#Copia X oc

[snake-seeds]

GHOST OC DOODLES!

Hey, it’s been a while since I’ve actually posted anything… at all really. Sorry for the lack of art stuff on here I’ve been a little insecure about my drawings recently and thought most things I made weren’t good enough to post… and then I realised how fucking dumb that was and have decided to post!

[kabukiaku]

latest batch of kofi commissions! thank you all for your continued support 🖤✨

[writingjourney]

keys // frater imperator// f!reader/non-descript f!oc // 500 words

His body feels leaden, like he’s aged ten years in the span of a day. Copia drags himself along the corridor, his new keys jangling with every step. He’s not sure what weighs heavier, the responsibility that comes with them or the loss that still haunts him around every corner. He’d almost prefer if none of them fit, if he could just step back outside, don his sparkling jacket and get back on stage.

The metal has warmed between his gloved fingers and yet he can’t shake the sense of cold that permeates him ever since he picked them up off the floor. They fit into the hole, turn just like they’re supposed to. Then he hears the steps behind him.

“Copia.”

At the sound of her voice his heart shatters and puts itself together all at once. She approaches cautiously, that look on her face he’s been dreading. Commiseration. Well, he is not Papa any longer. He has no good excuse to avoid her.

“Sorella,” he says.

Her brow furrows. “Are we back to formalities, now?”

He aches all over. For her, for his Papacy, for his mother, despite her flaws, for his life to go back to the way it was. Hovering between colleagues, friends, lovers. Some emotion he never dared to name. They’re close, he can’t deny it, and yet he always used the Papacy to keep her at arm’s length, lest he had to confront all the ways in which he’d fail her.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers.

Her hand hovers, slightly raised, like she’s not sure whether she’s allowed to reach out or not. They’ve touched before, many times, mostly innocently, or perhaps not so innocently when he thinks about those quiet nights alone in his room. He’d almost kissed her just before he left for tour, the very thought of a long separation more than he was willing to bear, but then he’d chickened out, kissed her cheek instead. What good would it have done? He was gone for months.

“I have missed you too,” he admits, thinking about the key in the lock. He wonders, then, what other doors it might open.

She touches his arm, at last, and he can’t even feel it through the thick fabric of his new suit jacket. Fuck this, he thinks, fuck all of it. But then she steps closer and he can feel the pull, the whole world tightening around them. He caves, grabs her by the hips and pulls her into a hug. It’s crushing, he knows this, she winces a little before she returns the embrace, soft arms, gentle arms. Always so gentle for him.

“Amore,” he says. It is the only fitting name. Of course he does not want to go back to formalities.

“Copia–” Her voice trails off as she understands. He thinks he hears the tears in her next breath.

It is a brave step, to change the nature of such a secure thing. He’s never had time, that’s what he tells himself. Not the time she deserves anyway. But now–

Perhaps now.

Yes, he can turn the key on that door as well.

short fic collection // masterlist

[saintjezebel483]

"His eyes were alluring, though his features and soft wrinkles on his forehead and face showed his age. Yet, you could still see that he was quite charming and attractive. He had an unconventional allure, but a subjective attractiveness nonetheless."

[can-of-pringles]

There's this girl on tiktok who is from Italy but she lives in the US and she makes slideshows talking about her favorite US food, and idk why but this one part just screamed Copia to me so I made a silly edit with the sound. Oh and Silas is there because I have to fit my oc in somehow.

[sakuraspoke]

in nomine amori • copia & his sorella prediletta ✨️ 1.5k words in slightly disjointed excerpts. copia x (unnamed) f!oc. a little soft, a little silly, a little spicy. angst-adjacent at points? he just has a lot of feelings.

He's not accustomed to being touched. At least, not in any meaningful way. The weight of hands upon him has always meant something else: duty and demand. An endless expectation.

But then there is her.

He lets her touch his face when no one else can. Lets her cup his jaw, trace her thumbs over the faded remains of old wounds. The paints don't shield him from her; she sees through them, straight to the man beneath.

Sometimes, when he's tired, she cleans them from his face herself. When it's late and the world feels small and safe she takes a damp cloth against his skin, gentle and slow, and watches the shape of him softening. Turning from Papa in to just Copia. Her Copia, the man who looks at her like she holds his heart in her hand. It's a transformation she alone gets to witness.

Her hands move with a devotion that matches the expression in her eyes, and he catches her wrist to press his lips to her palm.

"You need not look at me like that, cara mia."

She tilts her head, still focused on the lines of his furrowed brow.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm something more than I am."

She takes a slow breath, brushing her knuckles along his jaw, and meets his timid gaze.

"I look at you as you are, my love – nothing more, nothing less."

⸸

When she kisses him, it isn't hurried or desperate. It's measured almost to the point of hesitance. She touches him as though he is something precious.

He has spent years feeling like an afterthought. But in her hands – in her quiet, steady love – he is known.

⸸

On the nights he sits alone in his office, drowning in doctrine and demands – she appears. Not always to speak, sometimes only to touch his shoulder in passing. A quiet reminder: I'm here with you. She'll straighten the papers strewn across his desk into neat stacks, knowing well he will ruin them again, and pour him a glass of wine.

"For the nerves," she says, and he exhales, exhausted and grateful.

"For my sanity, more like."

⸸

The clergy doesn't notice the way his eyes follow her as she moves through the halls, the softness in his voice when he speaks her name, or how he hesitates when she leaves the room, reluctant to be without her. But she sees. She knows.

⸸

The first time he undresses her is a moment of reverence. All careful hands and roaming eyes, gentle fingers tracing along her clavicle as the fabric of her robe pools at her feet.

"Quant’è bella," he whispers to himself, voice hushed and edged with awe. His hands tremble as they settle on her waist. "You are..." he shakes his head, words failing him.

"Tell me," she pleads, shivering beneath his touch. "Tell me what I am."

He looks her in the eyes and brings her hand to his chest, guiding her to feel the undeniable pounding of his heart.

"Mine."

⸸

She stands behind him as he readies himself in the mirror for mass, straightening his collar and dusting off his shoulders. Her fingers linger at the nape of his neck.

"You belong to them," she says, meeting his gaze in the reflection, "but you come home to me."

He turns with certainty and a pride that fills his chest, and presses his lips to her forehead.

"Always."

⸸

An involuntary, almost imperceptible whine escapes him as he envelopes her nipple with his lips, and her heart aches at the sound. She holds his head in her hands, fingers tangled in his hair as he sucks and kisses and inhales the sweet scent of her. Snaking his hands round her waist, he grips her tightly, fingers digging into her skin as though she'll disappear the moment he lets her go.

"You are my lifeblood, tesoro. You know that, sì?" he asks, voice shaking, and she looks at him with a softness that stops him in his tracks. The weight of the moment hits him and he closes his eyes, unable to look directly at her.

She knows the answer to the question, but she's not sure he knows that right now. In these moments of insecurity, he sometimes loses himself, loses grip ever so slightly of the certainty of her love for him. He needs her to ground him back into reality again, to speak her love into the air, into his ears, right back into his weary spirit.

"I know, my love," she sighs, gently cupping his fallen face in her hands, guiding him to look at her and gently rubbing her thumb across his quivering bottom lip. "And you mine."

⸸

He sighs dramatically as she plucks the pen from his fingers.

"Vita mia, amore mio, luce dei miei occhi," he says, punctuating every term with a gentle peck to a different part of her face — her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose. "I am very busy."

"You’re very grumpy," she counters, tucking the pen behind her ear. "And in desperate need of a break."

Copia exhales sharply, "I do not need a break, amore... I need my pen."

"Your pen will survive five minutes without you."

He narrows his eyes but melts as she sinks into his lap and pulls him close, the scent of lavender that clings to her skin calming him with each breath. "Fine. Five minutes."

"Five," she agrees, and kisses him slow and deep. There is no rush, and no intention of keeping track of time. When they finally pull apart, breathless and dazed, she attempts to brush her now disheveled hair behind her ear.

The pen.

She laughs softly, mirroring his raised eyebrow with her own.

"Huh. I guess it did survive."

⸸

He tugs at his vestments, grumbling under his breath as she watches on in amusement, letting his torment linger for just a little longer.

"Cazzo," he huffs, struggling with the clasp at his collar. "This stupid button—"

She steps closer, batting his hands away, and he sighs, tilting his chin up as she works the fastening with ease. "I swear, these robes are trying to kill me."

She smirks. "Dramatic. Besides, I think you enjoy me taking them off you."

His lips curl into a grin.

"Perhaps."

⸸

He grips her hips as she settles over him, the firmness of his grasp betrayed only by the trembling of his breath. Candlelight flickers across his face, catching the faint sheen of sweat on his skin as his chest rises and falls in shallow waves beneath her fingertips.

"Amore…" he exhales, eyes fluttering shut as she drags her hands over his ribs, tracing her hunger into the soft flesh of his belly.

She leans in, presses her lips to the hollow of his throat, feeling the way he swallows hard beneath them. He always gives so freely, always wants to please, but tonight — tonight, she just wants him to feel.

"Let me," she whispers, mouth ghosting over his pulse, her hips rolling slow and deliberate.

His breath staggers as his fingers tighten against her skin. "Oh," he gasps, head tipping back. "Cara, please—"

"Please, what?" she murmurs, trailing her lips along the curve of his jaw.

His restless hands run up along her spine, his voice just a whisper as he pulls her against him.

"I don't know how to let you."

She stills, just for a moment, adjusting herself so that she's leaning over him, face to face. "You don't have to do anything," she says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Just be here with me."

He looks at her then, eyes dark and pupils blown wide.

"Only you," he breathes, voice shaking. "Sempre."

⸸

"Long day?"

Copia sits on the worn stone garden steps, head bowed and shoulders curved inward like a scolded child. He isn't startled when she steps closer, nor does he look up – only exhales in amusement as she sits down beside him. "Something like that."

She doesn’t ask for details, doesn't push for more, she just leans in slightly, pressing her shoulder against his. For a while they sit in silence, and she watches the way his hands rest in his lap, his right thumb absentmindedly scratching at the palm of his left hand.

"I had a feeling," she starts, slipping a hand through her habit into the pocket of her slip. "So I brought you these."

He turns to look at her, brows lifting in quiet surprise as she pulls out a selection of wonky, mismatched cookies wrapped in parchment. Some slightly burnt at the edges, the others perfectly golden.

"I think I overestimated my abilities."

"Tesoro," he says with an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as he takes them from her. "They're perfect!"

"Shut up!" she scoffs, playfully swatting his thigh with the back of her hand.

He grins as he takes a bite. "I'm serious," he says, a touch of gratitude hiding behind the teasing. "These are exactly what I needed."

He wasn't accustomed to being loved, not in a way that is patient. Purposeful. Enduring.

And then there was her.

[lilspacewolfie]

Content: 650 words, Copia x f!oc, ghost chapter 20 related, softness with a sprinkle of angst, SFW though slightly suggestive at the end.

The room dims not because the sun is dipping behind a cloud, but because invisible hands shut the heavy, embroidered curtains and ornate door. 

“Amore?” 

Copia sounds as sad as he looks, eyes raised to the ceiling, calling for her. 

It pains her to see him so forlorn. 

She approaches from, gliding her hands over his shoulders, wrinkling his pressed black suit and leaning down to rest her cheek against his. The mousy strands of his hair are soft against her cheek, tickling her mouth, she turns to kiss the grey at his temple and leaves behind a black stamp. 

“What’s wrong, love?” She asks, even though she already knows what ails him. 

Copia sinks into the plush gold sofa and her embrace, moping like a waterlogged dog forgotten in the rain. 

“Fucking V,” he spits with what venom remains on his tonuge. He lifts his gloved hands from his lap, curling his fingers around her forearms and squeezing. 

“I know,” she soothes. 

“It should be me. I—”

“I know,” she says again, more firmly, because she knows what he’s like when he gets like this. “But you’re the boss now. I heard you.”

Copia huffs, tipping his head back and closing his eyes so he can rest his head against her shoulder for a while. 

Eventually, she pulls back, slipping from his grasp and rounds the sofa to sit beside him. He looks so worn out, disheartened and lost.

She lifts a hand to touch his cheek, and Copia leans into the calming warmth. Her thumb glides over the high point of his cheek, smoothing across the wrinkles at his eyes and stress lines mapped in his skin. He’s radiant, even if he doesn’t see it, especially in moments like this. She will always remind him, just as he does for her. 

His once pristine yet simple makeup is now smudged, dragged down his cheek under his left eye, and there is a smeared stamp on his bottom lip. She chuckles a little at that, causing Copia to open his eyes. They are glistening, watery. Her face softens. 

“Do you want me to stay for a while?” 

Copia nods, exhausted. “Please.” 

When she nods, reaching for him, Copia wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his side. Gloved hands rise to cup her face tenderly, and spreading his fingers into the short waves of her bright red hair, he kisses her softly. 

He helps her unbutton her suit jacket, shrugging it from her shoulders and then drape it over the arm of the gilded sofa. She does the same for him, releasing the button and gently prying the ruby pins from his lapels—removing the weight of responsibility for a while and setting it carefully on the makeshift table he calls a desk. 

They shift until comfortable, Copia between her thighs—smart suits be damned—until his head rests on her chest. It’s a little awkward given the size of the sofa, but neither cares. She strokes her fingers through his silky hair, his breath tickling her collarbone. His weight increases as he relaxes into the embrace, arms tucked around her waist and face hidden against her throat. The solid press of his body above hers is a welcome one when her own heart is skipping with shimmering anxiety. 

“Close your eyes for a bit, ok?” She mumbles against his hairline, kissing his forehead. 

Copia opens his mouth, but she cuts him off.

“No buts or I’ll start biting you.” Her fingers follow the line up and down his spine. 

The sigh he releases is one of contentment, and he chuckles. 

“But you know that’s my favourite pastime, amore.”

Her black-polished nails scratch lightly at his nape, and she squeezes her thighs around the soft swell of his waist when he pulls her tighter to him.

“Hm. Then note it down as something to look forward to for later, baby.”

masterlist ⛧ Ao3

[leezlelatch]

Ollie sits cross-legged on her bed, carefully studying the text of the old book the Cardinal lent her. Il Velo e l’Ombra. The Veil and the Shadow. "It's dense," he had said, and that was an understatement. The pages feel stiff, crinkling whenever she turns the page. Dark yellow edges gradually transition to bone white closer to the spine. Each page contains heavy type-set in columns that slightly angle down like the printing press wasn't calibrated the day this book was printed. It smells like old paper and something faintly herbal, and she imagines it new, sitting on the desk of an old occultist, brewing a concoction nearby.

But it doesn't have any spells or craft in it. She thinks.

She taps her pen against her notebook, frowning at the Latin passage in the next paragraph, and then frowning at her phone. It didn't make sense. Trusting Google Translate is never recommended, but...

Ollie glances at the clock. It's only a little after 8, and the Cardinal said it was okay to contact him, right? She hesitates. Now that she's actually thinking about contacting him, she feels a little nervous. He was kind during class, smarter than she thought the other students gave him credit for, but the way that white eye landed on her. The slice of black through his iris that served as a pupil. It made her shiver.

After a few more moments of hesitation, she inhales sharply and grabs her phone.

Ollie: Hello, Cardinal! I'm so sorry to bother you, but I was going through the book you recommended, and there's a Latin passage that isn't making much sense. Could you help me? I understand completely if you would prefer I wait until next class!

Her finger hovers over the send button, and she closes her eyes tight. Do it, do it, just do it. She presses her thumb down, and the message is off with a whoosh.

She watches with growing anxiety as the text bubble appears, then disappears, than reappears. And finally, her phone buzzes.

Copia: You are not a bother, signorina. Show me the passage?

The breath she was holding escapes in a sudden gush, and her shoulders relax. Okay, he's not mad. Good progress. She snaps a picture of the passage and sends it through.

Ollie: This part, especially the second half. It's not making much sense, and yes, I'm using Google Translate. 🫢

His response takes a little longer this time, and she imagines him flipping through his own books to make sure. Does he keep a Latin dictionary? Latin for Satanists, tucked into his bedside table.

Copia: Perhaps I will make you stay after class to write lines, eh? Ma sì, Google does not know the difference between ecclesiastical Latin and classical.

Copia: Spit, can I call you? The typing is too much.

Copia: I meant spit.

Copia: Spit.

Ollie's phone starts ringing. She went from blushing to laughing in the span of a second, and she picks up with a giggle still on her lips.

"Hello, Cardinal!" She says, her voice warm, whatever nerves she had gone after his typo disaster.

"I meant shit," he says, a growl in his voice. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "Telefono di merda..."

"I could tell," she says, her voice softening. Ollie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Italian is gorgeous.

The Cardinal clears his throat, and she can hear a rustle as he shifts. "Anyway! Mi dispiace, signorina. You are finding that the book is just as I said? I hope it is not too dry."

"No, no. I'm enjoying it! I have a lot of notes that I may ask you about later. It's just the Latin."

"Ahh, sì, I see. What you have sent me...ehh...," he pauses, growing quiet for a moment. "I wrote it down, uh, I cannot get the texting back when we are talking. Quod in umbra latet, lumen revelabit. What lies in shadow will be revealed by the light."

"Ohh," Ollie says slowly, a snicker in her voice. "Oh god, I thought it said 'the shadow will hide the lamp.'"

Copia chuckles low in his throat, and her belly flutters. She holds the phone just a little tighter. "You have a good mind for this, I think," he says softly, and she may be imagining it, but his accent sounds thicker. "I look forward to seeing your notes."

Her voice is caught in her throat for a moment, and she's glad he can't see her face. She can't stop smiling. "Thank you so much, Cardinal. I'm excited for next class. I'll let you get back to your night."

"Mm, sì. But do not hesitate to ask if you get stuck again, eh? It is...nice. To be asked." He's quiet, thoughtful. Maybe a little sad, but...that could just be her imagination again.

"I will. Of course. Goodnight, Cardinal."

Copia stares at his phone for a long moment when the call ends, exhaling a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

[themratts]

Valentine’s Day is around the corner 🥰

[enjoy-my-swearing]

I know I am inactive lately. Life got in the way. Again. But I still do draw small things, like this one!

A gift for @the-lisechen who writes wonderful Copia x OC fanfic. If you haven't checked their writing out yet then what are you doing? I cannot advertise enough how good and unique it is!

It's got everything! Pining! Slow Burn! Ecumenical dialogue! Traces of corruption, temptation and being a little bit fucked up about eachother! Smart people arguing!

You can find it on ao3 here: you found the ache in my argument

[ninesposting]

More of Nora and Cardi, this time they got caught smooching on company time

ArtFight starts soon so I gotta get this stuff out of my system before I’ll be drawing other stuff for a month lol

[snake-seeds]

COPIA POST RHRN!

I’m really proud of this small comic page that I’ve worked on; it was more just to see what enzo would look like in this style and it’s safe to say I really like it. I hope I find the motivation to do nicer drawings in the future.

After the events of right here right now, Copia rushes to see Enzo (at this point in time his ex boyfriend) for some much needed comfort after the death of sister imperator: realising Enzo might be the only connection he has left alive, and he desperately doesn’t want to lose him.

Enzo comforts him. Not only because he still loves Copia but because Enzo thinks he needs it.

[kabukiaku]

bunch of ko-fi commissions! 💜

[shxykesqueer]

Fox: Wow, you really hate the new guy, don’t you?

Copia: I can’t stand him! He’s awful! He’s abhorrent! I like the dirt on the bottom of my shoe more than him!

Fox: Do you think that maybe you’re acting angry and spiteful because you feel like he’s replaced you? And you know that that’s not his fault, but you want to put the blame on someone?

Copia: I-

Fox: And don’t you think that instead of acknowledging that he’s your brother, and accepting that he also grew up like you did- not knowing his family- and the fact that he probably looks up to you, you want to push him away? Because you’ve already lost family so soon after finding it and so it’s either him or the job? And you choose the job because if you don’t then it feels like your career was for nothing? Which you know isn’t true.

Copia:

Copia: But you hate him right?

Fox: Of course, anything for you dear! He’s despicable!

Copia: :)

[sadistic-cardinal]

Call Me Copia

Copia x Sister of Sin

Word count: 1450

A Sister of Sin comes across a disassociating Frater Imperator and offers him a little bit of comfort. He is very stuck in his own head.

Post RHRN so there are some spoilers for the Ghovie.

Read it on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60551332

"Someone needs to do something."

"We can't just go up and bother members of the upper clergy."

"He has been stood there for four and a half hours, we can't just leave him."

"Well, I'm not getting in trouble. If you want to that's fine by me. Come on, Jen."

Sister Macy takes one last look at the back of the man in question before looping her arm through Sister Jen's and heading briskly down the long corridor, leaving the reluctant Lucy alone to make her own mind up about what to do.

Lucy sighs, wringing her hands as she listens to the fading footfalls of her friends' hasty retreat. Members of the upper clergy. Such formalities never seemed to apply to him before. Though far from a social butterfly, Copia never seemed the type of man that would turn you away or be angry at a genuine display of compassion. For all the nasty rumours that surrounded him, Lucy was always one to trust her own eyes and ears and what she saw of the former Papa he was a gentle, kind, somewhat awkward but infinitely patient man whose door was always open for siblings in need.

He was nothing like his mother. The late Sister Imperator. Stern. Cold. Dismissive. The iron fisted ruler of the Ministry who dispatched Ghouls and Papas at will. Though she was always good to him. Her son. At least in recent years. The whole situation was rather sad, Lucy thought. And more than likely the cause for Papa- no, Frater Imperator's- increasingly odd behaviour as of late. Siblings had noted him spacing out, far more than usual. His eyes, even under the black Papal paints, were sunken and hollow. Glassy. Lifeless. On more than one occasion he had been seen yelling at thin air. The paperwork was piling up, the Ghouls were distressed, and now he was standing in the hallway, looking into empty space, and had been for the past few hours.

No, it was not right to leave him like this, Lucy decided. Consequnces be damned, since when was it disallowed to ask Copia if he would like a cup of tea? That wouldn't exactly warrent an excommunication, would it?

She finds her feet moving and before she even realises what she is doing, she is next to him.

"P...-"

Good start. Almost calling him the wrong title. Lucy internally scolds herself for her mistake.

Although, in his current state he may appreciate his old one a little more. Maybe it would feel like none of this ever happened. Maybe he could believe he really was still Papa, still had his Ghouls, still had his mother. Even just for a moment. But then the illusion would shatter once again. No, not Papa. Not anymore.

"Frater Imperator?" She asks timidly.

Nothing. He is like a statue. If it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional blink she would have thought he too had been embalmed, like his brothers.

"Frater Imperator?" She says, a little louder.

Still nothing. She looks up at him and sees the tension. Practically feels it radiating off him. A thin sinew wound tight in his neck, his hands clamped together in front of his stomach, his shoulders absolutely rigid.

It is there she touches him, just below his shoulder.

"Copia." She says, firmly, as her fingers make contact with the pleasant texture of the very expensive black jacket he wears.

He stiffens instantly, sucking air through his teeth, and looks at her with an expression that reminds her of a frightened, cornered animal.

"Ah, s-sister. Hello. How do you do..?"

He manages, and she tries to fight off the pitying expression she can feel plastered all over her face.

"Just fine, Frater." She says gently, removing her hand before he notices.

"Um..."

He cocks an eyebrow at her, his gloved hands twisting together, a habit so deeply ingrained it is automatic at this point. They stare at eachother for what feels like an agonising eternity.

"Sister? May i help you? I am ah... i am quite busy."

It is Lucy's turn to cock an eyebrow.

"Frater... "

"Hmh?"

"You... um, you have been stood here for a while. I... just wanted to um... see if you needed anything...?"

Copia blinks.

"A while?"

He repeats back. Then he sees it. The pity. The concern. She doesn't have to tell him, it's written all over her face.

"...ah."

"Yes, Frater, i... i don't mean to interrupt but you've been in this corridor since two. It's... it's half past six now. Um... -"

"I see."

Copia sighs. He had done it again. It kept happening. Losing hours and hours. The tunnel vision. Feeling like he was outside himself. Seeing it again. The LA Forum. The view from a mile high. His mother. The paramedics. The Ghouls... Her body, lifeless-

"Copia?"

His name snaps him back to reality with an uncomfortable jolt. She was saying something. This pretty little Sister with her red hair and freckles. What was she saying?

"Perdonami?"

She smiles for the first time since the conversation started and his chest fills with warmth. A rare and pleasent sensation amidst the utter turmoil that accounts for most of his essence.

Then her hand is on him again, on his forearm and squeezing lightly. A sensation like electricity shoots upwards from the point of contact and he can hardly stand it.

The sheer open sincerity and kindness of the gesture almost breaks him right there.

He doesn't know her, not really. He has seen her around, of course, but what is this sweet little thing doing being kind to a weird old man like him? Respectful, yes, the siblings have to be, it comes with the position. But genuine kindness? That is not something he is often on the recieving end of. Odd. Awkward. Creepy. That's what they think of him. He is not stupid, he knows what they all say behind his back. And they're right, he knows this too. 'She should be running,' he thinks. What is she doing alone in a corridor with a man who can hardly control his own mind right now. She knows it. It is why she came over in the first place. She's speaking again. That gentle, soothing voice. Something about tea.

"Tea?" He blurts, just about having caught that as his thoughts began to spiral again. Her hand was gone from his arm but the lingering sensation of her touch remained. When was the last time someone had touched him? Was it when the stage hands had helped him up off the ground...-

"It always calms my nerves."

"What?"

Lucy smiles. For a Satanic nun she really did have the patience of a saint. What was she doing here?

"Camomile tea. It never fails. I have some... in my dorm. I could make you a cup, Frater? It's just... forgive me but you look like you could use a nice hot cup and... maybe... a little company?"

Damn where his mind went when she said that. Even in his moment of need when this girl comes to help he's still just an old letch-

"Yes."

"Yes? Great, I'll get it...-"

"Eh, no, you don't need to. I have some. I have some in my quarters."

He looks at her, idly tapping his fingers together, another nervous tick.

"If you're comfortable coming... eh...you don't have to...-"

Why must he be this awkward? She offered, didn't she? If this girl had any sense she would turn tail and run.

"I'd love to, Frater." A part of her must have sensed his need because in an instant her hand is looping through the crook of his elbow and gently guiding him along. His old knees creak, seizing from having been stood in one spot for so long, and he tries not to betray it on his face. Instead he concentrates on the feeling of her small hand ever so gently squeezing his arm. Again it is almost too much but oh how he craves it. The anxious tapping stops and he gently places his gloved hand over hers as they walk, feeling more present than he has in weeks.

"You... eh... what was your name again?" How rude not to have asked before. The shame turns his ears red and he steals a glance at her. She doesn't seem to mind.

"Lucy, Frater. Sister Lucy Corson." She says, giving his arm another gentle squeeze as they make their way through the Ministry.

He lets out a little sigh, making sure he commits it to memory, determined to remember every detail of this moment.

"Lucy. Eh... Please... just call me, Copia."

[can-of-pringles]

Commissioned @kabukiaku for a drawing of Copia and Silas, look at how cute they are!!!