I Drew Sword Of My Friend's Character On Their Wall!!!

Q: Papa, did you try to wear modern clothes? I think you would look nice.

Translation: I prefer classic style, but I have some unusual outfits, but I do not like all of them the same...

Just finished collab with @hirsch-inquisitor !

I liked the Goat so much!

At the Mercy of Time(And Fragmented Memories of You)

Dracopia x gn reader

Summary: A short story about a vampire with pseudo immortality, his mortal lover, and how they handle falling in love amidst death and reincarnation.

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: What started out as a short sweet drabble about love that transcends lifetimes in a friend’s dms turned into angsty 4k word fic(with a happy ending) because my brain won’t give me a break.

This is about reincarnation so I do mention death a lot. Nothing graphic or tragic, it’s just a natural part of the cycle. Copia is referred to as the Count for the most part.

No dialogues, we operate on vibes alone.

Also on Ao3

——————

You met him at a galliard.

A night of socialization hosted by the count himself. You think yourself lucky to have been invited to one of the count’s events - the man holds a highly respected position among the high class and to be invited to one of his dances was an honor. You watch the people around you mingle and dance about the grand room, and among the sea of faces, you find him.

The Count was a charming fellow, quiet when he needed to be, but most times a goof and easy to be around with. Or so you've heard. He walked across the room in long, suave strides, clad in all black, a cape on his back. His chestnut hair was swept back neatly, his face framed by a mustache and neatly kept sideburns. His eyes, one piercing green and the other pale white, glimmers under the light. You were mesmerized, so fixated on his features that you failed to notice that he was walking towards your direction.

He introduces himself to you, and you give him your name, to which he regarded with such eloquence, kissing the back of your hand with grace. Little did you know, this moment would change your lives forever.

It started out with a conversation, followed by a series of back and forth letters, to evening visits to your estate. He starts courting you, and you fall in love before he even offers you the world. Nothing could ever change your feelings for this man, not even when he admitted to being a vampire to you.

It was a surprising discovery, but then again, that would explain his nocturnal lifestyle, why you only ever see him when the sun had gone down, why he never shows up uninvited, this explains the unlabeled bottles of wine he keeps around his manor.

He prepared himself for hostility, a slap, a scream. He expected rejection - for you to run away and never return, but it never comes. You remain by his side, and for that, he will be forever grateful. You married the count during winter.

He offers to turn you into a vampire one night, with the intention of living the rest of eternity with you, but for some odd reason, you refuse. His heart sinks at your answer, but he respected your wishes for now. He hopes you'd change your mind in the future.

Every few years, he would ask you again, and you would always decline. He tries not to let it get to him, but one night, he got irritated and you would find yourself in a screaming match with the Count. That evening, he stormed off into the night before he lost his control. He'd never forgive himself if he hurts you by accident. You cried yourself to sleep, waiting for his return.

He came home just before the sun rose and found you asleep on your shared bed. His first instinct was to join you, snaking his arms around your waist, pressing his nose against your hair. He whispered apologies to your ear, and peppered you with kisses until you stirred awake. His heart shatters when he sees how red your eyes are from crying and he breaks down, ending up a sobbing mess in your arms, begging you for forgiveness, pleading for you not to leave him.

And you don't. You forgave him, like you always do.

He thanks you again and again, but he doesn’t stop crying. The thought that one day he would watch you die and he cannot do anything about it lingers at the back of his mind. You know this too, but you don’t change your mind about turning.

You continue living your life. You grew old, wrinkly, your hair faded gray, and your bones ached all while the count’s youth remained pristine. You worry sometimes that he has stopped finding you attractive, that he would very much prefer the company of a younger mate, but he stops you every time you bring it up and assures you that you are still the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on. He does not fail to make you feel so. Even after all these years, he would still constantly shower you with gifts and affection. He never came short. He promises he will love you until your dying breath.

Oh, Satan, how you loved this man to bits.

The Count was playing you a melody he had written for you on the piano when your heart had faltered. The music stops as the count rushes to you, catching you just before you collapse in the middle of the drawing room.

The doctor came too late.

—

The funeral was quiet, consisting only of him and the very few servants he keeps around. Your death was no surprise to the residents of the manor. You were old, so close to the gates of the afterlife, but still, they mourned.

You were buried underneath the wisteria tree just across the parterre of the grounds. It was your favorite part of the garden. More often than not, the Count would find you sitting underneath the tree, nose buried on a book, sometimes painting pictures. He would watch you from the window, admiring from afar, careful not to let the light touch his skin. Some evenings, he would accompany you, and you'd both lie on the grass, hands intertwined, talking about the what ifs of life and what not. He learned then that perhaps if it were possible, you would have loved to start a family with him. He felt a little guilty, being unable to produce you with an heir but you assure him that you were already content with your life with him and you would not trade it for anything in the world. The count smiles solemnly before changing the subject. He asks you what you would be doing had you not met. You shrug and simply said you wished to be a painter.

He sniffs back tears as the memories unfold. He stands alone by the tree now, the servants had long gone inside to sleep. He tries to keep it together. For what? He didn't know. It doesn't matter either because he was already a sobbing mess. He places a shaky hand on top of your headstone for support as he calms himself down. If only you had let him turn you, then maybe he wouldn't be this distraught.

The count walks back inside as the first few rays of sunlight peeked from the horizon.

He tries not to worry for he has an eternity in front of him. He would soon forget the color of your eyes. For now, he prepares himself for a lifetime of trying to get used to waking up alone.

——

Decades later he finds himself in a different city, under a different name. The manor was long abandoned, haunted by the painful memories of a life he once shared with the love of his life. He needed to leave, besides, the townsfolk were getting suspicious about his lingering presence.

He was out for one of his evening hunts and he needed to feast. He stalks along the edge of the forest, waiting for anyone foolish enough to venture out on a blood moon. And in the distance, he finds someone, sitting by the clearing. The count grinned. Dinner is served.

As he approaches, he studies this victim's movements. He notices that they were surrounded by supplies... Was that an easel? He slows his strides as he watches them put up what seemed to be a canvas against it. He stops when they start mixing pigments, the count is curious now and decides that he would have dinner after the show.

They start painting the sky, the trees... They start painting the moon. The painter had their back facing the count, the easel was turned in a way that he could get a clear view of it. He thinks they were a lovely painter.

Unfortunately, he's hungry.

He can no longer wait and stalks towards them, fangs at the ready, but as the painter turns slightly as they grab a tube of oil, he catches a glimpse of their face and falters. He must've made a noise because the painter's head whipped sharply towards his direction.

Now, over the light of the painter's lone candle, he sees their face and it's so... Beautiful. So hauntingly familiar. The count no longer feels hungry, in fact, he felt sick. The primal urge to feed had left his body as he stared at the painter who had stood up from their seat and is now watching him carefully. The tables have turned. He felt like the prey in the situation, petrified under the eerily familiar gaze of his supposed meal.

The count does not flee, and neither did the painter. He just remains there in the open. He did not attack. Instead, his heart clenches, bile caught in his throat as the painter takes a step closer. He can see them clearly now.

This painter was roughly as old as the the years you were gone, and what's sick about is is that the painter had your face. His chest heaves as he stares, his heart almost stopping completely when he notices the color of their eyes; a shade he desperately tries to avoid. The painter takes another step closer, and the air shifts. It was nostalgic. It felt like... Home. He realizes something.

The painter didn't just have your face... They were you. Living another lifetime.

The count chuckles bitterly to himself. How funny was it that you had told him you wanted to become a painter and then decades later he finds you again doing just that.

You take another step closer and he mentally applauds you for your bravery for approaching a stranger at dead of night. Maybe it was stupidity. Or maybe you could sense it too…

The wind billows against the count’s cape as he stood still, eyes wide while your soft eyes studies his face, brows knotted in curiosity. For a moment, he thought he saw there was a hint of recognition. You stop just a few feet away and the fluttering feeling in his stomach increases and his mind starts to go hazy. He was excited to meet you again, but he stands frozen, unsure of what to say or do. He is scared and he doesn't understand why. His mind was racing. He was too hungry for this. His thoughts were cut short when your voice echoes in the night. You had asked him who he was.

He knows you do not know him yet. He was well aware you technically weren't the version of you that he knew. This other you lived an entirely different life, grew up with an entirely different family, a different culture. Perhaps he was being irrational, but the thought of you not remembering his name strained his heart.

He does not want to do this again.

He does not give you his name. Instead, he apologizes for his intrusion and storms off into the night, leaving you wondering about the pale man in the cloak. You start to frequent the clearing in hopes to see the man again.

He was well aware of why you were there, which was why he avoided the clearing like the plague. He changed his hunting route and made sure you do not cross paths again.

But you were relentless. You started venturing deeper within the woods. You wanted to see him again for reasons neither you or the count could understand. Something was pulling on that invisible string of fate and while he resists it, you let yourself be dragged into the void of uncertainty.

You did not fear the unknown, a trait that seemed to have passed on from your other life and he admires you for that, but he was a coward. So terrified of falling in love again, so terrified of heartbreak that he wouldn't even try to deny it. He was being unfair to you and he knows it.

But fate was strong and even he couldn't resist its call. Not when he sees your immaculate beauty under the moonlight.

Terrified as he was, he finds the courage to approach you. When your eyes met his, all his worries and doubts faded away and he knew right then that he was willing to walk through the burning sunlight just to have you back in his life. The count decides to court you again.

When he offers to turn you, you refuse, but that doesn't deter him. As painful as it would be to have to watch you die again, he knew he would be able to accompany you as you grow old and that was enough. Your short lifespan will not stop him because knew he would find you again.

And this is where the cycle starts.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He would find you in each of your lifetimes, and while the anxiety of introductions were still there, he manages to handle it better each time.

You kept refusing his offers to grant you immortality and pains him to watch you die over and over but he persists on courting you in each of your lifetimes because he could not bear to be parted from you.

Throughout the years, Copia finds that he still ages. It's just a lot slower than the way humans do. He learns that it would take them hundreds if not thousands of years, but they do eventually age and wither away too.

In each lifetime with you, he looks a little older. Not that you could tell, but he does. The count would only introduce himself when your age gets a little closer to his physical age. Ever the gentleman, he prefers to be seen with you appropriately.

In some lifetimes, you've had flings, lovers. None of which lasted long enough, but it was painful to watch you fall in and out of love with other people. Still, the count waits until the time is right to introduce himself again. He watches you through every heartbreak but each time, he would always be ready to piece you back together.

Things get harder for him as time goes by because each lifetime he spends with you means that he’s going to be with you for less years in the next. He hates how short human lives are, how quick you are to age, and he wishes nothing more than to share his pseudo immortality with you but you always fucking refused and he cannot fathom why.

You had started a list of things you wished to do before you died. A painful thought for him, but a fun adventure for you. There were lots of things you wanted to see and do before your time runs out and he chuckles. He reminds you again that there was another way of extending your life, that the offer still stands.

You look at him, heart heavy at the words you were about to say. It was difficult, for sure, to tell the love of your life that you cherished your mortality - for in a way, it was like telling him that you didn't wish to spend an eternity to love and cherish him. But it was far from that. It wasn't about him, it never was.

Mortality reminds you of how short life is, it pushes you to live it with a burning spirit and it helps you appreciate and treasure every moment you spend alive. It made you grateful about a lot of things and you believed that it gives you a sense of purpose.

At long last, he finally gets a clear answer to why you always refused. He admires your optimistic view of life and death, how you cherish every little mundane thing that happens. How you have no regrets no matter how bad things get, how you celebrated even the littlest of achievements. His heart swells when he learns that your mortality makes you appreciate and love him even more.

He appreciates you explaining this to him even though you both knew that it would bring the two of you into emotional turmoil, but he understands now. Or at least he understands enough in a way an immortal could.

At the back of his mind, he still wishes you said yes.

———

As several lifetimes pass, he starts to look too old for you to fall for, or at least that’s what he thinks. He didn't feel it was appropriate to keep courting so he just watches from afar, admiring... hurting. He watches you recreate the life you once lived over and over together with someone else. Have a huge family; kids, grandkids... you've found yourself a perfectly good soil to plant your roots and you flourished.

It was damning enough to have to watch you grow old and die over and over again but it was torture to watch you go through life without him by your side. It seems there was no winning in either situation because in the end, he would always end up alone and hurting.

It was hard seeing you happy, it was even harder when he finds you sad but he can't be with you this time, so he decides to stop visiting.

He tries so hard to stay away, and it works out for him in the most part, but he always somehow ends up finding you in your old age, sneaking in the hospital(sometimes in old homes) to accompany you in your last few days on earth in the lifetime you spent without him, and he would hold your hand each time. You may not know who he was, but you felt safe and you would always let him stay.

You'd tell him about the life you've lived, and even though he knew all about it(because Lucifer knows he just couldn't stay away for too long without checking up on you), he was always all ears.

He doesn't ask you if you wished to live longer, he stopped asking you several lifetimes ago.

He was there when you felt the soft embrace of death. He holds his breath, his cold hands tightening their hold on yours as you breathe in your last huff of air. He trembles as he watches your eyes close, and he shuts his eyes too, hoping to the infernals that you take him with you when you cross the bridge. But it doesn't happen.

It wasn't his time.

He doesn’t let your hand go when you flatline. He stayed until the color drains from your body, until your hands start to grow cold and he wonders if this was what it was like for you when you held his hand.

He did not attend your funeral.

The cycle of heartbreak starts again.

———

The count struggles between wanting to stay alive, and wishing for the sweet release of death.

He wants to die just so he can reincarnate with you but he knew that it would mean total reset. He was afraid of forgetting everything; the things he's done, what he achieved throughout the years. He was scared of losing himself, his identity, because for the longest time, this was all he knew. But most importantly, he didn't want to forget you.

He didn't want to forget your face, your smile, the way you'd crinkle your nose when you're confused, the way your hair falls over your face while you focused on your work. He doesn't want to forget the sound of your voice whenever you call his name, the whispers, the warmth of your skin that contrasts his cold fingers. How your face flushes red whenever he'd whisper something to your ear. He wants to remember every you in every lifetime, every declaration of love, the good, the bad, even the screaming matches you had when you had first refused to be turned. He wants to remember even the lifetimes you spent without him. Together or not, he cherishes it all.

He remembers the time when you felt a little disheartened by the fact that you couldn't complete your bucket list, and he would comfort you, tell you that it's alright. He remembers how he'd make sure you get to do what was left on said list on your next life. He did not want to forget all of the things he did for you. How excited he would get when he learns something new about you - every new thing you like, every quirk, every flaw.

Call him selfish all you want, but you were all he had. You were the one consistent presence in his life and he did not want to forget a single detail about you in all your marvelous, gut wrenching glory.

But in the end, he knows all this talk about remembering were nothing more than a tantalizing dream.

It takes him a while to notice he's slowly becoming senseless, how everything is starting to feel numb. He felt like his head was floating. It was as if he was losing blood - his body as heavy as the burden he carries on his heart, but at the same time, he feels so light. He was terrified, for he couldn't move. It was like he's forgotten how to even though he was certain it was possible a moment ago.

And then he realizes why. After a millennia and a half of watching the world burn and rebuild itself, he was finally dying.

Only now at the face of death did he realize how too much of a price he has paid in exchange for the immortality he once cherished. He carried so much burden and for what?

Looking back, he realizes how selfish he had been - to attempt to keep reliving old memories with every new you as if you were the same person as you were the first time you met. He had been stagnant, chasing the same high for countless years, only to feel so useless without it - without you.

Finally, he understands what humanity was like. He learned then how it was like to live your experience, he felt what you felt and he was grateful for it. If he was ever given another opportunity to live forever in the next life, he would turn it down. He would rather face death than live another lifetime away from your arms.

As his time draws near, he prays to the infernals, to Satan, to Lucifer, and to anyone who would listen to him wishing, pleading, that even if he forgets, your paths would still find a way to cross.

Little by little, he loses perception and the memories that come with it.

He recognizes the faint scent of freshly cut grass and the sweet aroma of the wisteria tree. As quickly as it comes, it was gone - gone with the memories he had long since hoarded.

And then, there was nothing.

It was as if there was no pain, worries, or regrets. He has found solace and comfort in the emptiness. He was finally free.

When he closes his eyes for the last time, he finally forgets the color of yours.

———

In his next life, his memory is wiped clean. He remembers nothing, not even the heartbreak.

He was no longer the Count who stalked the city streets at dead of night. No more did he hunt and prey on bastards on the streets and forests for blood. There were no more bloodlusts, no more burning under the sun.

All he is now is a human - A Cardinal, serving the satanic ministry and he busies himself with work to ignore the feeling of something missing. He's had lovers - some flings, some serious, but they never last. He'd given up on trying to find that missing piece on other people some years ago.

Until his eyes land on you, walking through the chapel doors - a fresh face that stood out amongst the sea of siblings and ghouls attending the mass he was about to lead. You were simply a curious visitor, he could tell. As you sat on the pews, he felt the need to make you want to keep coming back, so he pours his heart and soul out in his sermon. How fitting it was that the topic of the week was about love - within yourself, for the dark one, and for others. The words flow out of his mouth effortlessly. Never in his life had he felt so inspired, so moved, all because of you and he doesn't even know who you are.

He feels a sort of pride when you approach him after mass, telling him about how you've never heard such genuine passion in a sermon, how captivated you were as he spoke. You tell him how excited you were to come back next week.

The fates were tugging at the strings again and this time, he doesn't resist.

The Cardinal knows nothing about you but he is determined. He does not worry for he has the rest of his life to figure you out.

A/N: Big thanks to my friends for fanning the flames and giving me writing pointers and ideas. Your tears inspired me to keep writing lmfao ily. I hope this wasn’t too bad for a first published fic. :)

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My friendship trio in nutshell:

Trans gay, cisfem bi, nonbinary pansexual

💜Papa V Perpetua💜

I hope I was able to capture his diabolical beauty😈 He sure had me satanized from the very first second!

Little art of Copia here, I really don't know how good or bad it is, but I like it

Bruh, same

So jealous of Papa I-III today

I don’t wanna do this anymore

I hate spring. I always feel so tired. And exams. Fuck that.