bitemevanitas

[bitemevanitas]

Hello, may I request how Vanitas will as time passes react and become more comfortable with his s/o giving him a massage ? And when he is super comfortable, he's litterally a puddle in his partner's hands.

He said his shoulders were stiff. Which was no surprise given how often he was thrown around like a rag doll by vampiric creatures, and his horrible posture. What was a surprise was how he calmly sat in front of you and expected you to do something about it.

There was a time when Vanitas recoiled at your touch. The mere mention of it would send him flying across the room. Now, he almost seemed irritated you were making him wait.

Sliding up behind him you carefully place your hands on his shoulders. Gentle and slow. Like one might reach out to an animal that had recently been domesticated. You didn’t want to get bit again. You start to rub his shoulders, and Vanitas let his head fall forward. Exposing his neck, also previously unheard of, and your fingers rub at the connection of spine to skull.

Vanitas whimpered a little bit but stayed still. His shoulders finally release and relax. His whole body even, turning lax at your touch. It was nice to see him that way for a change. Vanitas was always so tense and edgy. It was nice to see him set that weight down for a while.

You continue a little longer before you ask, “better?” He gave a lazy sort of nod and you wrap your arms around him from behind and kiss his cheek. “I’m glad. You can ask me for this any time.” You’d be happy to give it.

[bitemevanitas]

NEW CHAPTER IN JULY‼️

[bitemevanitas]

VaniJeanne Masterlist 🎀

Nénuphar - Bard & Mermaid (Oneshot)

Somebody to Match Your Freak (Oneshot)

Pride and Prejudice AU (Oneshot in Acts)

Cooking Lesson (Oneshot)

VaniJeanne Appreciation Post (Headcanons)

𖦹 𝖭𝖾𝗐 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀

[bitemevanitas]

Various Characters Masterlist

What Type of Cryer Are They? (Headcanons)

Sneaking Them a Freaky Note (Headcanons)

Break-Up Heartbreak (Headcanons)

Des Lettres Qui Viennent Du Cœur (Valentine's Day Letter Headcanons)

Dearest Beloved (Fight Resolving Headcanons)

𖦹 𝖭𝖾𝗐 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀

[bitemevanitas]

Vanitas Masterlist 🧿

Sairir Le Jour (Vanitas x GN!Reader Headcanons)

The Hollow Where Stars Won't Reach (Vanitas + Platonic!Reader Oneshot)

Valse Au Clair de Lune pt.1 (Vanitas x F!Reader Oneshot)

Valse Au Clair de Lune pt.2 (Vanitas x F!Reader Oneshot)

Bisous Et Câlins Pour Toi (Vanitas x GN!Reader Headcanons)

Fear Tends to Be a Sixth Sense (Vanitas + Platonic!Reader Oneshot)

Un Romantique Dans L'âme (Vanitas x Vampire!GN!Reader Headcanons)

The Last Blue Moon (Vanitas Oneshot)

Des Yeux Hypnotisants (Vanitas x GN!Reader Oneshot)

Mon Doux Garçon (Vanitas x F!Reader Oneshot)

Enfant Embêtant (Vanitas x GN!Reader Oneshot)

Petite Pîqure (Vanitas x GN!Reader Oneshot)

A Gentle Interlude (Vanitas x GN!Reader Oneshot)

Essence du Cœur (Vanitas x GN!Vampire!Reader Oneshot)

Vanitas Étant Jalouse (Vanitas x GN!Reader Headcanons)

L'Enfile-Agiuilles (Vanitas x F!Seamstress!Reader Oneshot)

Larmes Bleues, Garçon Bleu (Vanitas x GN!Reader Headcanons)

Vanitas Being Called Petnames (Vanitas x GN!Reader Headcanons)

Fangs & Marks (Vanitas Headcanons)

The Tragic, Untimely Death of Vanitas (Vanitas Oneshot)

SFW Alphabet (Vanitas x GN!Reader Headcanons)

Petite Fée (Vanitas + F!Short!Reader)

Where The Plum Tree Sways (Vanitas Oneshot)

Amour Sans Fin (Vanitas x F!Reader Oneshot)

Étre Aimé (Vanitas x GN!Reader Oneshot)

Monsieur Fringant (Vanitas x F!Masculine!Reader Headcanons)

Votre Chaleur (Vanitas x F!Reader Oneshot)

Basic Relationship Headcanons (GN!Reader included)

Une Partie de Vous (Vanitas x F!Reader)

Jouyeux Anniversaire, Vanitas! (Birthday Special Poem)

Une Étrainte Sanglante (Vanitas x F!Reader Oneshot)

L'art de L'adoration (Vanitas x GN!Reader Oneshot)

Bonne Année (Vanitas x GN!Reader Oneshot)

Tu Vis Dans Mon Cœur (Vanitas x F!Reader Oneshot)

Fais de Beaux Rêves (Vanitas x GN!Reader)

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𖦹 𝖭𝖾𝗐 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 No𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀

[bitemevanitas]

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐍𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞 MASTERLIST OF MASTERLISTS ♕︎

*:･ﾟ☆*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ☆*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ☆*:･ﾟ✧*:･☆*:･ﾟ✧*:･✩

✧ 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

(𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬)

1) 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬

2) 𝐍𝐨𝐞́ 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞

3) 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞

4) 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐝𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐞

5) 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞

6) 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧

7) 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞

8) 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧

9) 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐯𝐞𝐧

10) 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐥/𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚

11) 𝐂𝐡𝐥𝐨𝐞́ 𝐝'𝐀𝐩𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫

12) 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧-𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥

13) 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

✧ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 [𝐇𝐞𝐭.]

1) 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞

2) 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐍𝐨𝐞́

3) 𝐂𝐡𝐥𝐨𝐞́-𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬

4) 𝐑𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚

5) 𝐍𝐨𝐞́𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐚

✧ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 [𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐫.]

1) 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞

2) 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞

3) 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

4) 𝐀𝐦𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞

✧ 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐎𝐂

1) 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬

2) to be added

3) to be added

4) to be added

✧ 𝐎𝐂 𝐱 𝐎𝐂 [to be extended]

1) to be added

2) to be added

3) to be added

4) to be added

✧ 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞

1) 𝐋𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐞́𝐞𝐬

2) 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐬

3) 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐤 𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞

4) 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

5) 𝐋𝐲𝐬 𝐝'𝐄́𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

6) [𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫] 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐨

7) 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐝'𝐀𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐮

8) 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐝'𝐀𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐮

9) 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐬𝐞𝐠𝐠 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝

10) 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞

[bitemevanitas]

Everything About Charlie 🌙

Hi there! ✨ Welcome to my little corner of Tumblr.

I'm Charlie, an 18 y/o student from Bavaria, Germany (preferred she/they), and I spend way too much time daydreaming about fictional worlds シ︎

Writing is my biggest passion, but I also dabble in art 🎨 and the occasional bit of poetry 📜 when inspiration strikes.

I speak German [🇩🇪] fluently, as it is my mother-tongue, although I would say so of myself that I am also pretty fluent in English [🇬🇧] as well. Additionally, I do understand a few things in French [🇨🇵] and also Spanish [🇪🇦], although I don't speak either myself.

I've been writing since I was 11 years old, and I've definitely gotten better since, which eventually brought me to working on AO3 and WattPad.

Unfortunately, I haven't yet published anything of greater consistence, as I display most of my short writings here on Tumblr 🌝

Me personally, I tend to write mostly fluff, hurt/comfort, or angst. Occasionally I might attempt writing NSFW, although it's definitely not my main content 💜

Feel free to leave comments, scream about characters with me, or just lurk—whatever makes you happy! 💕

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🂱 Click Here To Find Masterlist of Masterlists [Vanitas No Carte]

🂱 Click Here To Find Masterlist of Masterlists [Genshin Impact]

🂱 Click Here To Find Masterlist of Masterlists [Tangled: The Series]

ᵗʷᵒ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵘⁿᵃᵛᵃⁱˡᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵃˢ ᵒᶠ ⁿᵒʷ

[bitemevanitas]

🪷 NÉNUPHAR 🪷

“𝑰𝒏 𝒂 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔,

𝑳𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔.

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈,

𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒂 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈.”

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: The Case Study of Vanitas

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Vanitas x Jeanne [VaniJeanne]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞: Fairytale!AU; Fluff

𝐓𝐖: bad rhymes, had to use good 'ol google for French geography, finished at 10p.m. without grammarly, possible mischaracterization (?)

Once, long ago, though no one now remembers when, there was a pond so still it seemed made of glass. It lay hidden deep within a forest just outside the reach of Paris, a place unmarked on maps and unseen by man for many years.

The wind there never spoke loudly. The trees grew tall and old, gnarled with secrets, and the water was always cold as silver.

“Don’t go there,” said the toothless crone, “Where lives the maid who weeps alone.”

They say you can hear a voice singing, too sorrowful for a siren, too haunting for a dream.

Now she lingered in that pond, silver-tailed, long white hair glinting like dew-frost. The villagers whispered of her, the lily witch, the siren of the pond Nénuphar. Some threw stones, others left offerings. But none dared stay long.

They called her siren, devil’s kin, and fled before they saw her grin. For none had stayed, and none had dared, 'till came a bard with midnight hair.

A young man from Limoges.

His name was Vanitas, and he was no prince. He was a bard, born beneath ill-favored stars, with a sharp laugh and a grin that knew too much.

And though he carried no sword, he carried stories in his blood, of ghosts, of kings, of hearts, and curses.

He sang in cities and taverns, whether Lyon, Paris, Carcassonne or Marseille, but his heart, his true music, was always in the lonely places. It was said he could charm fire from rain and tears from beasts. But Vanitas had never known love. Not truly.

Not until he saw her.

Once, the lass was a daughter of a humble executioner, whose axe fell swift and whose heart was always heavy.

It is said that Jeanne, for the name of a Saint was the one given to her at birth, refused a lad's hand when she was but sixteen.

She would not smile, nor bow, nor pretend.

The young lord had called her cold, and promptly cursed her to the devil, which turned her legs into a tail and chained her to the waters that would never forget.

Vanitas found the pool by accident, or so he would claim, though he followed the singing like a man bewitched.

But it was not enchantment. No. It was ache.

A longing that echoed in her melody, so beautiful no words would do justice describing it to the less lucky.

He stumbled upon her as twilight painted the waters bronze.

She did not hide. Jeanne had grown tired of hiding.

He did not run. Vanitas had no fear left to spend.

Their eyes met. And something in the world paused. Not the birds, they had long since stopped singing. But time itself tilted slightly, as if to listen.

“I sing for coin, I lie for bread, my lute is soft where truth has bled. But for a tale of love or pain, I'd trade my voice for song again.”

She was there, as the tales had said. Half-girl, half-fish, white hair falling to her waist, her back turned to him.

“Are you going to scream?” she asked, her voice cold.

Vanitas tilted his head. “Why would I scream?”

“Humans fear what they don't understand.”

“Mhm,” he said, kneeling by the shore. “Clearly, they were fools. I understand that you must be an angel, spurned and unsung.”

She turned, startled not by his words, but by the softness in them. For he had not lied, not hidden his pity in pretty words. He looked at her as if she were a puzzle he wished to learn, not solve.

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want, human?”

“To hear your song.”

“I don’t sing.”

And still, he stayed.

Day after day, Vanitas returned. He played his lute, and told her stories. Of cities he had traveled and people he had met.

She did not laugh at first. But once, when the lad brought her a rose, the most ravishing one in all of France, he swore, she smiled.

“Oh, bard with tongue of wicked fire, what do you seek by cursed mire? She who weeps beneath the moon, knows only sorrow, not a tune.”

“A tail for feet, a heart so still, a maiden who waits against her will. The pond my hold, the curse my bind, but love, they say, is not so blind.”

One day, as he lingered beside the pond, Vanitas looked at her with a kind of farewell in his eyes.

“I have no home,” he said, “but I have places I must still wander. If I stay, I will begin to pretend that this pond is the whole world. And I cannot lie to myself so long.”

Jeanne said nothing.

“Will you come with me?” he asked, hopeful.

She turned her face to the water, an ache in her heart she couldn't voice. “I cannot. I am bound. If I try to leave, I will die.”

“Then I suppose this is farewell.”

He leaned in, brushing her cheek with fingers that trembled more than he liked. “All I ask, is a kiss goodbye, so that I might remember your beauty forever.”

When their lips met, the kiss was soft, like candle's breath, much kinder than death.

The mermaid gasped. Her tail tingled, burned, and split. Where once had been a shiny tail, now were legs, naked, and human once more.

She collapsed into Vanitas’ arms, dazed and breathless.

“You—” she whispered softly, wide-eyed, “what did you do?”

He looked just as shocked. “I only meant to kiss you goodbye.”

She laughed. It was the first sound she had ever made that wasn't shaped by sorrow.

The spell was love, so simple cast, no hex could outlast hearts held fast. And so they left the pond behind, two souls, once cursed, now kind.

To this day, the pond remains, but the maiden is gone. Some say she was never real. Some say she still waits, cursed anew.

But if you listen well, in the hush before spring, you may hear a song drift on the wind, one sung by a boy with midnight hair, and a girl who escaped her shell.

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A/N: rhyming is so hard. dude omfg 💔 this has been sitting in my note app drafts since april, and i finally finished and edited it (!!!)

also, i wanna mention once again how cool it is to be able to make multi-colored text now grrrr (the best thing since sliced bread). i might even edit my existing posts still to adjust the theme <3

thanks for stopping by ♡︎

[bitemevanitas]

She is beauty, she is grace 💜🤍

Happy birthday Dominique 🍰

[bitemevanitas]

🦋 Marceline d'Anjou

𝙾𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜

"𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉. 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆."

- 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝖼elin𝖾, 𝗃𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 1842

Trivia

• Full Name: Marceline Luetta d’Anjou

• Species: Vampire (formerly human)

• Physical Age: 19 y/o

• Chronological Age: ~around 192 years old

• Date of Birth: November 11, year unspecified (17th century, Germany)

• Place of Current Residence: Hôtel Lambert, Île-Saint-Louis, Paris

• Former Residence: La Maison des Marées ("The House of Tides"), de Panne (Belgium)

• Occupation: Dancer (ballet performer at the Opéra Garnier in Paris)

Origins & Transformation

Human Birth:

• Born as a human in the Rhine lands, sometime during the 17th century

Vampirism:

• Turned into a Vampire of the Crimson Moon during the Babel Incident, which is part of the canon history of VNC, associated with the creation of most vampires

Rebirth Cycle:

• Due to a myseterious affliction, Marceline has undergone at least one known death and rebirth ( which is to be explored in my fanfiction). Each return erodes her past memories further, leaving her with only fragments of her former lives. This places her chronological age at 192, though her current life began 19 years ago

Family & Upbringing

Her father:

• Albert, who also a vampire. He raised Marceline and three other siblings during her childhood in her current life, on an island between de Panne and the French border. He avoids the outside world, and little is known about him beyond that reclusiveness.

Upbringing Location

• Grew up in La Maison des Marées (als called "The House of Tides"), which is a remote mansion with strong associations to the sea

• Around age 11–12, Marceline fled La Maison des Marées and sought refuge under her older brother, the head of Hôtel Lambert in Paris

Symbolism & Aversion

• Despite being raised in a place symbolically tied to water, Marceline has a strong, visceral aversion to the sea, the reason for which remains unclear

• Ironically, Hôtel Lambert, where she now lives, is also filled with maritime imagery, like portraits, décor, artifacts, etc.

Combat & Weaponry

• Weapon of Choice: A pole-arm crafted originally for a Bourreau (executioner)

• When inactive, it appears as a silver ring with a green jewel

• When the jewel is pressed, the weapon elongates into a full pole-arm

Artistic Passions

Ballet Dancer:

• One of her most consistent passions is dance (mainly ballet)

• Performs regularly at the Opéra Garnier

• Her performances are highly regarded, though she doesn't really seek fame

• Dance represents a form of control, grace, and discipline in contrast to her otherwise chaotic past

• Dancing is one of the few things that has always fascinated her and seema to never loosen its grip on her

Integration Into Human Society

• Marceline actively avoids Altus and most other vampires, unless completely necessary

• She has chosen to live in human society rather than among her own kind

Psychological Profile

Self Isolator:

• Marceline is a deeply private and guarded individual

• The cyclical nature of her death and rebirth causes blurry memories of her past lives, contributing to an unstable sense of self

Her Ties to Canon

• I believe, that as a vampire created during the Babel Incident, Marceline fits (squarely enough) into the canon lore of The Case Study of Vanitas

• Her avoidance of Altus, in my opinion, positions her somewhat as an outlier, similar to other characters like Noé or Chloé

Fun Fact

Hôtel Lambert is actually a real historical location in Paris, which makes it quite the apt setting for my noble vampire and her secretive past ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

A/N: I finally found out how to use HTML for gradient and multi-colored text!!! I win!!!

[bitemevanitas]

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 <3

Fandom: Vanitas No Carte

Pairing: Jeanne x Vanitas (VaniJeanne)

Type: Oneshot (short, and kind of a shit post)

Contents: Vanitas being flustered by the smallest things, and Jeanne being (un)intentionally seductive <3

TW: possibly bad grammar (i used grammarly but still), had to use google translate for french words, I ALWAYS PUT OOC 'CAUSE I'M SCARED I'M MISCHARACTERIZING EVERYONE, written on a 20 minute time limit

CW: 2.1K

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The streets of Montmartre were drowsy in the late afternoon light, awash in a pale gold that painted soft halos atop the shoulders of passersby.

Nearby, two children ran with wooden hoops, hawkers called out with dwindling enthusiasm, and Vanitas stormed out of a pâtisserie like a man utterly betrayed by God.

Jeanne trailed behind him, confused, a paper-wrapped box of confections under her arm.

“Vanitas?”

The man wheeled around so abruptly a startled pigeon leapt into the air. “You—!” He stopped, fingers splayed theatrically across his forehead. “Oh! So, you don’t even realize what you’ve done!”

Jeanne blinked at him. “I asked if you wanted a second éclair.”

“Not that,” he snapped, stabbing a finger at the sky like it had personally offended him. “Before that. When you leaned close and whispered—No, No! I can’t even repeat it. I shall perish of the memory.”

She frowned, her brow furrowing. “I said your cravat was crooked.”

“And you said it like—...like that!”

There was a beat of silence. A flower vendor called out across the boulevard.

Jeanne stepped closer. Her voice remained low, careful. “Like what?”

Vanitas took a step back, clutching his coat at the collar. “With your voice all hushed and breathy like... like some temptress!”

“It was sweet,” Jeanne admitted. “When you blushed.”

Vanitas made a strangled sound.

“Lady Dominique said that if I wanted to be more... charming,” Jeanne continued slowly, unsure, “I should put out more, so I did!”

“You were trying to flirt with me?!”

Jeanne tilted her head. “Yes.”

A silence fell again, this one heavier.

“Then why,” Vanitas demanded, pacing in a tight, frantic circle, “did you do it in public, in broad daylight??”

“You once said the essence of romance was spontaneity,” she said.

Vanitas stopped dead. “I also once said the essence of seduction was restraint. Clearly, neither of us knows what we’re talking about.”

Jeanne tilted her head in the other direction. “So... you didn’t dislike it?”

“Dislike?” His voice cracked. He jabbed a finger toward her. “You—you caught me completely unaware! I dropped my fork. I nearly choked on a strawberry. Do you know how many people stared at me?”

“I thought you were only coughing.”

“No, I was short about to die an awful death!”

Jeanne stepped forward, still holding the confections, the box now slightly crumpled in her grip. “I apologize,” she said. “If I misused Lady Dominique’s advice...”

He stared at her in disbelief. Her voice was even, but her ears were flushed red. Her lashes dipped low, and her fingers, those fingers that could shatter bone with ease, clutched the box with almost too much care.

“You didn’t misuse it,” Vanitas muttered between gritted teeth. “You just—”

She looked up, hopeful.

“—caught me off-guard,” he finished, sullen and awkward.

There was a long pause.

“I could... try again?” she offered, a touch uncertain now.

“Oh no,” he said quickly, waving both hands in front of himself. “No no, no. I—...You’ll kill me.”

She blinked.

“That’s not an invitation!” he added hastily. “Do not take that as encouragement!”

Jeanne said nothing. Her eyes held a small glint, something cool and quiet, but amused. She reached up anyway, slow and deliberate, and adjusted the ribbon at his throat. Her fingertips brushed against his collarbone.

Vanitas’s breath caught like clockwork.

“Jeanne,” he hissed. “You're a cruel, cruel woman.”

She straightened. “Better?”

He covered his face with one hand, the picture of elegant despair. “I must lie down.”

“I can lay you down.”

He peeked through his fingers. “Not like that!”

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[bitemevanitas]

Whether Prompt or Headcanons, I'd like Lycanthrophic!Jeanne & Dhampyr!Dominique, (probably friendly) rivalry

✧ WRITING PROMPT ✧

“𝙴́𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝙻𝚎𝚜 𝙴̂𝚝𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜”

~ Lycanthropic!Jeanne & Dhampyr!Dominique

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

In the shadowed corners Paris, two figures walk the line between beast and beauty, neither wholly human, nor entirely monstrous.

A curse-bearer's frenzy, the one of Mademoiselle Charlotte Annouilh, has erupted in the outer arrondissements of the capital.

The incident draws the attention of the Chasseurs, the Bureau of Spécialité, and the House of de Sade simultaneously. But while others fear what stirs in the dark, two women meet it head-on, not with alliance, but rivalry.

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Jeanne, the once fearsome Hellfire Witch, has vanished from public view in recent months. Whispers now speak of her altered nature.

Under a sun eclipse during a covert mission into the wilds of Gévaudan, she returned... changed. Cursed yet refusing to surrender to madness, she lives under House d’Apchier’s reluctant protection.

The transformation has left her volatile and half-wild, her restraint constantly tested by the beast inside.

She trains alone, hunts alone, until her latest quarry intersects with someone she cannot ignore.

Dominique de Sade, heiress of a noble line, has her own secret: born of a human mother and a vampire father, her and her late brother, Louis, both dhampyres—a half-blood anomaly hidden even from most of her family.

Her dhampyric nature grants her immunity to the Curse of Vanitas of The Blue Moon, but also means she is viewed with suspicion by both vampires and humans.

She seeks control, purpose, perhaps absolution, and the mysterious outbreak offers her a chance to prove herself. When she finds Jeanne already tracking the same signs, what begins as a clash over territory soon becomes a begrudging entanglement neither can walk away from.

Beneath their rivalry lies something deeper: a recognition of shared loneliness, of being creatures out of place in their own skin.

They fight shoulder to shoulder (and sometimes against each other), piecing together the truth: the outbreak may not be a random curse, but part of a new experiment by a rogue Charlatan.

As the full moon rises, so too does the tension between beast and blade. Will Jeanne control the wolf within, or will Dominique be forced to strike down the only person who might understand her pain?

☽︎

☾︎

☽︎

☾︎

A/N: This prompt is free for use for anyone who might like to write, as long as my blog is being credited.

[bitemevanitas]

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐃'𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: Vanitas No Carte

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Roland x GN!Reader

𝐓𝐖: possibly ooc, grammar errors, mildly suggestive insinuations

𝐂𝐖: 2.3K

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:

It’s a gloomy afternoon in the catacombs beneath Notre Dame. Roland has reports to finish. You have absolutely no intention of letting him finish them. But as it turns out, there's only so much teasing Roland can take before the tables turn.

The air in the base was damp with the scent of old stone and a hint of wet paper. Rain tapped faintly against the high windows of the cathedral above, and the distant, steady rumble of thunder gave a ghostly life to the quiet corridors of the underground bastion.

Paris above was drowned in a veil of grey storm clouds, but down here, time slowed to a hush beneath the vaulted ceilings.

Roland sat at his large oak desk, quill in hand, the tip hovering just above the signature line of yet another report. He had already signed thirteen. Olivier had left him with twenty-four.

"Do you think," came a voice from the corner of the room, slow and silken, "that if I stayed overnight, anyone would notice?"

He didn’t look up immediately. The voice was familiar. It was warm honey poured over nip of venom, and he’d been enduring it for a full two hours.

“I’m sure someone would,” Roland replied, keeping his tone polite. “You’d cause quite the stir in the base if you wandered the halls past dark.”

From your seat curled in his oversized armchair, you didn’t glance up. You merely dipped your pen in the inkwell and continued sketching something with long, elegant strokes. “Mhm. What a shame. I thought perhaps I could sleep in your bed.” Your tone was as casual as if you were commenting on the weather.

Roland paused, his hand freezing mid-sentence.

He blinked.

Steadily, he signed the line.

Your lips curled slightly, but you never looked at him. Your eyes remained trained on your sketchbook as though your words hadn’t practically set fire to the room.

A little twitch danced in Roland’s brow. “I believe the cots here are quite firm,” he said, smoothing his papers. “You wouldn’t like them.”

You clicked your tongue softly. “Oh, I don’t mind a little...firmness.”

Another silence.

He was fairly certain he smudged the next line with his sleeve.

The scene had played like this since your arrival.

You had been “encouraged”, which, in your father's language, meant ordered, to drop by the Chasseur base and personally thank Roland for the formal letter he had sent to your father the week before. A gesture of respect, duty, and… proximity, of sorts.

You hadn’t resisted too much. Not outwardly. But from the way you now lounged like a pampered cat in his office, clearly having decided the place belonged to you alone, Roland had started to suspect this was a mission of seduction more than gratitude.

He couldn’t say he minded.

“You’re staring, Fortis,” you said flatly, after a moment. “I didn’t realize I was such a distraction. Perhaps I should take off my—”

“That's quite enough.”

“Yes?” Still not looking at him.

He cleared his throat, returning his eyes to the reports with the last semblance of discipline he could muster. “Would you like tea?”

You finally turned your head to glance at him, hair curled around one ear. “Only if you were to serve it shirtless,” you joked idly.

Thunder cracked faintly in the distance.

A corner of Roland’s mouth threatened upward.

He said nothing.

Some time passed. The scratching of pen against paper continued, the soft flick of pages and your quiet, almost angelic humming. It was just enough to be innocent, and just enough to be not.

You stood up after a while, placing your sketchbook on the side table. Your steps were unhurried as your wandered to the nearby shelf, humming softly. You scanned the items like it was your own study, fingers lightly grazing the rows of ink bottles. You reached to take one down.

In that moment, something clicked.

There was a shift in the air, not from thunder, but from Roland himself.

His papers were set aside silently.

The chair scraped softly as he stood.

You barely noticed.

Then—

You let out a very small noise, surprised and sharp, as Roland’s hand suddenly caught the back of your belt at the small of your back.

He tugged you toward him with all the gentleness of an executioner lifting a sword.

You stiffened like a cheeky cat being lifted by its nape.

“Wh—what do you think you’re—”

“I was thinking,” Roland’s voice came low, breath ghosting against the shell of your ear, “that you’ve had quite the mouth on you today.”

His tone was not scolding, nor angry. Just quietly amused. Calm.

Deadly.

You didn’t dare move. You could feel the heat of his body just behind yours, but he hadn’t pressed closer. Not yet.

“I was beginning to wonder,” he murmured, “if you were only being bold because I wasn’t calling your bluff.”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“You really shouldn’t provoke things you can't handle.”

Immediately, you bristled. “I’m not.”

“Mm.”

He turned you slowly, one large hand cupping your jaw, turning your face to meet his. Her breath caught.

The light in his emerald eyes was warm and heavy. And then he kissed you. Not roughly. Not clumsily. It was slow. It was warm. But it stole the breath from your lungs.

You gasped into his mouth at first, whether in protest or surprise, even you didn’t know, and his lips drank it down like wine.

His other hand reached to trap your wrist, raising it beside your head against the wall, keeping you steady as you squirmed. His body barely pressed into yours, but the weight of his hand on your waist said enough.

You let out a muffled sound against his mouth, soft, flustered, maybe a little pitiful.

He didn’t let go. His tongue found yours, slow and deliberate, and your knees gave a warning tremble.

You wriggled, he held. You squirmed, and he breathed calmly through his nose and kissed you deeper.

By the time he pulled away, you were barely upright.

His hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing the curve of your jaw as he leaned back just far enough to meet your eyes. His smile was faint, and his gaze was… unfamiliar.

“You’re very quiet all of a sudden,” he said.

And you didn’t respond. Your eyes were wide, the faintest blush blooming across your cheekbones. Your hands dangled uselessly at your sides.

“Was that too forward?” he added, as if worried.

Ten long seconds passed.

“…You're evil,” you finally muttered, voice barely audible.

With a gentleness that felt far too unfair after what he'd just done, Roland reached up and ruffled her hair. “You’re lucky I didn’t carry you upstairs,” he said, grinning.

You visibly twitched.

Roland leaned in again, mock-thoughtful. “Would you still like to test the bed, chérie?”

He pulled back before you could respond. Not that you did. Not that you could, anyway.

You emained frozen, one hand slowly, slowly coming up to hide your mouth. And for the rest of the evening, you didn’t utter a single suggestive word.

And Roland, quiet, amused, and unexpectedly smug, sat contentedly down by his desk, perfectly at peace.

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[bitemevanitas]

I'm like three months and a half too late for Valentine's day, but this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, even though I forgot it even existed...

Alas! I'm not waiting until next year, so have a look and find the letter of your dearest one ❤️

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Noé, Roland, Jeanne, Olivier, Vanitas, Jean-Jacque, Dominique, Amelia, Johann, Dante

𝐃𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐐𝐮𝐢 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐮 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐮𝐫

💌 Noé Archiviste

𝑻𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒏,

𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆. 𝑫𝒐𝒎𝒊 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒚, 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆. 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕, 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆. 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔. 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎, 𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔,

𝑵𝒐𝒆́

💌 Roland Fortis

𝑶𝒉 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒚 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕!

𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚! 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒛𝒆𝒏 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒖𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒋𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝑯𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕?

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔.

𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒓, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆.

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏,

𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅

💌 Jeanne

𝑴𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅,

𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕. 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆, 𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕, 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒗𝒖𝒍𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕.

𝑰 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆��𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆.

𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓. 𝑰𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔.

𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚. 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕.

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆,

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆

💌 Johann

𝑻𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅,

𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒍. 𝑰 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍, 𝒃𝒖𝒕... 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒚.

𝑰𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔, 𝑰 𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒎𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆.

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒊𝒕, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆. 𝑶𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚, 𝑰 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔,

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒏

💌 Dante

𝑯𝒆𝒚 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆,

𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚, 𝒉𝒖𝒉? 𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑰'𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆.

𝑰 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑫𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒕? 𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅? 𝑺𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒚? 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅.

𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅. 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆'𝒔 𝒂 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒏.

𝑺𝒐...

𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒕, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒅𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚. 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔, 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎.

𝑺𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒖𝒔, 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔,

𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆

💌 Dominique de Sade

𝑴𝒂 𝑳𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒆́𝒓𝒆,

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒆́, 𝑰'𝒎 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆. 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚. 𝑰 𝒅𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆.

𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒙 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒚, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

𝑶𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚, 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆.

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕,

𝑫𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒆 ꨄ︎

💌 Olivier

𝑻𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒏,

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝑰 𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆, 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒓, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏.

𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅, 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔. 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔, 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆.

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒓. 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒉.

𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚,

𝑶𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

💌 Jean-Jacques Chastel

𝑴𝒚 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕,

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓. 𝑰 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒚, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍.

𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑪𝒉𝒍𝒐𝒆́ 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔. 𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆. (𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕, 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒈𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖.)

𝑰𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕, 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍.

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒆 𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒖𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑. 𝑳𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒖𝒔.

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏,

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒏-𝑱𝒂𝒄𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔

💌 Chloé d'Apchier

𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈,

𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒎𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕, 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕. 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅.

𝑶𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚, 𝑰 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑴𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒎𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆.

𝑰 𝒃𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚. 𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚,

𝑪𝒉𝒍𝒐𝒆́

💌 Amelia Ruth

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆,

𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒓. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎. 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔.

𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒘𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒎𝒆. 𝑶𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑰 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓?

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔,

𝑨𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒂

💌 Vanitas

𝑻𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖,

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏. 𝑴𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔... 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐.

𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍, 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆.

𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆, 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒅. 𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒆.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆. 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒊𝒕. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕, 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇, 𝒃𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍,

𝑰'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕,

𝑽.

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[bitemevanitas]

MOVE, Jeanne, it's my turn 😊🔪

[bitemevanitas]

Hii, may I request some Vanitas headcannons? Him giving reader some encouraging (tsundere) words when he notices them struggling?

Watching the anime I noticed that he's not too fond of directly showing his feelings, he likes to care for others indirectly so they don't easily realize or notice he's caring for them in the first place. It's so cute, and tsundere of him. He gives advice and comfort in his own way under a facade of annoyance, nonchalance or straight up wrapped in cutting remarks (Like when he asked Noe, ‘why the hell are you losing to Astolfo of all people if you could stand up to Roland?’ in a way he was telling Noe he was stronger and better than this, but by implying it while nagging him lol)

I see the vision, and you're absolutely right. I tend to write him too soft ngl...

But alas! Here we are <3

𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐫 𝐋𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫

• Vanitas doesn’t miss much, especially when it comes to people he lets close, which is rare

• He may not show it, but if you're quieter than usual, less responsive, or your eyes linger a bit too long on the floor, he notices

• He doesn't say anything at first and just watches, or glares

• If you trip up or fumble during a task, he scoffs

• "Tch. You’re hopeless."

• But five minutes later, you’ll find the task subtly made easier

• Tools would be left in place, books reorganized so the right one just happens to be within reach

• He'll never admit he helped

• "You look pathetic. Honestly, how did you survive this long without me?"

• Translation: I’m worried. You’re strong. I know you can get through this, but I hate seeing you like this

• "Get up already. If you had time to sit around moping, you could’ve finished your work twice by now."

• And yet, he remains close longer than necessary, close enough to offer silent company

• If you’re physically hurt, say, a light injury on a mission or you faint from exhaustion, Vanitas will go on a whole tirade

• "Are you seriously this careless? You idiot, how can you expect to help anyone if you can’t even take care of yourself?"

• He’ll won't bandage your wound until you ask him to, and even then he would mutter insults the whole time

• He absolutely hates how much you affect him

• So when he catches you crying, truly crying, maybe for the first time in which he's known you, he freezes

• Then comes the scowl

• "Stop that. You’re making me uncomfortable."

• He won't stay close and watch you break apart, that's weird

• So, instead of pretending everything's fine, he might drop his coat around your shoulders

• He won't say anything more and simply walk past, but he might just be in the next room, remaining nearby

• Much like with Noé or Dante, Vanitas motivates by provoking

• "What’s the point of tagging along if you’re going to fall behind like that? Even Dante’s doing better than you today, and he has the brains of a stunned chicken."

• It sounds mean, but if you listen closely, it’s always paired with an affirmation of your capability, which he doesn't speak aloud

• He once shoved a hot cup of tea into your hands after a long day, and muttered, "It’s not for you. I just made too much."

• If you’re particularly down, he’ll make a big show of dragging you out for an 'incredibly urgent' recon mission

• He claims he received intel from Dante, while clearly just trying to get you moving again

• If you surprise him, perhaps by standing up for yourself or someone else in a moment of struggle, he’ll raise an eyebrow

• "Huh. Didn’t think you had it in you. Not bad."

• The faint upward curl of his lips betrays how proud he really is

• For Vanitas, this might actually be the equivalent to a standing ovation

• If you’re endangered, he immediately throws himself into the fray with zero hesitation

• Then later, he yells at you for "being in the way."

• "What were you thinking?! Stay behind me next time. I can’t— I don’t have time to clean up after your mistakes."

• It’s not that he doesn’t care

• Actually, it’s that he cares too much, and only the gods know why, he often hates himself for it

• "If you give up now, I’ll never forgive you."

• "Alright, disaster-in-waiting, try not to trip over your own feet this time."

• He might check your gear, straighten your collar, but doesn’t meet your eyes

• "..You’ll be fine."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

The room was too quiet.

Not in the peaceful way. No, it was the kind of quiet that settled between the ribs and ached like fresh bruises.

Outside, the muffled hum of the wind passed through the shutters of the roof. Vanitas hated nights like this.

Nights where stillness wasn’t safety, but weight.

And worse: you were sitting in it, drowning in it, and pretending not to be.

He didn’t say anything at first.

You sat hunched over a worn book, its spine cracking under your fingers. The page hadn’t turned in ten minutes. Your hand had stopped taking notes, ink drying at the edge of the quill.

The odd slump in your shoulders had nothing to do with posture.

Vanitas leaned against the backrest of his seat, arms crossed, half-shadowed by the flickering, golden lamplight.

He clicked his tongue.

“You look pathetic, by the way.”

No reaction.

“Tch,” he snapped again, pushing off the arm-chair in the corner. “You planning to sit there all night wallowing?”

Your gaze lifted, tired. “I’m fine.”

A lie.

And poorly told one at that.

He scoffed and stalked across the room, grabbing the book and snapping it shut with a sharp thwack. You flinched. Good. That meant you were still awake inside there.

“Oh! ‘Fine,’ are you?” he muttered, tossing the book aside. “That’s rich.”

You opened your mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to apologize.

He didn’t let you.

“I don’t care what’s eating at you. The world isn’t going to wait while you sit here like the picture of misery.”

Still no reply. Your fists clenched. Maybe a little spark of defiance—that was something. He sighed. Dragged a hand through his hair. Why did this feel as nerve-wrecking as surgery?

“…Look.” His voice dropped, sharper but quieter now. “I get it. The weight. The noise in your head. The part where everything feels like it’s slipping sideways and you can’t hold it all together.”

Your eyes widened immediately—and that pissed him off even more.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, cheeks heating. “I’m not baring my soul. I’m stating a fact.”

He crouched in front of you then, catching your gaze with his own. Unflinching. Deep cerrulean meeting yours. It didn’t matter. It was the look that mattered. The kind that didn’t blink.

“You’re stronger than this. I’ve seen it. You’ve dragged yourself through worse.”

His tone softened, just barely. “So don’t stop now.”

A pause. His hand hovered for a second, before he clicked his tongue and stood up, shoving it into his coat instead. When he turned and vanished behind you, the weight of his coat came tossed over your shoulders.

Still warm.

But before he could storm off entirely, you finally, finally, looked up at him with a crooked little smile tugging at the edge of your lips.

“You know,” you said, voice lighter than it had been in hours, “you’re… kind of terrible at hiding how much you care.”

Vanitas froze mid-step.

Your smile grew, slow and mischievous. “All that ranting and yelling and ‘you’re so pathetic’ nonsense? You totally do care!”

He spun around, a horrible sense of dread blooming behind his ribs.

“I—I don’t—What the hell are you talking about?!” he barked, pointing a gloved finger like you had just said something insane. “That wasn’t— That’s not what this is! I was giving you practical advice, obviously. Someone has to knock sense into you!”

You tilted your head, clearly enjoying every second. “Mhm. Of course.”

“It—! You looked cold! I—I tripped, and it landed there, alright?!” he snapped, ears going a dangerous shade of red.

You raised a brow. “You tripped?”

“I—shut up!” he snarled, spinning away from you in a flustered whirl. “This is what I get for wasting my breath on emotional simpletons. Clearly, you’re fine now if you’ve got energy to mock me.”

But he didn’t leave.

He stood there, back to you, the ends of his coat sleeves twitching like an angry cat’s tail. His fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight. And yet he didn’t move. Not one step.

You laughed. The first real one in days, and despite everything, Vanitas felt something sharp in his chest ease. Just a little.

He didn’t turn back around.

But as he stormed back towards the arm-chair in a flurry of indignant curses, you heard one last barked insult echo behind him:

“Get some sleep, you annoying birdbrain!”

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[bitemevanitas]

aaaaa hihihi!! choosing to submit this cause I’ve been THE BIGGEST fan of your works for a while now!! You’ve inspired me a lot with your writing aaa it’s super detailed and your expertise is something I hope to achieve in the near future <33 feel free to ignore this if your requests aren’t open or if you aren’t taking them, but could I request a vanitas x childhood friend! reader? Like reader grew up beside Vanitas in Moreau’s lab and escaped with him and mikhail, but after Luna’s death kinda vanished off the face of the earth and then randomly popped into Vanitas’ life again midway only to reveal they’d be leaving (again). TTwTT feel free to ignore this if it’s too specific aaa >^<

Aaaa hiiii!! 😭💖 This message absolutely made my day- Thank you SO much for taking the time to send it!!

I’m genuinely honored and so touched that my writing has inspired you, my love 🥹💗 Hearing that really means the world to me. I’m cheering you on with all my heart, keep going - you’ve got this!! 💪✨💕

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡

Fandom: Vanitas No Carte

Pairing: Vanitas x GN!Platonic!Reader

Contents: childhood friends, platonic relationship, sibling undertones (i feel like they turned out more like siblings than friends, though...)

TW: gore, explicit gore, detailed descriptions of harming people, implied major character death, possibly ooc characterization in terms of emotional matters (i tried my best)

CW: 9.69K

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They had called you No. 62 down here.

In the lab beneath the earth, far from the outside world, names were entirely irrelevant. You were just a number, a test subject at best.

You were taken when you were but ten. Old enough to remember the smell of petrichor after a heavy rain in Paris, the sound of birds and crowds, the taste of apricots.

You remembered your father’s violin, your mother’s voice humming a lullaby at dusk.

And you remembered the screaming, too—the crying and begging when Moreau snatched you from the cot where the Chasseurs had left you to rest after taking you in.

You never regained the memory of your real name.

But you remembered No. 69.

When you met him, he was twelve. Thin. Gaunt. Bruises bloomed over his wrists and collarbones like ink stains that never washed out. His eyes were the strangest thing you'd ever seen—blue like gunmetal, something forged to survive.

You were fourteen then, two years older and far too aware of how this place chewed children down to marrow. Where the smell of antiseptic clung to the air like a fog—sharp and acrid.

Beneath it lurked the scent of coppery blood, burnt bone, old sweat. Somewhere down the corridor, a child was screaming again.

No. 69 didn’t speak. Not for days after he arrived.

They kept him sedated, so unresponsive he looked more dead than alive. It was awful.

You’d been there longer. Long enough to learn how to move through pain. Long enough to know which needles burned and which ones felt like ice in your veins. Long enough to understand that Dr. Moreau smiled widest when someone screamed.

At first, you protected No. 69 because no one else would. That pathetic little half-pint.

When the lights dimmed that night and the observers retreated, the boy slumped beside the wall, curled inward like he wanted to disappear into the shadows.

“Hey,” you said through the divider between your cells. You were still weak from the last round of injections. “Don’t cry. They’ll hear it.”

His head snapped up. He hadn’t realized you were watching. He blinked and wiped his face on the hem of his shirt. His eyes were hollow.

“I’m not crying.”

“Good,” you said. “Because if you cry, they’ll think they’ve won.”

He turned his head slowly. Just once, to see a face that didn’t seem as frightening as the others.

A single blink.

Then, a silent nod.

Weeks later, when Mikhail arrived—small, wide-eyed, clueless—he clung to you like a shadow. He was only eight.

At first, No. 69 glared at him. Then tolerated him. Then, you saw it—that flicker of protective fire you’d been trying to coax out of him.

“If you want to live,” you told him one night, when the guards were out of earshot, “then stand up. Speak up. Yell and fight back. Because I might not be around much longer to protect you both.”

He didn’t respond.

But two nights later, when a lab tech tried to restrain Mikhail for another blood draw, Vanitas bit him. Drew blood. Got beaten for it, but he didn’t flinch.

Mikhail started calling Vanitas big brother. He still didn’t call you anything, perhaps intimidated, but he never left your side. That boy was too young to understand what was being done to him. Too young to know what pseudo kin meant, or whatever kind of other nonsense Moreau told them.

But he understood that you held his hand after injections. That you sat with Vanitas during night terrors. That you told stories about what the sky looked like before it was taken from you.

You only cried once, unaware that Vanitas was awake. But he was. Pretending to sleep, as he often did.

“I had a little brother once,” you whispered to Misha, voice brittle as frost. He looked up at you, half his face hidden behind the pillow that he clutched to his chest. “They mistook him for a vampire. A Chasseur found him before I could even call for help.”

You shook, trying to hold in the sob.

“They didn’t even check. Just saw his eyes. Said they ‘glowed funny.’ That was enough.”

You looked at your trembling hands.

“That’s why I won’t let you die. Either of you. I couldn’t save him. But I can save you.”

Vanitas didn’t speak up, but the next time Moreau attempted to lay a hand on you—Vanitas stepped between you. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared him down.

Moreau laughed. “How loyal,” he said. “A defective pup guarding its litter.”

You weren’t the strongest, by any means. You weren’t the fastest, either. But you were the oldest. That made you dangerous.

Once, you kicked the guards when they restrained Mikhail too roughly. Bit the tech who tried to gag Vanitas. Tried to strangle Moreau when he called Misha it instead of he.

You failed. You always did. They held you down and cut something. Punishment was swift. But that was the point.

Better you than them.

You taught the boys how to fake seizures when the test schedules got too punishing. Taught them to resist, not just survive. You fought the workers so often they stopped trying to discipline you. Sedation turned to chains. Isolation. A cell further away, reinforced. But you still found ways to burn.

There was the time you bit a handler hard enough to sever a vein. The time you gouged out a researcher’s eye with a surgical pick. And then—the gun. When the door slammed open, and there you were, ready to kill for Misha.

He would never forget how you looked.

Your face streaked with blood that wasn’t yours. The revolver trembling in your hands. But your eyes, steady and burning, locked on Moreau like a cat on a mouse.

“Step away,” you said.

Moreau didn’t blink. “Now, now. Where did you get that, my little creature?”

“I’ll kill you,” you said. “I swear I will. I’m not bluffing.”

“You’re injured. Hysterical!”

Then you raised the gun. Fired point-blank. Missed. The bullet struck the wall.

You didn’t scream when they swarmed you. Not even when they beat you down. Even when they pumped enough sedative into your spine to drop a grown man and dragged you across the floor like an animal.

Vanitas watched through the crack in the door. You looked back—eyes glassy, red-rimmed, but still defiant. Not broken. Never broken.

He’d never seen someone refuse to break that hard.

So why?

Why did you, of all people, and after everything you had done, vanish when he needed you most?

It wasn’t snowing the night Luna had died, but Vanitas remembered it that way.

Maybe because the air had turned so cold. Maybe because Misha screamed like he was the one dying. Maybe because the firelight flickered like snowfall in his vision as Vanitas raised the blade and—

Vanitas pressed a hand to his chest.

He had stopped bleeding, but the wound had never healed.

The last time Vanitas saw you was the night Luna lost herself. The sanctuary they had found after the escape had erupted into violence. The Vampire of the Blue Moon had clawed at their own face, fighting an enemy no one else could see—an invader who had stolen their name, their sense, their soul.

You didn’t stay long after he ended her.

He remembered turning to find you, only to see your shadow.

You didn’t take a grimoire. You didn’t say goodbye.

Vanitas never forgave you.

He never forgave himself, either.

Tonight, the city below glowed like a dying ember, too.

From the bell tower of Saint-Michel Notre-Dame, rooftops stretched in uneven silhouettes. The Seine caught the light of the setting sun and held it in trembling hands, like the water itself mourned something forgotten.

Vanitas sat with one knee drawn up, fingers loosely around his shin, coat curled behind him like a discarded crow’s wing. The cold stone pressed against him. He didn’t feel it anymore.

He hadn’t spoken to Noé in two days. Another argument. Not unusual. Vanitas didn’t want kindness. Not from someone who couldn’t understand. He preferred silence.

He was alone.

Just how he liked it.

Until he wasn’t.

When he heard footsteps, Vanitas didn’t move. Didn’t turn. Didn’t reach for a weapon.

He just said, low and sharp, “Noé, if this is you, I swear to all that’s holy, I’ll kill you.”

A pause.

Then:

“Still as dramatic as ever.”

The voice froze him. A breath left his lungs. He closed his eyes. It couldn’t be. Not again.

He turned. And there you were.

Older, naturally. Hair longer, wind-tousled, tucked into a hooded overcoat. Travel-worn boots. A scar along your collarbone where your shirt hung open.

But you were there.

Vanitas stood up too fast.

The Book of Vanitas clinked against the stone as he shoved it aside. His fists trembled with something deeper than words.

“Why are you here?” he snapped. “You vanish for three years without a word, and now you just show up?!”

Your eyes softened. “I wasn’t planning to stay long.”

“Oh, of course not. That would imply you care.”

“I do care,” you said flatly, flicking his forehead.

He laughed. It was bitter, bright, cracked. “You’re three years too late for that.”

Your face didn’t flinch.

“I came to Paris because I felt like I’d left something behind,” you said quietly. “I didn’t expect to find you here. But now that I have—”

You stepped closer.

Vanitas didn’t move.

“I wanted to tell you something.”

“Save it.”

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You already did.”

Silence stretched between you, taut as wire. Then, gently, you placed a hand on his arm.

Vanitas froze. His breath hitched. Not in fear, but in recognition.

“I’m proud of you.”

His gaze broke. The words hit like ash in his lungs. He didn’t want to need them. But he did. You stepped in, arms folding around him in a quiet embrace. He didn’t return it. But he didn’t pull away either. Vanitas just stood there, caught between sunset and the scent of someone who once bled beside him.

Slowly, he let his forehead rest against your shoulder.

Your arms tightened.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I should’ve stayed. But I didn’t know how.”

The wind passed through the ribs of the bell tower. Below, the world kept turning.

“I thought if I stayed, I’d hold you back. But maybe I was wrong.”

Vanitas exhaled.

“No. You were right.”

You huffed softly.

“I would’ve chased you. If you asked, I would’ve followed.”

Your arms tightened briefly, “I’m leaving again. Tomorrow, maybe. I don’t know if I’ll come back.”

He said nothing.

“But I need you to hear this. I’m proud of you. I know the name you carry isn’t yours. But the choices are. And you’ve made the right ones.”

His shoulders shuddered.

“Even when I’ve become a monster?” he rasped.

“You’re not a monster,” you said gently. “You’d be a lousy one. Your heart is too big for that.”

The bells rang once, deep and low.

Vanitas stepped back, just enough to meet your gaze.

“I should hate you,” he said.

“You’d have every right.”

“But I don’t.”

You smiled. Just a little, “I’m glad.”

Your hand dipped to your coat pocket. Distance again

“So,” you said, teasing, “you’ve got someone making sure you don’t get yourself killed now?”

Vanitas stiffened. “What—?”

“Tall. White hair. Gets a little lost sometimes.”

He blinked. “You know about Noé?”

“I keep an eye on you. From a distance.”

He muttered something. His ears were red.

“I like him,” you said.

He glared. “Of course you do.”

“Means I don’t have to worry about you as much.”

Silence.

“…He’s an idiot.”

You laughed. Vanitas didn’t smile. Not quite. But the corner of his mouth twitched. You let the silence settle. As the sun dipped below the rooftops, you moved toward the edge.

“I should go,” you said. “I’m going back to Austria.”

He said nothing.

“I don’t think I’ll come back this time.”

Still silence. You looked at him one last time. Older now. Still beautiful in the way fire is—radiant, but capable of leaving scars. His eyes were different now. Blue like fractured glass, brighter and more eerie.

He had his wounds from the past, but he was surviving. That was enough.

You turned.

But just before descending into the dark, Vanitas said softly:

“Don't forget my name.”

You paused, then smiled.

“Yours I'll remember for a lifetime.”

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A/N: dear anon, thank you again for submitting your request <3 I hope this oneshot comes close to what you had in mind.