the stack aside to give you his full attention.

You thought back to the nightmare that led you here. Much of your memory was blurry at best by now, which was probably a good thing.

“I woke up from a bad dream. I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I decided to find myself an evening distraction.”

You held up the book you picked up from the library. Comte’s eyes shone with recognition, and he shared with you how and where he had acquired it. He confessed that he hadn’t read it yet and asked if you would do him the honor of reading to him. You laughed sheepishly, not knowing what to say. Then, he walked towards the gramophone beside your couch.

“Would you care for a dance? It’s been so long since we’ve last danced together.”

“Right here? Won’t the music wake everyone up?” you asked.

“Rest assured that it will not,” he replied.

Soft music streamed into the room, just loud enough to be heard in the lounge. Neither of you were particularly dressed for the occasion—barefoot and clad in nightwear fit for sleep. But he didn’t care about that when he extended his hand to you. Likewise, you accepted his hand with a curtsy.

Away from the furniture, the two of you swayed with the melody. His eyes sparkled with fondness for you the entire time, his past melancholies forgotten. Images of you in various dresses danced across his mind’s eye. Neither of you tired of dancing, even as the early rays of the morning slowly made their way through the tall windows.

Le Comte may not be able to put to rest his weary mind when it comes to his past, but he knows that he can look forward to a brighter future with you by his side.

#ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire comte #comte de saint-germain #ikemen vampire #ikevamp fanfic #comte x reader #comte x you #comte x mc #alby one-shots

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lynnkaz · 18 days

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On April 15 I’ve sent my friend this meme as a perfect description of Olivier. Yesterday I found vol 11 omake with Sister Olivier, and then my hand just slipped

Also now I have some Chasseurs memes (and, apparently, a gift of prophecy) (also the first time I draw Charles is for office meme)

Bonus inspired by second omake: Machina and Teacher being Machina and Teacher

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namine-somebodies-nobody · 3 months

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[Monthly banquet]

Dazai: Synonyms are weird because if you invite someone to your cottage in the forest, that just sounds nice and cozy, but if I invite you to my cabin in the woods, you're going to die.

Arthur: My favorite is explaining the difference between a booty call and a butt dial.

Shakespeare: It's called connotations.

Arthur: *nodding* How about this one...

Arthur: Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.

Arthur: *looks towards Comte, smirking* Sorry, Daddy, I've been naughty.

Comte: *sighs* All language has now been banned from the dinner table.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp osamu dazai #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp arthur conan doyle #ikevamp comte #ikevamp comte de saint germain #ikevamp incorrect quotes

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ana-thedaydreamer · 7 months

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We still travel through time， but in a different universe 😆

亞伯（Abel) and 李奧納多 (Leonardo)

#cybird ikemen #otome game #cybird #ikevamp #fanart #ikemen vampire #ikemen leonardo #leonardodavinci #ikemen comte #le comte de saint germain #anadreamart #ana thedaydreamer

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nuttytani · 4 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.

#tani writes!!#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #comte de saint germain #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp comte x reader #ikevamp headcanons #comte x reader

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neversetyoufree · 5 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.

#this was just gonna be a post about how it's interesting that names are the vehicle through which dham discrimination has been emphasized #and then I thought of teacher when I was thinking of counter examples #and then this hit me like a bus #if power comes from knowing someone's true name. and safety comes from hiding it #and calling someone what they want to be called/calling them their name is a sign of respect #teacher's found a way to ensure he gets all the safety AND all the respect #(if only out of fear)#also I realize me calling him teacher through this whole post might be a little ironic #but at this point it's just automatic #vnc #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vnc spoilers #vnc 62 #<<not super directly. but with the dham name thing #english major hours #teacher my beloathed #comte de Saint Germain #the shapeless one

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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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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 ❤️❤️❤️

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

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….

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.

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.”

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.

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

#ikemen series #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #comte de saint germain #ikemen comte #comte x reader #tutor au #modern au #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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natimiles · 2 months

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