#at this point. copia is alive

[copia]

no way i missed the credits for a train i didnt even catch. need to go again immediately and maybe keep avoiding spoilers just for the end

[gravehags]

destroying all (and make them want it again)

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: copia holding reader hostage for marathon fucking, copia being our favorite little sex freak, office sex, blowjobs, terzo being terzo, reader becoming more satanic every day :)

Words: 2,848

Summary: You'd think after almost three days of being held hostage by your perverted lover, you'd have tired of his touch. You'd think.

a/n: i for one would really benefit from being locked up in bed with copia for days like i really think i deserve that

~~~

By the time Copia allows you to stumble out of his quarters two days after your fateful visit you are delightfully, deliciously sore.

You had no idea he’d be so…voracious. Your mild-mannered awkward Cardinal had you bent over and spread on every surface in his apartment, multiple times, drawing words out of you that you never dreamed of saying. He wasn’t a cruel kidnapper either - sporadically he would leave the apartment and return to you bearing sustenance from the dining hall. Your favorite was lounging nude on his mussed sheets while he dutifully and adoringly fed you plump purple grapes, kissing you in between bites. The thought stirs your heart as you open your apartment door and stumble inside to your bedroom to collapse face down on the duvet. You groan as you hike one leg up, the beautiful ache of being thoroughly used emanating from your core and into your muscles. You’re about to throw yourself in the shower when your phone vibrates.

Miss you already bellezza mia xx

You sigh.

Miss you more <3

I could…come over?

You laugh out loud, shaking your head.

You dog! You’re relentless. I haven’t showered in days, I feel filthy.

I could help you feel filthier ;)

Copia! Not that I’m opposed to the idea but my girl needs a break, per favore. You’ve worn her out.

Mi dispiace amore, she’s just so plump and willing and perfect for me, I can’t help myself.

Speaking of your girl, she’s stirring to attention at the thought of where this conversation is going and your fingers hover over the screen, tempted, before shaking your head.

You’re welcome to come over but no funny business. Might show my face in the dining hall to prove I’m still alive if you’re interested in meeting me there.

There’s a pause and your phone vibrates.

I’ll meet you at dinner and see if I can’t persuade her. Ti amo <3

Love you

When the two of you meet up a couple hours later at your usual table in the dining hall you garner more than a few curious looks. Rather than taking his typical spot across from you, instead he elects to sit next to you. You’re midway through a forkful of vegetarian lasagna when you feel the slide of leather clad fingers along your thigh. When you slowly turn your head, Copia’s shit-eating grin pans into view and you drop your fork, unamused.

“Really? In front of my lasagna?”

He gives you a creepy nod, still holding his smile and the sight has you bringing a fist to your mouth to stifle your laughter. Reaching down you grab one of his fingers and bend it back slightly as a warning.

“Ah, my amore would never hurt–ah!”

He cradles his hand to his chest and gives you a pout unbefitting a man of his distinguished age and position.

“Told you,” you say, shoving a bite of lasagna into your mouth then pointing at him with your fork, “no funny business.”

“Oh she’s cruel,” he laments, shaking his head, “La mia crudele, bella padrona. She would watch me wither away, never to feel her touch–”

“Oh come on, Copia, you held me hostage in your bed for almost three days! This is the first real meal I’ve had in literal days please let me–”

“She does not care for me,” he says, somehow managing to give you the most unsettling puppy-dog eyes ever. “She tells me she hates me and she wants me dead.”

“Oh for the love of fuck you cannot be serious,” your cheek rests on your propped up fist, watching this ridiculous display. “I just want to enjoy my lasagna unmolested,” you lower your voice as a sibling walks past, giving the two of you a disgusted once-over, “so naturally that means I hate you. Unholy fuck, if I had known pussy was going to turn you into this I never would have–”

“What kind of fuck?” Copia asks innocently, mustache twitching.

“I–hmm. You must be rubbing off on me.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asks, filthy leer returning to his face.

You roll your eyes but can’t smother the smile.

“I’m leaving, Copia,” you announce, standing up. “If you would like to accompany me to bed - for sleep - then you know where to find me. Unbelievable.”

You stomp off and you can feel his eyes on the sway of your ass the entire way out of the room. He does join you, not long after that, the picture of a perfect gentleman as he strokes your hair and places soft kisses to the top of your head. You can’t lie though - a part of you is disappointed he didn’t continue his dirty old man routine but, you think as your eyes drift closed, you really did need to give your poor cunt a break.

The next morning you awaken to an empty space beside you and you’re not surprised. Copia had to wake up early for morning prayer and you’ve been lucky to have had him by your side for as long as you did. You feel his absence acutely - how could you not after days with him? - and it leaves you with a lingering sense of melancholy as you get ready for the day and leave your quarters. The first few hours of your work day passes without incident - typing emails, ordering archival supplies, meeting briefly with Sister Imperator (with whom you can barely make eye contact after shirking your duties to get repeatedly and thoroughly railed by her Cardinal), and continuing on your quest to catalog the Ministry’s extensive art collection. When lunchtime rolls around that unpleasant sadness sits heavy in your belly. Part of you feels ridiculous letting yourself be so affected by well, love, but hey it’s your first time at this, right? Gotta cut yourself some slack. Your heart aches for him but also…other parts of you. You thought for sure after the marathon he just put you through you’d be satisfied for a while but if anything it’s made you even more hungry. When you look up at the clock and realize it’s lunchtime, a low heat begins to simmer in your belly and between your legs. You hesitate before standing up and heading to the door with a grin on your face.

When you approach Copia’s office door and knock softly, you’re met with a muffled “entrare!” and open it to sidle inside. He’s on his old landline with someone he clearly would rather not be speaking to judging from his exaggerated eye-rolls and dismissive hand gestures. You quietly walk up to his desk and try not to laugh as you listen to him desperately try to end the conversation.

“Uh-huh. Yes. Yep. Uh, you too. Okay, goodbye. Good–what? Yes that will be taken care of, of course. Buh-bye. Bye.” Copia slams the receiver down and turns to fix you with a tired stare.

“Long day?” you ask, rounding the desk to lean against it.

“Stressful day, all of a sudden the fundraiser gala is my problem when it should be Terzo’s problem, but where is Terzo? Nowhere to be found, naturalmente. And Saltaria–wh-what are you doing?”

You’re halfway through sinking to your knees next to him when you blink up at him innocently.

“Helping with the stress.”

His jaw falls open and he swallows thickly, eyes on the way you inch up your flowy skirt to expose your spread thighs to his gaze. You place your hands on his knees and he jumps comically.

“Cardinale, you were very thorough in your ah, teachings these past few days however there are some areas we never touched upon.”

“O-oh?”

“Mmm mmhmm,” you confirm, grabbing the end of his black cassock and inching it up his legs. When you reach past his knees and can go no further he lifts himself off the chair and hastily draws the garment to his hips. You smile at the tent in his trousers and your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

“Missed you this morning,” you murmur, hand coming up to cup the curve of his cock. “Been wanting you so badly all day.”

“T-thought you were eh, sick of my advances?”

You give him a gentle squeeze and smile, resting your cheek on his knee.

“That was yesterday,” you say, finger drawing patterns on his bulge, “And while she might be tired, I certainly am not.”

His gloved hands grip the armrests of his desk chair as you lean forward to slowly unzip his trousers. When you take him out, hard and leaking, he sighs.

“You don’t know how many times I came into this office wanting to do this exact thing,” you confess, hand wrapping around him, “How all you had to do was say the word and I’d be on my knees or bent over that desk.”

He sucks in a breath.

“I-Is that so, amore? So all those times we were in here working, you–”

“--Were thinking about you fucking me raw? Mmhmm.”

Copia lets out a sigh and his head falls against the back of his chair.

“But let’s not think about the past, hmm? All I want to think about right now is you teaching me how you like to fuck my mouth. Okay?”

His hips buck into your touch and he lets out a whine before nodding. Slowly, keeping your eyes on his, you bring your lips to the red, swollen head of him and place a chaste kiss. Pre dampens your lips and you slowly dart your tongue out to taste the salt of him. He exhales shakily and encouraged, you lower yourself once more to drag the tip of your tongue along his slit. His low whimper makes you grin and gently you slide your lips over the head, flattening your tongue underneath him. You want to drag this out as long as possible, delighting in the feel of his heated flesh in your mouth so you suckle at it and moan around him when his gloved hand flies to the back of your head.

“D-dolcezza,” he breathes, burying his fingers in your hair to cup your skull, “Are you s-sure you’ve never done this before?”

You slip him out of your mouth and give him a grin.

“I’m flattered,” you murmur, using your thumb to rub against the vein going down the length of him, “But no. Just watched a lot of porn, honestly.”

He chuffs out a laugh and his head tips back to thunk against the back of his chair.

“Tell me what you want, my love,” you say, “Tell me what you like. Guide me.”

His eyes slip closed and a lazy grin curls his lips.

“Amore you could bite it off and I’d say thank you,” he groans as you lower your lips to suck at the head once more, “But–ah–I want to see what y-your instinct tells you, si?”

When you laugh around him the vibrations make his hips twitch against your mouth, and you take that as permission. Slowly, you slide your lips past the head and down the shaft and you can feel yourself dripping at the way he stretches your mouth. You’re about half way down the length of him and you can feel him petting your hair.

“Bene, amore mio,” he chokes out, “Molto bene. C-can you, eh, take more?”

You’re not sure but you’re willing to try, so you nod as best you can.

“Breathe through your nose, amata,” he sighs and you can feel drool threatening to spill from your lips and tears prick your eyes as you near the base of him. When the head of him prods your throat you swallow around him and the action causes his hips to spasm. Panicked, you jerk backwards - not sliding all the way off but just enough to where you can catch your breath - and you hear him murmuring praise above you.

“Cazzo, so good for me, taking me all the way into that pretty mouth. You’re doing so well for me, bellezza mia.”

His words of encouragement make your clit throb and push you to once again slide your lips down the length of him, dragging your tongue along the underside. This time, when his hips buck into your mouth you’re ready for him, allowing the head to bump the back of your throat as you nose the brown curls between his legs. Gently, the hand in your hair pulls you off him and pushes you back down, and you realize he’s showing you what he likes. 

“Ah, ragazza intelligente mia,” he groans, and you can feel his eyes on you as you begin to bob your head, “My beautiful girl always knows–ah!--what I like. Always–cazzo–so p-perfect for me. J-Just like that. Just like that, amore. J–augh–”

You’ve picked up your pace, the wet sounds between the two of you pornographic as you hollow your cheeks and suck. The hand unoccupied with gripping his cock, slides under your skirt where you find yourself soaked.

“That’s it,” Copia grunts, “Touch yourself, amata mia. L-Let those sweet fingers–hnngh–rub that pretty little clit.”

You do as he asks, moaning sloppily around his cock as you flex your hips into your hand. His grip on your hair tightens as he begins directing the movements of your head once more, fucking up into your throat and making you gag around him.

“Close,” he pants, “So close, a-amore. C-can I cum down your throat? Me lo permetterai? Please, please, please.”

As best you can, you look up at him and make eye contact. You imagine what he must see between his knees - you with your mouth stuffed full of him, mascara running down your cheeks, and your fingers frantically rubbing at your clit under your skirt - and the thought alone makes you cum, moaning around him and your hips bucking. You nod frantically as you continue chasing your own high and with one, two, three thrusts of his hips Copia empties himself in your throat. The way he holds you steady as his cock twitches in your mouth has you clenching around nothing, desperate for more of him. When he removes his hand from the back of your head to cup your cheek as he pants wildly, you slowly slide off of him and rest your cheek on his trembling knee. You’re only half aware of the way he tucks himself back into his trousers and gently eases you up by the shoulders to sit in his lap. You brush your thumb along his cheekbone and lean in for a slow, deep kiss. He hums contentedly into your mouth and you pull away with a cheeky grin.

“Like the taste of yourself, amore? Filthy thing.”

He tilts his head back and laughs at your echoing of his words said only days ago during your first time together. You lean in and brush noses with him, moving to kiss him once more when the door flies open to reveal Terzo.

“I am here to discuss the gala fra–oh.”

The Papa’s eyes flick between the two of you and the smeared paints on both your lips.

“Ah, a little afternoon delight for my topolini, huh? Tell me was it on the desk? A classic, I–”

“Fuck off, Terzo,” you say.

His face falls.

“No, you don’t mean that bella. You–”

“She said fuck off, Terzo Emeritus. Now.”

Terzo schools his face into an expression of outrage but you can tell he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“Very well, just don’t come crying to me when Imperator asks why your work isn’t done, huh?”

“You mean your work, sì?” Copia says, giving him a look. Terzo lets out a nervous laugh.

“Ah, yes. Well. Perhaps I’ll just take this–” Terzo says, grabbing a thick manila folder labeled GALA “--and get back to ah, fucking off. Ciao ciao, topolini.”

With a flourish, he’s gone.

“Really should have locked that door,” you muse quietly, “Anyone could have come in.”

“Anyone did come in, amore,” Copia laughs, “But not only did you eh, soothe my worries, you inadvertently got Terzo to do his fucking job. Promise me you’ll come see me at lunch more often, sì?”

“Not just for the blowjobs?” you ask innocently, flicking the jeweled grucifix on his chest.

“Next time it’s your turn,” he says, gloved hand inching your floral skirt up your thigh.

“Hmm well last I checked,” you say, looking at your watch, “It’s only half past noon. Plenty of time for you to eat.”

He grins at you.

“You know Terzo was right,” he says, urging you to stand and hop up on the worksurface in front of him.

“Oh?”

“We have under utilized my desk.”

Your smile splits your face as you spread your legs for him to settle between.

“Good thing I wore a skirt then, hmm?”

He’s already hooking a finger on the gusset of your soaked underwear, pulling it to the side.

“Thank Satan for small mercies.”

“Ave Sathanas,” you sigh as you lie back and let him work his devilry.

[x-autumn-moon-x]

okay let's do this..

MY RUN DOWN OF CLUES/ SUSPICIONS FROM THE SNEAK PEAK OF RHRN

1. The 3 red candles:

Red is used to represent Fire, Lust, Romance and Protection amongst other things. There being 3 I suspect could point towards either the 3s in religion (3 wise men, sun/ghost/holy spirit etc) or Terzo (unlikely tho)

2. The Calander:

The Calendar has one of the pin badges stuck between September 11th and 12th 2023..

and the piture matches the Re-Imperator post from the Office Ghost Instagram here

Linking the two together..

3. The Psalms:

I don't know much about them but here's a quick Google result with a few on the number variations (mostly the calender dates)

Perhaps hinting and the resurrection of Old Papa and the fact that Copia 'can't get away'..

4. The bust with Seestor:

The bust with Seestor, after some extensive goggling and comparison seems to he of a Greek Goddess called Clytie. Here are the similarities..

Clytie was a Greek Goddess that basically fell in love with the God of the sun who chose another woman over her.. given the history between Papa and Seestor this fits perfectly..

She was however, rather unfortunately buried alive by him and 9 days later turned into a Sunflower (this is why sunflowers always face the sun)

9 DAYS LATER.. September (on the calender) is the 9th month..

*****************

Now this may all be the ramblings of an idiot BUT this is what Tobias wants.. he WANTS us to think and wonder 😂 he enjoys playing with us!

Well bravo sir! I've spent the last 2hrs deepdiving the Internet and watching the same video to pause it and analyse it.. congrats 😂

[sakuraspoke]

la notte che è morta // copia x gn!reader

sfw. 880 words. grief/anxiety. not comfort heavy but a loving reader listening to copia share his feelings about that night in LA.

thanks to @gothdaddyissues and @wrathofrats for the dividers ♡︎

"It's funny, love. That night. The night she–" He doesn't finish the sentence, and you watch him as his eyes scan the distance as though he's searching for the words in the air. It's the evenings he struggles with most; you often find him here, sitting on one of the large concrete steps leading down through the gardens, on the particularly difficult ones. "I didn't want to take off my shoes."

"Your shoes?" you ask, tilting your head curiously and brushing a stray piece of thread from his hair. "Why your shoes, amore?"

Copia looks at you, and his face softens slightly. He studies yours for a second, touched and grounded by the affection with which you tend to him, until his eyes flicker away again.

"It was all such a blur," he starts, shaking his head as he recalls that night. "I don't even remember how I got to the hotel room. But I remember they kept trying to make me lay down, get undressed, go to bed. And it all felt so foolish."

Your eyes move to his furrowed brow, then down to his slightly open mouth. You watch the way he unconsciously runs his tongue along the back of his bottom teeth, how his jaw clenches slightly in the way it often does when he's uncomfortable; you resist the urge to bring your hand to it, to stroke his face and hold him close. You want to give him the space to keep talking when he starts to open up like this, as though any sudden movement will spook him like a skittish animal and he'll disappear again.

"All those little things. I thought, what is the point of it? I suppose part of me thought if I don't do this first, then they can't make me do that," he shakes his head. "I don't know, amore. It's silly."

"It isn't silly at all," you say earnestly, and Copia meets your gaze. "You were reacting in the moment to something none of us are equipped for."

He considers your words for a moment, takes a deep breath and gathers himself to continue.

"I just–It felt like all of those little steps were leading towards the end."

"The end of what?"

He sighs, running his hand through his greying hair and scratching the back of his head a few times. You can tell he's hesitating, still slightly self-conscious about what he's telling you.

"Of the day. Going to sleep was–I couldn't go to sleep because that would mean the day was over. It would mean that she was…" He stops himself. He can't say it. There's a pained determination on his face that breaks your heart, but you stay silent.

"And I know that… I knew that. I knew that she was–I watched it happen, amore, but–"

You can feel the anxiety in him rising. You see it in the way his leg is shaking next to yours, and this time, you can't help but put a grounding hand on his thigh, rubbing it softly and giving a gentle squeeze. Copia stills. His eyes find yours, and for a moment, the sadness in them looks set to overflow. But then he smiles, a small and weary smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He takes your hand from his leg and brings your knuckles to his lips, kissing them gently. Then he holds them there, softly brushing his lips against your skin.

"I knew she was dead," he says firmly, lowering your hand to his lap and holding it in both of his. "But there was a time during that day when she was still alive, amore, and I thought… If I let the day end now, there will never be–" he inhales sharply. "There will never be another day where she's alive."

The word comes out in a choked whisper, and Copia's head falls forward after saying it. Your eyes begin to sting with the threat of incoming tears, but you're brought out of it by the sound of him clearing his throat.

"There will never be another day where she's alive," he states, raising his head to look forward again. His voice is steadier this time, but he says it almost as though he's trying to get the message through his own head.

"Copia," you whisper, taking your hand from his and putting your arms around him. He instinctively wraps his around your waist, pulling you close and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You remember that night. That morning, really. You think of it more often than you would ever tell him. When you were awoken by a frantic call from Ashley. The way you had lost your temper as you begged her to put him on the phone. The feeling of the breeze on your skin as you stumbled out onto the balcony, desperate to reach the fresh air when the bedroom walls caved in. His smell on the robe you put on in a desperate attempt to have him close to you. The sound of his broken voice and the choked, heaving sobs when you finally heard from him.

The steady pattern of his breathing when he eventually fell asleep, somewhere over the ocean, still wearing his shoes.

inspired partly by personal experience and partly by the song 'lucky for you' by novo amor + gia margaret ♡︎

and i'm not what i thought i would be without you i'm not really sure why i slept in my shoes i'm nothing at all

[cirrus-ghoulette]

Thinking about Dew directly after his elemental transition.

Laid out in an infirmary bed that looks too big for someone so small. Induced into a quintessence coma because his body was too badly injured to keep him awake. His wheezing, crackly breaths through the oxygen mask, his vocal cords ruined after the fire burned him from the inside out. His body occasionally jerking as it tries to cough and clear his throat.

Arms, legs, neck, and part of his face covered in burn dressings, his platinum blonde hair charred black, bald in places. One seaglass horn shattered and fragmented, the other one crumbling under the lightest touch. One night, Omega has the horrible job of gently tapping at Dew's horns until they crumble into a dish he's holding with his free hand. They had to break off the remnants of his horns, the fragments were getting stuck in his wounds otherwise.

Copia sits by his bed for weeks. He's horrified at what he did to this ghoul. Papa Terzo's golden ghoul, the sweet little water ghoul, and he ruined him. There was no telling at this point if Dew would even recover fully from this, or if this had ruined him. They didn't even know if he'd be able to become a lead guitarist after this point, the whole reason for the elemental change. The guilt eats Copia alive.

He can't even hold Dew's hand. He tries to. He turns Dew's hand over carefully, and the palm is covered in blisters. He doesn't want to inflict any more pain on Dew by holding his hand.

Papa Terzo is beyond angry. He knows Copia didn't have a choice, the Clergy forced him to perform an elemental change to show that he possessed the powers to be a suitable Papa. But he's still angry. The change would have gone without a hitch if he had done it. But hindsight is 20/20, after all.

Terzo can barely look at Dew. That was his ghoul, and they've wrecked him beyond recognition. He knows Omega feels the same way, he can feel the silent rage as Omega changes Dew's dressings. The anger as he rolls Dew's limp body onto its' side to stop bedsores forming. The hopelessness as he checks over Dew's charts for what seems like the tenth time that hour.

Dew's touch and go. They take it day by day, but at the moment, it would be cruel to wake him.

[cowboyemeritus]

Il Suo Campione (Copia/Reader)

Chapter One

Series Masterlist

Summary: After another victory in the ring, your manager, Copia, makes sure you’re taken care of. (18+)

Content Warning: smut, violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, references to organized crime, drug use, ethically dubious relationship

Read on AO3

Notes: Howdy, everyone! WE ARE SO BACK (for now, at least)! A lot has happened since I last wrote something for you all (graduated college, got a job, moved across the country, etc.), but I got really excited about this idea and couldn’t stop myself. I’m considering turning this into a series, so if you thought this was cool please lmk!

GIF is by @ghuleh-recs :)

You’ve got this bitch licked.

She’s up against the ropes, desperately trying to protect her face as you pummel her over and over again. There’s blood streaming down from her nose, mouth, and a large gash on her hairline. You can tell it’s hard for her to see with how much is in her eyes. One of her front teeth is chipped.

It’s the fifth of five rounds. Thirty seconds left on the clock. Up until now it’s been a pretty close fight. She’s one of the tougher opponents you’ve faced and you’re in equally rough shape. Your split lip stings with every breath, and your nose will definitely need to be set after this. It only adds fuel to the fire of your rage.

You’ll win. Despite being evenly matched, you’ve managed to get in more solid hits, especially in the last two rounds. This girl is a fucking idiot, insulting you like she did.

“At least I don’t have to fuck my manager for table scraps.”

This isn’t about winning anymore. This is about making her suffer.

All you need is a well-timed right hook. You hit her directly on the temple, and she crumples to the ground. The crowd screams their applause, but you can’t hear it over the blood roaring in your ears. Before anyone can interfere, you’re on top of her, landing hit after hit in rapid succession. You want to beat her face in, to turn her into a bloody pulp.

It takes several men to finally pry you off of her.

“Fucking bitch!” You continue to thrash and curse as the referee and the unconscious woman’s manager kneel by her side, checking to make sure she’s still alive. When your opponent finally sits up, you redouble your efforts to break free. She starts to crawl away from you. There is genuine fear in her eyes, the sclera now red with blood. It’s not until you feel a firm hand on your shoulder that you finally still.

“That’s enough, dolcezza.”

Copia is looking down at you, a bemused look on his face. Still restrained, you rise to your feet. You spit a glob of bloody saliva towards your defeated foe, looking her up and down one last time.

Serves her right.

The manager, a hairy man with a misshapen face, points a finger at you, glaring daggers.

“Control your fucking dog, Emeritus.” His entire body shakes with anger. “Or I will have her put down.”

Before the situation can escalate, the men transfer you to Copia, who keeps his composure as always. Grasping your wrist, he raises it in the air and the crowd cheers again. A moment later, his gloved hand finds your waist, pulling you into his side as he whisks you away, leading you out of the ring towards the makeshift locker room. The feeling of his body against yours is grounding, eating away at the rage boiling inside.

“You did well tonight,” he says quietly in your ear. “The Boss will be pleased.”

The crowd is already clearing out of the abandoned warehouse, few willing to risk being caught by the authorities. Some linger, money and drugs moving from hand to hand. You’re about halfway to your destination when one of the loiterers, a man with dark hair and a scruffy beard, intercepts you.

“What an amazing fight,” he exclaims. You detect a slight southern drawl. Copia gives him a polite, reserved smile, and you feel him squeeze your hip.

“What can I say? There is no fighter quite like mine.”

His.

“Indeed,” the man says. Finally, he regards you. “That’s why I always bet on you, darling.”

You mumble out a quiet “thank you,” as you’ve been coached. There’s a moment of tense silence as you wait for the man to get to his inevitable point. He’s jittery, dilated eyes darting around wildly. You know why he, and all these other men, are really here.

It's not your athleticism.

“You know,” he continues, returning his attention to Copia, “I'm quite interested in the particulars of the sport and would love to pick this little lady’s brain. If we could have some time one-on-one, I would-”

“Thank you,” Copia interjects, “but we will have to decline.” Seemingly unfazed, the man takes a wad of cash out of his coat pocket, offering it to your manager with an unsteady hand.

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Copia’s tranquil demeanor finally cracks.

“She’ll bite your dick off, DeFroque. Now get lost.” For emphasis, you jerk towards him a little, snapping your bloody teeth together. DeFroque jumps back in surprise, paralyzed for a moment. Without another word, he turns tail and flees.

“Quel cocainomane...” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s clean you up.” You nod in assent, and the two of you resume your journey.

The “locker room” is really a grimy old office at one end of the warehouse. It's empty save for a battered old desk and a rusty filing cabinet, the floor covered in chips of yellowed paint. The fluorescent lights flicker as Copia sits you down on the desk and begins inspecting your face. He grasps your chin, turning your head side to side. You want to lean into his touch, but remain pliant for him.

“You’re allowed to defend yourself,” he remarks, examining a pink welt on your cheek. He breaks away to dig through one of the drawers, producing a small hand towel, cotton balls, bandages, and rubbing alcohol a moment later.

You shrug. “I like offense.” Copia’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“That’s why you always draw the biggest crowds, cara.”

Uncapping the bottle, he thoroughly soaks one of the cotton balls. Tilting your head up, he dabs it on the bridge of your nose. You hadn’t even noticed the skin had broken. The alcohol stings, but you remain still, used to the sensation. There’s a comfortable silence as Copia cleans the blood from the rest of your face, taking extra care around each cut and bruise. He has always insisted on caring for you in this way, despite being able to do it yourself. You’ve learned to let him, and savor every touch like it’s a gift.

Copia moves from your face to your hands. You offer them to him as he carefully unwinds the tape around your wrists and thumbs. Knowing the routine by heart, you slowly rotate and bend them to show him they feel alright. Copia nods in approval. With the towel, he dabs at your knuckles, wiping away your opponent’s blood until the skin is visible again. He shoots you an interrogative look when he sees they’re all split.

“She made me mad.” Copia sighs. You both know that in an official boxing league, this kind of behavior would be enough to keep you from ever setting foot in the ring again.

“Amore, what am I going to do with you?”

Now it’s your least favorite part. Copia gestures for you to lay back on the desk and despite the gnawing feeling of dread you obey, legs dangling off the edge. Hovering over you, you can’t help but gaze up at him, admiring the contours of his face. You feel the urge to run your hands through his mousy brown hair, but he’s already reaching for your broken nose. You jolt when he finally makes contact, writhing a little beneath him. He tuts.

“Stay still.” It’s all but a whisper.

There’s a faint crunching noise as Copia pokes and prods at your nose with experienced fingers. You do as he commands, balling your fists and gritting your teeth at the sensation of bone and cartilage moving. Once he’s satisfied with the positioning, he packs your nostrils with cotton, then gently places a bandage over the break, securing your nose in place.

“There,” he coos. “Not so bad, eh?” You glower at him and he chuckles. You think Copia is going to let you sit up but he doesn’t move, looking down at you with an interested look in his peculiar, mismatched eyes. He brushes some loose hairs away from your face and runs his thumb across an undamaged section of your cheek. Planting his hand next to your head, the other finds your opposite hip, effectively pinning you to the desk. You don’t resist when he leans down, pressing his mouth into yours. He’s forceful, enough to agitate your split lip, but careful to avoid bumping into your nose. Closing your eyes, you take in the lingering minty taste on his lips, instinctively parting yours at the feeling of his tongue prodding at you. Unconsciously, your thighs press together.

Copia’s tongue is gentle in its exploration. It crosses your mind that your mouth is still bloody and you are in desperate need of a shower, but clearly he doesn’t mind. With the hand at your hip, he begins to lightly trace the waistband of your shorts, his index finger running along the edge. The two of you remain like this for what feels like forever until, unable to breathe through your packed nose, you start to tremble from the lack of oxygen. Having mercy on you, he breaks away. While you desperately catch your breath, he takes the tip of a gloved finger between his teeth, pulling the garment off to expose his bare hand. It quickly returns to its place, this time right above the apex of your thighs. Smothering you with his mouth once again, Copia swallows your quiet moan as he reaches down to grab at your core. You want to pull him closer, but the second you try to reach around with your free arm he grabs your wrist.

“Let Papa take care of you.”

With no other choice, you lay back as he massages you through the fabric of your shorts. You’re practically melting under his touch, your aches and pains fading until they’re nothing but background noise. The fight itself seems so far way, as if it happened in another life. You can’t imagine why you were so angry before. Right now, Copia is at the center of your whole world, like he is, and always has been, the only thing that matters.

When he finally slips his hand under the elastic to touch you directly, you moan for him again. He traces your clit with his middle finger, dipping down to feel and gather the wetness of your cunt. Your self-control slips, and you grind your hips up into his touch. Seemingly satisfied with your state of arousal, Copia withdraws, sliding an arm under your body and lifting you so that you’re sitting upright. You swing your legs over the other side of the desk so that you’re face-to-face. Copia removes his other glove, placing it next to you before gripping the waistband of both your shorts and underwear. Planting your feet, you just barely lift your ass off the table, allowing him to pull the garments down. You have to kick off your slides so that he can completely remove them, dropping them on the floor next to the desk.

The anticipation is heavy as you watch Copia free himself from the confines of his well-tailored suit pants. His cock is thick and hard, immediately springing forth when he unzips his fly. The tip is flushed a light purple and already beading with precum. You swallow down the saliva rapidly accumulating in your mouth, wanting to reach out and touch him but knowing to let him lead. Sure enough, he takes a small step forward, slotting himself between your parted legs. His hands find the underside of your thighs, lifting them up to rest on his hips. You fall back, propping yourself up on your forearms. The desk is just the right height where he has perfect access to your entrance, and you shudder at the sensation of his cock teasing your folds.

Copia drapes himself over you as he slides inside your wet heat, claiming your mouth again. He fucks like you fight, hard and fast, snapping his hips with an unparalleled ferocity. The force is enough to move you back and forth on the desk, and your already exhausted arms begin to wobble with overexertion. When they finally give out you fall back, nearly smacking your head. You just barely manage to catch yourself.

“Dolcezza, you make Papa a very happy man. You know that?” You nod and Copia rewards you with a well-angled thrust, hitting a spot that has you convulsing under him. He hums, satisfied by your response. Still pounding into you, he grabs onto your sports bra, dragging it upwards to expose your breasts. They bounce each time his hips drive forward, the cool air immediately pebbling your nipples. He pinches one of the pink buds, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and you gasp, back arching off the desk.

“Fuck!” It comes out like you’ve been kicked in the chest. You can feel the tension building in the pit of your stomach, pulling tight like a rubber band. Copia’s pleasure is evident on his face, his brow furrowed and cheeks flushed. Small droplets of sweat bead at his graying temples.

“You always — Fuck! — You always fight so well for me.”

Slowly, his hand trails down to where the two of you meet. His thumb begins to trace tight circles around your clit, compelling your body to contract around him.

“Papa-”

“Where would I be without you, mia campionessa?”

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, crashing down like a tidal wave. You thrash wildly on the desk, a hand clapping over your mouth to stifle a long string of moans. Copia follows not long after, spilling inside you with a low groan. For a moment, everything is still. You gaze up at him, spellbound. The florescent lights create a blueish halo around his form and with the flush still decorating his cheeks, he’s practically glowing. You know he won’t kiss you again, but when he withdraws entirely, tucking his soft cock away, the disappointment still stings. Unable, as always, to find the right words, you bite back the feeling and silently get up. Going through the motions, you let Copia assist in making you presentable again. You’re acutely aware of his seed dripping out of you, but choose to pull your shorts and underwear back on before he can address it. From a hook on the door he retrieves your jacket and sweatpants. He’s halfway through pulling on his own coat when there’s a knock.

“Yes?”

“Sir,” a muffled voice announces. “The earnings are secure. Car is ready for you.”

“Bene. We will be along soon.” He looks to you, offering you his arm. You take it like it’s a lifeline. “Let’s go home, dolcezza.”

[calxia]

(This is part 2 to this ask here, so I recommend reading that first!)

“What do you mean he’s run away.”

Copia was furious. When his ghouls returned to him, he was expecting them to bring the elusive quintessence ghoul with them. He was not expecting Rain to nervously present him with a slip of paper telling him that his youngest had decided to flee.

“That’s what the note says Papa,” Rain replied nervously, “The rest of the pack are currently scouring the abbey but based on that note he’s no longer here.”

“And what would’ve made the kit decide their only option would be to leave the ministry?” Copia barked out. He had begun to pace back and forth in his office and was growing more and more worried by the second. It was one thing having a ghoul unaccounted for inside the ministry, but having one missing off clergy grounds was a disaster waiting to happen. Phantom was young and still inexperienced in human ways. He was in so much danger and he might have been missing for a week.

Rain’s ears pinned back at Copia’s words. He knew this was all the pack’s fault. They’d been so blinded in their grief that they had willingly shunned the new ghoul. They had made him feel so rejected that he had decided the only option was to run away from the safety the clergy provided them with.

“We need to find him immediately before anything bad can happen.” Papa was putting on his shoes as he spoke to Rain. They had been having a lot of wet weather recently, and it was very unlikely that Phantom had thought to take any sort of coat or umbrella with him. Phantom would also have zero money because he still wasn't allowed free access to his band funds. He was much too young and inexperienced for that, which meant that he would be Satan knows where, soaked in rain, with zero money for food or shelter.

Rain followed Copia as he practically ran out of the ministry and started down the drive. The rest of the ghouls were gathered around something just off the side of the pathway and he made a beeline towards them. He shoved through the ghouls to see what they were looking at. It was a ghoul track with clearly defined paw pads and claw marks. The claw marks were clear evidence that it had to be Phantom’s; the ghoul was still too young to retract his hind claws. He also had a known hate of shoes which meant that, wherever he was, he would most likely be glamoured with his bare feet vulnerable to the elements. The tracks still being visible at least meant that it was unlikely that he had been gone for the whole week. The heavy rain would have washed the tracks away by that point if he had been.

“Ghouls, follow his tracks and find him as soon as possible. Mountain and I will follow up in a car. And you better hope that he is still alive otherwise I'll make you all wish it was you.” Copia announced.

The ghouls immediately leapt into action. Copia was never cruel to them, but the anger in his voice made it clear that he would follow up on his threat if needed. They took off after the tracks with speed, following the faint traces of his scent that had somehow not been washed away by then. They followed the ghoul tracks to the ministry gates, where they turned into barefoot human tracks. They faced towards the nearest town, so the pack followed in that direction. They stuck to the wooded verges by the tracks so that they could remain travelling at speed without being seen. They followed the tracks for another 10 miles, clearing the ground much quicker than the kit would have been able to shifted. The human tracks then stopped.

The tracks had come to an end, yet there was no sign of the missing ghoul. His scent was still fresh too and there were no recent human scents to suggest he hitched a ride. It was as if he’d just vanished into thin air.

“What are we supposed to do now?” hissed Rain, his tail angrily swishing behind him.

“He couldn't have vanished so he’s gotta be somewhere around here.” Cirrus pointed out to them. This whole time Aurora had been snuffling through the undergrowth like some kind of demonic dog. She could smell the fatigue and pain sullying his crisp, sweet scent and the underlying acrid tang of fear. The scent couldn’t have been older than half an hour for her to still be able to make out the emotional undertones clearly. She started circling around the other arguing ghouls trying to pick up where the scent was freshest to follow. One by one the ghouls pause their arguing to watch her and try to work out what she is doing.

“Aurora darling, what on earth are you doing?” asked Cumulus. Aurora did not pause to reply to her, instead continuing to circle before fixing in one direction.

“He went that way.”

She was facing down a steep hill dotted with thorny undergrowth and leaf litter, which would easily be able to hide both human and ghoul footsteps. There were some patches where the undergrowth had been slightly flattened and displaced too.

Without hesitation the ghouls started following Phantom’s trail again, leaving Cumulus at the roadside so she could flag down the car when it passed. The scent has formed a strong trail again and leads all the way to the muddy lake at the bottom of the hill. The rain had caused the water levels to rise and the waters were churning and unhappy. Phantom’s scent was strong, but they couldn’t see any sign of him. They move closer to the river and notice a vaguely humanoid lump in the mudbanks. They rush forward towards it and it shudders with a pained animalistic groan.

The lump was Phantom.

[copiousloverofcopia]

For the ghoul fuckers out there, here is my recent commission for @dantesunbreaker featuring our favorite gremlin, Dew!

Thank you so much for allowing me to write this for you. It was once again a pleasure and thank you for letting me to share it with others as well!

Also once again please be gentle with me I am not the best when it comes to ghoul content, but I am so happy that you all are giving me a change!!!

If you are interested in commissioning me, my carrd info can be found on my pinned post!

Never Change

The upcoming tour has you on edge when your devilish lover Dew decides to create a stir. While he meant no harm, the ghoul's antics only add to your frustration. When things reach their max and you can no longer continue, it's up to Dew to remind you on how to relax.

Also available HERE on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

Your head was pounding. The dark circles under your eyes, beginning to feel like a permanent fixture on your face and It seemed that as of late that the days grew longer and the nights shorter. You had begun to feel the weight of all the responsibility, you had at one time so willingly taken on. Now taking its toll more than you had ever expected. 

At first you were elated to have even been asked. Working hard for the Ministry to ensure a successful tour for the Impera cycle was something any siblings would be honored to be a part of. There were days, however, when you hardly left the main office. The small room set aside for you, covered in an endless array of paperwork and incomplete itineraries. 

At times it felt like you too were collecting dust, just as the numerous artifacts and forgotten tomes that surrounded you. More often than not, worried that the more you accomplished—the more you still had to get done. The ominous feeling of dread hitting you from the moment your eyes peeled open with the light of the sun. All of it, you often thought, would be a little less infuriating if it hadn’t been for your own personal gremlin—Dew. 

You had fallen for him some time ago—back when you first became selected as a Canon for the Cardinal. A prestigious position within your Italian sect of the Ministry. You were ready to make a name for yourself just when Dew came into your life. Instantly drawing you in with his fiery and unpredictable nature. He was a force to be reckoned with, and he kept you on your toes. 

The excitement between you left you with a sense of meaning—feeling more exhilarated and alive. All of your desires found to be mutual, leading to a romance between the two of you that rivaled that of Antony and Cleopatra. Hot and heavy, it was a wonder you ever got anything done. All of that, however, came crashing down when Cardinal Copia became Papa. 

Your workload tripled overnight and suddenly you had gone from being able to sneak away to an alcove for some steamy afternoon delights, to being stuck behind the same four walls. Working day in and day out for weeks on end. No end in sight until the beginning of the tour. Worst of all, once the Ghost tour started and Copia left, Dew had to go with him.

You had tried not to think about it. Secluding yourself from the rest of the group. Dew, at first doing his best to give you space. At some point however, there was only so much he could give before a ghoul like Dew could no longer contain his natural urges. 

This week was the worst of it. Dew finding new and inventive ways to drive you mad. First was him clawing up the sofa in the office. Leaving behind a trail of threaded up seams and worn down arm rests. He was a glorified cat in his own right, you thought, praying Sister Imperator would not hold you accountable. 

The rest of the week Dew filled with the antics, the likes of an impetuous child. Trying desperately to gain your attention and doing his best to distract you from your responsibilities. Taunting you with the feel of his slick tongue running down the nape of your neck. His claws, grazing at the heat of your sex, all while you were elbow deep in monotonous paperwork.  It took all the power you had inside you to shoo him from the office. The aching he left between your thighs—absolutely torturous. 

You weren’t sure which was worse, the sexual edging or that he finished things off yesterday with a naked roll in the expense reports. Dewdrop, taking advantage of your quick trip to the refectory, to cover the pages in something wet. You, returning to find him amongst the pile of papers, all of them streaked in black ink and fluids. Of which the origins you dare not ask. 

While you had tried to explain, in vain, why it wasn’t the time or the place. No matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t bring yourself to explain it in a way the ghoul would understand. To him it was all fun and games. He was teasing you after all, and if he wasn’t allowed to have you then this was the best way he knew to spend the time. 

Now as you sat at your desk, you waited for the next Dew episode to take place. Feeling the tears pricking at your eyes when the door to the office creaked open. Your scrunkly handsome, mischievous, and smug ghoul wasting no time to step inside. Noticing right away when he walked in, that your face held more than the suggestion of tears.

“Hey babe… what’s got you all?” Dew asked, gesturing over his face with his hands. You let out a sigh, taking in a deep breath in through your nose, before exhaling sharply through pursed lips. Feeling the resolve you had been holding on to, quickly crumbling down. 

“I—I just can’t take it any more Dew.” you told him. Sobbing into your hands as he quickly closed the space between you. 

“Hey, hey, hey peanut. Tell me what’s going on? Are they adding more work for you again?” he asked, ready to throw hands with whatever clergyman had the balls to give you even MORE to do. 

“No, that's not it.” you sniffled. Drying the tears with your sleeve as they fell from your eyes. Dew’s normally grumpy face, turning soft and concerned in their wake. His tail, coming to rest sullenly between his legs.    

“Then… then what is it?” he asked, seeming to be genuinely unaware of what troubled you. The ghoul, bringing himself to sit beside you on your desk. Hopped up along the edge like a wistful kitten, wanting to comfort you. 

“I am overwhelmed, that's true. Sister is on me to finish up all the contracts for the European venues and to top it off I just found out they are adding another date in September that I need to work out the details on and well… frankly Dew,” You paused, deciding to tell him the truth once and for all,”...you are NOT helping.”  

“What? What do you mean?” Dew asked you, feeling a bit blindsided by your comment. Unsure of exactly what you were trying to tell him. 

“I am running on empty. I have so much left to do and all this stuff with you is making the load feel ten times worse. I just wish… I just wish you’d stop with all the crazy while I am trying to work!” you yelled, putting your head down on the desk. The pounding inside of your skull intensified. It was all out in the open now. Dew pressed his lips together, feeling the weight of your words. Wishing he could take back everything he had done the past week.

“Hey…” he began, nudging you with his horns. You carefully lifted your head to meet with his gaze. This time your impish lover was staring back at you with soft, loving eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” you asked him, wiping away the remainder of your tears. Dew pulled you into his arms. Wrapping you in them, allowing you to release in his embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I let things get out of hand. I never in a million years wanted to make you unhappy and I surely didn’t want to make you break down.”

“Oh Dew… it’s not just you. I—” 

“No, I know… but I could have done better to make sure you weren’t getting into a bad place. That was also my fault. I promise you that this will never happen again.” he smiled, running his hand over your hair. 

“I don’t want you to change Dew…” you told him. Worried that he might have misinterpreted what you were trying to say. 

“I am not talking about changing who I am, baby. I am talking about not adding more to your plate when you are at max.” he explained, assuring you that your lovable Hellraiser would still be the same ghoul you fell in love with.  

“Good, cause I wouldn’t have you any other way.” you smiled, bringing your lips to his. Feeling the heat rising between you. Your heart, already beating away as the blood went surging through your veins. 

“Promise me something, will you?” he asked. 

“Of course… anything.” you smiled, finding Dewdrop’s look of sincerity–incredibly cute. 

“Never let this happen again, ok? Don’t wait until you are on the edge before you say something to me. Promise me that you will start to take breaks when you need them. You aren’t invincible babe. You need time to ground yourself too.” Dew explained. You nodded in agreement, surprised that such sage words came from such an unlikely source. Clearly his time spent in Copia’s company was rubbing off on him. 

“I promise.” 

“Good. You know, even us ghouls know what it’s like to need a break. I can empathize with you more than you think. The long hours on the road, lack of sleep, the constant needing to bring your A-game. I promise you, the constant burnout will make things harder and you’ll get even less done in the end.” 

“Really?” you said, though you shouldn’t have been surprised. Dew was part of Ghost and had been for some time. Of course, he knew what it was like to live in chaos and like he was running on fumes. 

“Really… so make me a deal. I promise if you start giving yourself the time you need to recoup, then I will stop being such an ass.” Dew winked, “Deal?”

“Deal.” 

“...and you know there is one thing I can do to help you relax—if you’ll let me.” he smirked. Instantly your skin was flooded with goosebumps. Your body, knowing even before he’d made a move EXACTLY what that one thing was. Dew dropped off the edge, turning to lift you up out of your chair onto the desk as he buried his face in your neck. 

Teeth scraping along a delicate spot as he breathed his hot, steaming words of affection against your skin. His claws, gently traveling down your chest to your stomach as he unbuttoned your shirt. Feeling his desire for you growing hard against the inside of your thigh. Already your body, getting wet at the mere suggestion of him.

“I’m gonna show you just how well I can get you to relax baby.” Dew purred as his fingers slid over your zipper—undoing your pants. You hummed in approval, wiggling out of them as fast as you could without losing your position on the desk.  

“Show me… I need you.” you moaned. Chewing on your bottom lip and watching as his deep, piercing eyes fall to the center of your lap. His fingers, finding their way diligently to the wet spot of your underwear. Dew wasted no time teasing it with his digit. Rubbing you there until it was soaked all the way through. 

“That's right baby… that's what I wanna see. I love how fucking wet you get for me.” he growled. Moving now to sink his fingers fully inside you. His fangs, following suit as he bit into your neck. 

“Ah!” you cried out. Reveling in both the pleasure and pain combined between you. Rolling your head from side to side as the sensations overwhelmed you in the best way. Dew began to lick and suck at the bite. Leaving purple marks of ownership behind them. It would be clear to anyone who saw you, that you belonged to him. That he belonged to you. 

As you leaned back on your elbows, Dew lifted up from your neck  to watch as he pushed his fingers carefully past your folds. Licking his lips as he pumped them in and out of your dripping wet pussy. Hungry to taste you more than anything he had ever tasted before. Not satisfied enough just to have watched you squirm.

“You’re so good for me.” he purred again. His thumb, circling over your swollen clit before he began once again dipping his fingers in and out of you. Your hands, wandering over his sleek back and tangling in his long hair, just before you reached his horns. “Fuck.” he groaned, he loved that. Knowing that they allowed you more control—and he was determined to let you use them. Happily guiding his mouth down along your folds.    

“Ah…mmm…” you mewled as Dew dropped down between your legs. His tongue slithering through your wet lips and licking up inside you. Alternating between sucking on your clit and lapping at your folds as he gently worked your insides with his hands. Humming against you as he did it–the vibrations driving you absolutely mad. 

“Mmmm… So... fucking... good.” he moaned, palming his cock with his free hand. You wanted him. Needed him. Knowing that riding that cock and having him knot you was the only thing that could release you from the built-up tension. Your fingers gripped tightly onto his horns.  

“I’m cumming… oh fuck I'm cumming!” you cried as he pressed hard into your g-stop. The sensation of his touch on the soft, velvety tissue—sending your hips up in the air. Dew, smiling against your clit as he felt you cum. Letting you ride out your orgasm on his hand while he delightfully lapped up your fluids. The juices covering his face when he pulled up to kiss you. 

You were breathless and weak as you laid there on the desk. Unsure if you’d ever be able to move again—though you certainly wouldn’t have had it any other way. Your body, still falling from the heights of passion you’d reached when Dew lifted your legs up and over his shoulders. Hastily pulling his throbbing, leaky cock out from the confines of his pants. 

“I think you’re still a bit tense.” he teased, you too blissfully pleasured to even respond. Well at least not with anything coherent. Dew began running the head of his cock up through your slick. Rubbing at your entrance to finish wetting himself before he was ready to slide inside. 

He didn’t need to bother; you were already so needy and ready for him. Your hips rising up against his shaft. Trying hard to guide his cock inside. Begging for him to fill you, to provide you with the friction you so desperately desired between you. Thankfully you hadn’t had to wait long when Dew plowed his way in. 

“Oh, fuck me!” you yelped as he pushed himself in to the hilt. His meaty cock, meeting with the farthest point of you. Dew was only too happy to oblige. Withdrawing backward, just so he could more forcefully pound back into you. You gripped tight to the back of your legs. Dew’s hands placed on either side of you on the desk to help steady himself as he thrusted away. Fucking harder and harder into your tight, little core with every thrust.  

At one point it crossed your mind that you and Dew were most likely fucking on top of the expense reports from that morning. At that moment, however, neither of you cared. Your body, too engrossed in how good it felt to have him inside you. Bucking away as he pressed tight across your walls, filling you so well you could hardly stand it.  

“Dew… I wanna cum… cum with me.” you mewled. Your wanton cries of desperation, making Dew grit his teeth, hoping to hold back his own climax. There was nothing so hot as you begging for him to let you cum. 

“You want me to cum baby? Well, you gotta cum for me first.” he demanded, his tail snaking up your leg and teasing at your asshole. The fluids from your drenched pussy, spilling down over it as it worked its way inside. 

“Ah!” you cried out as his tail entered you. Slowly fucking your ass as Dew continued to fill your pussy to the brim with his cock. You couldn’t barely stand it. Stretched fully inside by him. The sensation made you want to explode. Unable to hold back as your orgasm came ripping through you so fast that you soaked the desk below.

Dew wasn’t satisfied yet. Lifting up and gripping the back of your legs as he pounded harder. His thumb brought back to your clit, continuing to fuck you in both your holes. His tail swirling around inside your ass and pressing up against his cock, from the other side of the thin walls, while he thrusted into you. 

Neither of you could sustain it much longer. The wet sounds of his lap, meeting over and over again with yours, was absolutely salacious. The well earned sweat, dripping down his back as he continued on. His speed, beginning to slow as he grew closer to his own climax. 

It was unmistakable when you felt it. His cock, beginning to swell all around inside. Pressing against all the right nerves as he spread you out, knotting you. His tail, continuing to move in and out. The two of you panting and whimpering as the pressure inside continued to build.  

Finally Dew couldn’t last any longer. Cumming hard into you. Ropes of hot, sticky cum—painting the back of your walls as his tail slipped from your ass. You, beginning to completely unfurl before him when you clamped down on him once again. Tugging tightly to his knot as you felt the force of yourself squirting around him.   

And just like that it was over, Dew collapsing on top of you. More spent than he had ever been before in his life. It seemed that this relaxation session was just as much for him as it was you. You held him against your chest, your breathing beginning to settle. A sense of calm, that was promised to you by your ghoulish lover, taking hold. 

“You see,” Dew began while still panting away, “there is nothing like a good fuck to help you relax.”

“Agreed.” You told him, both of you laughing in one another’s arms. There was nothing more you would ever need, than to be held by those arms. No matter how crazy things got, Dew would always find a way to level with you. Even in times that didn’t involve an overwhelming amount of sweat and cum. 

“Thank you.” you told him. You were finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. Even more so now, knowing that you could come to Dew with your problems. Knowing that you could be honest with him and that it was ok to give yourself grace when you needed it. No matter what he would always be there for you.

“Anytime.” Dew smiled, helping you up from the desk so the two of you could clean yourselves off. Suddenly, as you rose off the desk, a look of concern spread across his face. Accompanied by an even more worrisome nervous grin.

“What?” you asked, not sure you wanted to know the answer as you picked off the stray papers sticking to your back.  

 “Now… don’t get mad, but I think we might have gotten some jizz on Copia’s permit agreement. 

“Dew!” you laughed, giving him a tap to the chest, “Never change.”

[im-queen-of-the-black-forest]

What’s Mountain Munching On?

Copia: *talking to a new sibling* Every now and then, when I’m around the ghouls, I like to play this little game called “What’s Mountain Munching On?” Where I try to guess what the tall one over there has decided is food today. *points at the far corner where Mountain is standing and obviously chewing*

Copia, continued: it even comes with a little song! *ahem* 🎶 ohhhh whaaaat’s that? 🎶

Cumulus:*appearing beside Copia* 🎶 I say whaaaaaat’s that? 🎶

Swiss and Sunshine: *leaning around the corner* 🎶 Dear Lu-ci-fer what iiiiiiisss it?? 🎶

Rain and Cirrus:*turning to lean over the back of the couch*🎶What is it? What is it? Who knows? Not me! 🎶

Aether: *slinging an arm around Mountains shoulder* 🎶 Oh my curiosity does thrive!🎶

Dewdrop: *crawling out from under the couch* 🎶 Hopefully it’s not alive! 🎶

All Ghouls and Copia: *in a disturbingly perfect harmony*🎶WHATS MOUNTAIN MUNCHING ON??🎶

Mountain:…..*sticks out his tongue to reveal what is very clearly part of a tennis ball*

Ghouls + Copia: *intense cheering*

New sibling: …*intense confusion*

[puuuders]

Currently in the process of conjuring another self indulgent terzomega drawing. I'm mentally ill so I drawn to the sound of my own thoughts (just kidding, supposed to be cringe)

But fr I am silently drawing and thinking about some shit. I am a big sucker for resurrected Terzo shenanigans. Partly because I'm delusional and am crossing my fingers all the theories about him coming back are true. Anyways MY POINT IS

how would omega react to this?

Imagine going years without your partner because they're deceased. And then one day they're just back. Don't you think it would be just as mentally scarring for Omega as it was when Terzo died (or at least similar in severity)???

So I guess this is a bit of a headcanon ramble. Here's some bullet points on how I imagine it

Ghouls are only sent back to the pit if they're going against the clergy. So most of the ghouls that had been summoned are still there

Terzo died in 2018, resurrected 2024 (only reason is bc that's the year sister imperator goes bye bye)

Omega didn't see ANYONE ELSE for the 6 years in between

After Sister died, Copia gets access to some spell book idfk that the higher clergy members have that they use to summon ghouls. Since he is now frater imperator, he now owns the book

Copia resurrects all of the brothers

Copia hides this for a couple days until secondo says "I don't give a shit" and started waltzing around like he owns the place

The ghouls find out, for some reason I imagine Alpha specifically telling Omega that Terzo is alive

Omega goes kind of insane. He avoids the brothers, thinking he's hallucinating or dreaming or something

When he finally realizes that it's real maybe a couple days after he has a mental breakdown

Terzo kind of forces the walls down and holds omega while omega pretty much wails for like an hour

After omega calms he refuses to leave terzos side. HELLLLLA protective

Also I have this random story playing in my head of Omega batheing (bathing? Idk how to spell) Terzo for weeks after because he's scared that terzo will hurt himself or ruin the stitches in his neck.

Omega is basically extremely paranoid the rest of his life but it calms down after a while

I definitely think Omega would be so shaken by it. I'm thinking about writing a fic about the bathing idea but it would be so angsty and minor nsfw because nudity but should I?????? Idk

Anyways thanks for coming to my Ted talk I need to draw this mfs kissing now

[dracopias-bloodbag]

Bewitched By Bloodlust | Dracopia x F! Reader | III

Chapter III: Tarocchi

You spend more time in the presence of the enigmatic Papa and he continues trying to whittle away at your stubborn demeanor. But one wrong move sets him off, and the next thing you know he's demanding to see exactly what you can do in terms of your craft. He wants you to prove yourself, and you'll do that with the weathered deck of tarot cards he had found in your bag the night you met.

chapter content: 2.3k words. 18+ only, enemies to lovers, slow(ish) burn, eventual smut, slight dubcon, blood, blood drinking (duh), kidnapping, imprisonment, choking, copia is a sadistic asshole in these first few chapters, the reader Is a defiant little shit, forced tarot readings?? is that a thing?, spitting, canon divergent (see masterlist for details),

Recommended Listening:

The Prophecy – Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter ☽𖤐☾ Next Chapter

Masterlist ☽𖤐☾ Read on Ao3

The next few days are uneventful. You spend the days staring at the wall, the ceiling, even the hole in the corner that an occasional rat sticks its little nose out of to stare at you. Most people would be disgusted, but you cock your head as the little creature looks at you. You toss it a scrap of your dinner, almost feeling a sense of comradery with the vermin.

You’re an outcast like me, but at least you’re free. You think to yourself as you watch the little animal pick up the piece of food and scurry off with it.

At one point you manage to pull your cot up to the window so you can stand on it and look out. There’s nothing much outside aside from the trees in the forest you had come from. For a brief moment you wonder if your pleas for help would reach your coven miles away if you screamed loud enough.

By the time he returns you’re excited at having at least some change of scenery.

Goddess help me.

His hair is disheveled, and he looks tired, but not as bad as the last time you saw him. 

Copia notes how your demeanor is vastly different than before, the way you don’t move from the cot, instead remaining sat criss crossed on it as your fingers weave a tiny braid into your hair.

He had spent all day waiting for this, being in and out of meetings, working out the ministry budget, it was never ending. And then he had a meeting that he had been dreading; the one where he had to lie to Sister Imperator and that insufferable ghost of Nihil about your fate. 

To them, you were a threat he had been warned about, but one that could be easily and quickly exterminated. Copia had spoken evenly, and surprisingly clearly when he stated that you had met your demise; proudly displaying your silver dagger along with your necklace wrapped around it for proof of his supposed kill. He hadn’t missed how two of his ghouls, Dewdrop and Swiss, had exchanged glances. But he knew they wouldn’t tell, they were loyal to him first and foremost.

“And she did this to you?” Imperator’s eyes had landed on Swiss, noticing the cut on his cheek. 

Swiss had glanced at Copia before speaking. “Yes Sister, but I succeeded in driving her towards Papa, and he handled it from there.”

She hummed, seeming to ponder this for a moment, her eyes fixed on the ghoul, until she seemed convinced that he was telling the truth. 

“So she was a fighter, I’m both surprised and glad it’s over and done with.”

When Sister Imperator was satisfied with the outcome she had quickly moved on to discussing some other trivial topic that Copia had absolutely no interest in listening to.

Instead his mind had wandered to you. His little secret, locked away in the confines of the forgotten dungeon. Only his most trusted ghouls keeping watch over you.

Copia knew The Ministry would eventually find out that you were alive, but it was a problem he would worry about later. For now, you were his secret, his meal. He had tried in vain to focus on Sister’s words, but he found himself instead thinking of your scent, the softness of your skin, the way your hair tickled his nose when he fed from you…

Now that he was standing in front of you, strangely enough he feels all the stress of his day wash away.

But that feeling is gone as soon as you open your mouth to speak.

“Haven’t you taken enough from me?” Your eyes burn with hatred as you narrow your eyes at him. “One of these times, you’re going to take too much, too close together, and then your favorite meal will be gone forever. Then at least  I’ll finally know some peace instead of having to live in this goddess forsaken hole.”

Copia practically growls as he stalks towards you. He grabs you by the neck and you yelp as he lifts you up effortlessly, before pulling you tightly against his body.

“Why don’t you shut up for just once?”

Your mouth is agape at both his motions and his words. And you shudder as you feel his breath against your ear.

“What else am I supposed to do?” You grit out between clenched teeth. “How else am I supposed to survive this?”

He chuckles, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You could try sweet talking your way out.”

“Fuck you.”

He chuckles, the sound echoing through the dungeon and reverberating back at you as it bounces off the stone walls. He just stands there watching you for a second. Those eyes of his flickering over your face as if he’s trying to decipher something, as if he can find a weak point just by gauging your reactions.

“You thought you were so smart sneaking onto The Ministry grounds, eh? You thought it would be simple – get in, make your kill, and get out. But it wasn’t, was it?”

He releases you then, taking a step back as you crumple to the floor before glaring up at him.

“You thought it would be an easy task, no? Your precious pendulums and tarocchi told you that you would be safe, that you would carry out your duty to your coven like a good little witch.”

He pulls something out of his coat pocket then, and tosses a leather bundle at you. Instantly you recognize your weathered deck of tarot cards wrapped neatly in the cover you had made for them. The cards scatter as they hit the floor, and you sit and stare at them in disbelief for a moment, before scrambling to try and pick them up.

He chuckles darkly watching you as you collect the cards and stack them in your hands as neatly as you can in your panic.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t see you coming? Do you really think the other night in the forest was my first time seeing you?”

He reaches down and grabs your face in his hand, and you whimper as his fingers dig into the soft skin of your cheeks.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, strega. You just never saw me, hiding in the shadows, observing you as you walked amongst your coven. It’s charming really, how sweet you always were to them, how you were willing to do any and every bit of the dirty work they demanded of you.”

“You don’t know anything about them.” You snarl.

Copia smirks down at you, noting the flash of panicked doubt in your eyes as you say those words.

“Don’t I? I watched the way they walked all over you. They forced you to do the spells they were too afraid of doing themselves, like the cowards they are.”

He leans down so that his face is inches from your own.

“It made you feel empty, no? Lonely even. But it made you the strongest witch among them.” His gaze flits between your wide eyes, and for a millisecond you think that you see them glance down to your parted lips, but in the blink of an eye his gaze is locked on yours once more.

“I watched them break your heart over and over again, and I could feel the way all of your fears melted away when they gave you the sacred task of killing me.”

Your jaw is clenched as you glare daggers into his mismatched eyes.

“You thought that if you succeeded they’d finally accept you as one of their own, no?”

Don’t do it.

“You thought they might actually consider you as part of their inner circle.”

You grit your teeth.

Don’t do it.

“Maybe, just maybe… you thought they might promote you to serve as a High Priestess alongside them, eh?” He laughs at that, the sound making you grit your teeth as it bounces off the stone walls once more.

Don’t–

Your lips quirk up into a smirk then, and you push away the voice in your head before…

The motion is quick, if he blinked he would have missed it, but the wet feeling of your saliva on his face is unmistakable.

You fucking spit on him.

About three different emotions cross his face at once as he draws back and wipes at his cheek with his gloved hand. He looks dumbstruck at first, before realization sets in and his eyes meet yours. There’s amusement, shock, and finally… rage.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.”

Copia moves swiftly, moving around your body until he’s kneeling behind you. He secures you with a hand on your neck. He drops to his knees behind you, dragging you towards him, his strong arms yanking your body back against him. He holds you tight to him, so that you’re nestled between his thighs, and you can’t help the blush that spreads across your cheeks as you realize his crotch is pressed up against your ass.

His eyes flit down to the cards in your hands, as he sweeps your hair to the side, exposing your neck to him. He leans in close to your ear, his voice so low and gravelly that it makes you shudder.

“Why don’t you show me what you can do, eh?” He grabs your hand that’s still gripping the tarot deck for dear life. “Why don’t you find out your fate now that you’re here with me?”

You shudder as his lips brush against the crook of your neck.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Your voice is small, barely above a whisper, and it makes him smirk against your skin.

“No, I’m not fucking kidding, strega.” He growls. “Do. A. Reading.”

Your hands are trembling as you move to begin the process. Your knuckles tap on the back of the deck in three short knocks before you begin shuffling the cards. You fight to stay focused, trying to make sure your hand doesn’t slip and cause the cards to scatter everywhere.

His razor-sharp fangs graze against your skin, the action making you shiver and your mind go blank. In that moment the countless tarot spreads you had learned in your short lifetime seem to evade you and all you can focus on is the feeling of his breath on your neck.

He nips at your pulse point, pulling a tiny gasp from you. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Fuck, okay. Past, present, future, keep it simple.

As you finish shuffling the cards you split the deck into three equal stacks, and you feel your heart pounding as you look at them all, trying to go with your gut and choose one.

It's at that moment that he sinks his teeth into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. You cry out, your hand flying forward to grip onto something, anything as that familiar searing pain floods your senses. Your hand closes around one of the stacks you had made, and you wince as the edges of the cards dig into your palm.

He’s growling against your skin as he drinks, and you want to hit him over the head for the effect his noises have on you. You bite your lip, shutting your eyes, as you instinctively let your head fall to the side.

But he grabs your face with his other hand, making you gasp as he pulls away from your neck for a second.

“I didn’t say you could stop. Focus, strega.”

Is he fucking serious?

But the way his fingers dig into your waist tells you that he is. You stack the cards up again, placing the stack you had grabbed on top, before taking a deep breath as you draw the first card.

Past… Eight of Swords.

Restriction, feeling trapped, like you don’t fit in and can’t express yourself freely.

You take a shuddering breath, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped as the realization struck that this was exactly how you had felt in your coven. 

Maybe he was right…

You push the feeling and that thought away as you shakily reach for the next card in the stack.

Present… The Tower.

Oh fuck… Of course. Sudden changes beyond your control, upheaval, areas of your life that are being torn down that no longer serve you.

Copia is still drinking from you, and for a moment your attention is torn from the cards to him. His scent seems to wrap itself around you, and you have to bite your lip to stifle a noise as you feel your head begin to spin. He seems to sense your unease and the effects his actions have on your body. He pulls away once again to whisper in your ear.

“One more, piccolina… I know you can finish.”

A hot streak of blood slips from the wound on your neck and slides down your chest. Your shaky hand swipes at it before you hold it up, gasping softly at the sight of your trembling fingers covered in your own blood. You shut your eyes before reaching out with that same hand to draw the last card.

Future… 

The Lovers

What the fuck?

It was one of the most self explanatory cards in the deck, it was the one you spent your girlhood hoping and praying to any deity who would listen for, yet it never seemed to find its way into your readings. 

Until now.

The world spins around you as your vision starts to go out, dark spots threatening to consume it as you begin to lose consciousness. Your ears are ringing so loudly that you can barely hear the way Copia’s breath hitches as his eyes land on the card in your hand. For a moment you mentally curse your beloved tarot cards, wondering why the hell they’re telling you that romantic love is near…

…Or already in front of you.

The last thing you see before darkness consumes you is his gloved fingers plucking the bloodstained card out of your own.

Sorry for yet another delay, I suffered a loss of a childhood pet a couple weeks ago and was also dealing with some intense work stress. But I'm doing better and getting back to working on this has really helped get me out of my funk! ❤︎‬

Thank you as always for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing this one!

Comments, kudos, and reblogs are always appreciated! ‪‪❤︎

Translations: tarocchi - tarot strega/streghetta – witch piccolina – little one

[thelampisaflashlight]

Some Bea thoughts, because I think of her often. Let's go.

-She's originally from New Jersey, which part I have decided specifically, but I think she's less rural and closer to one of the cities there, at least when she was a baby/toddler.

Since her mother moved them around a lot when she was growing up, the places she's most familiar with are the ones where they stayed for at least a couple months.

-Both of Bea's parents are deceased; Her father died when she was still fairly young, so she doesn't remember him well, but her mother only passed about a year into her time living at the abbey.

Prior to being informed of her mother's death, Bea didn't even know she was still alive.

Bea has no other known living relatives.

-Bea is very conscious of how others look at her, but usually only when they're reacting negatively, she has no gauge for when people are being genuine or looking at her affectionately, and tends to be shocked when others express legitimate interest in her.

-Bea didn't really have a lot of toys growing up, so she's always been a little envious of the people who grew up with Legos and Barbies and Hot Wheels cars.

Bea's favorite toys growing up were a broken claw clip and a rubber alien toy she got out of a gumball machine at a gas station.

She also had a dollar store "Barbie", the type that are made of thin plastic and have messed up faces, but it got lost at some point, and, honestly, she was kind of glad when it disappeared,

And lastly, Bea's unofficial rating of the ghouls;

-Mountain 8/10 (secretly a 10/10) if they're speaking to each other, 0/10 if he broke the fucking tractor again.

-Rain 8/10 when he isn't trying to drag her into the water, -10,000/10 if he tries a bitch one more time.

-Dewdrop 9/10 as close to a perfect rating as the ghouls get, with the guys at least, 4/10 if he's trying to talk her into talking to Mountain after he broke the tractor again.

-Swiss 5/10 she doesn't know him well enough to have a truly negative opinion of him, but there's always time.

-Aether 7.5/10 because he keeps telling her to stop pushing herself as if he's a doctor or something... And, yes, she can confirm her appointment for Monday morning, geez.

-Aeon/Phantom 5/10 for the same reason as Swiss, but also because he keeps nervously reminding her that she needs to take her iron supplements like Aether told her to.

-Cumulus 10/10 no notes.

-Cirrus 7.5/10 because she scares Bea on a fundamental level, but that also makes her respect her more than most of the ghouls.

-Aurora 6.5/10 like Cirrus, she scares her, but in more of a twins from the shining way when she pops up with Aeon to remind her to take her iron.

-Bonus Copia 3/10 because he's her boss and he's always trying to tell her what to do... because he's her boss. Eying him from afar on the UTV/10.

[nihildenial]

🐁what typically non-cute animal i think each papa would have🐀

tw bugs and rodents and lots of swearing (i am PASSIONATE)

primo: spiders

this old fart loves his garden and what helps his garden more than spiders. primo's cranky ass likes spiders bc they listen to his problems and carry the fuck on unlike his fratelli. bonus points if they make sick ass webs like the yellow garden spider below

secondo: pigeons

this pitbull-looking motherfucker is a giant softie who toured new york once and cried like a bitch bc primo wouldnt let him rescue a pigeon. he has a perch outside the abbey where his ass sends letters like he's from the 1800s bc he loves his birds and terzo can go fuck himself if he's going to call them flying chicken drumsticks again

terzo: tegu

yes i know. the slutty younger brother should have some sort of sensual, fluffy animal but i say NO. give that man a lizard. this shit right here is the black and white tailed tegu and it fucking looks like a goddamn metal singer but is a massive cutie patootie who loves snuggling their human. terzo feeds his chubby tegu like a baby and will not tolerate any slander against his giant lizard child

copia: rats (of course)

this wet-eyed bitch loves his rodents and makes little sweaters embroidered with all of their names. i fall into the trap of copia naming them after the different kinds of pasta bc he's a sad orphan and he stress ate pasta as child. his rats are the prettiest goddamn rodents you've ever seen and he WILL ask for their opinions on his outfits. they are more well-behaved than any child under the age of ten you've ever met bc copia has made sure they have fucking manners

papa nihil: u think that fucker can keep anything alive?

[honimello]

all papas general headcanons

basically just headcanons i have about their past, childhood, and personalities! and some other stuff like physical description and personal experiences.

—

a/n: these honestly probably might not fit the canon like at all or what some of you might head canon but that’s okay cus i’m just letting my brainrot fester at this point. i left their relationships open ended so there would be imagination room for like an x reader thing lol. also i picked their birth dates based on vibes alone and i know very little about the zodiac signs i just thought it would be fun lol

warnings: angst, vaguely implied abuse, poor childhoods, character death, mentions of sex and sexual orientations, (nihil fucking sucks and sister imperator kinda does too), (also all papas are alive), vague mention of eating issues, mentions of wanting children, mentions of marriage, one nsfw bullet point for each so 18+ MDNI!! also not proofread

primo: 68, born september 14th, 1955 virgo

5’10, around 140ish pounds, blonde with shaved hair, but used to have long hair that he would braid and came down to below his lower back. speaking of his back, he has a hard time standing up straight now so he appears shorter than he is.

his mother was a random woman from a bar, nihil only found out about her pregnancy until she was 7 months pregnant. sister imperator was rightfully very angry finding out about this, but she had her suspicions of his promiscuity. she often took out her anger on primo, especially when he became papa and she gave him more work than he probably should’ve been doing. although, she did slightly lessen up on him around the time when he had taken in copia.

he’s actually quite sad he never really got to meet his mother, but he didn’t have much time to think about it once his brothers started coming along. he stepped up more often than not in taking care of them, he was more of a father (and a mother honestly) than nihil would ever be. and sister never really had any interest in interacting with him or his brothers, except for copia.

speaking of copia, primo found out about him when copia was around 11-12 and he took him in quite fast. it only took one look at that little boy for primo to know it was his brother. when he was younger he used to get a little jealous that sister imperator was so invested in copia’s wellbeing and upbringing given that she had never been a mother to him or his other brothers but primo eventually just found himself feeling grateful copia had a mother, even if she wasn’t a very good one.

when primo became papa he got rid of the prime mover position, seeing how it destroyed sister and nihils marriage as well as his brothers childhoods made him incredibly angry. he also didn’t care for the connotation that women are made to have children and carry on the bloodline only. he’s a romantic (and a feminist), and that notion always made him nauseous.

secondo visits primo the most out of all his brothers, copia often visits too but doesn’t have much time. terzo only really visits when he is having some sort of emotional or personal dilemma that he cant figure out on his own. primo doesn’t mind, he’s willing to help his brothers and see them whenever he can. though in his old age he does get quite lonely and wishes they could make more time for him, but he doesn’t hold it against them.

primo finds himself wanting children now that he’s older, even if he might not be able to bare his own anymore he often entertains the idea of adopting one of the orphans at the ministry. he wishes he had someone by his side as well, and while his random sexual encounters with few siblings are enjoyable, he longs for a more steady companionship.

it’s harder for him to get erections now but still enjoys having sex, even if he doesn’t always come. is very good at oral and fingering and definitely loves to spoil his partner. will probably cry happy tears if someone sucked him off even if he couldn’t get hard all the way, he still enjoys it. can still fuck hard but will probably be very sore afterwards. pls give the old guy a nice warm bath after and maybe a kiss on his wittle head.

secondo: 57, born august 18th, 1966 leo

6’2, around 180ish pounds, brunette but has shaved his head since he was 20, huge resting bitchface even when he was a baby, muscular but has put on some pudge since becoming papa.

his mother was the first prime mover in around 100 years, she was a sibling of sin who nihil had a passing attraction towards and decided to torture sister imperator by naming her prime mover. she died giving birth to secondo. secondo blames himself, and tends to despise himself because of this.

in his teenage years he often spent sleepless nights crying for her, how much he wished he could’ve met her or at least seen her as there were no pictures of her. he wondered if she would love him, be proud of him, or fight to be his mother like terzo’s mother did. or if she would leave and never come back like primo’s. now, in his older age he has come to reconcile with the fact that he will never know. but even though he never got to know her, he still misses her dearly.

after secondo loses his papacy, he throws himself into ministry work. he works long hours, well into the night and spilling over into the weekends. he’s an archivist and restoration expert, working on artifacts important to the church. he feels like this is the only way he will not go insane. he loves terzo but he does not believe him to be ready or fit to be papa when it comes terzo’s time. and he is partially right, as terzo definitely lets the power go to his head but over time he becomes more in control. secondo finds himself feeling sorry for his little brother when terzo loses his papacy, it was wrong of sister imperator to take it away from him like that and secondo hates to see what losing the limelight has done to his brother.

secondo is known around the ministry for his intimidating visage and aura, as well as his wrath. but what people don’t pay attention to, is just how often he bites his words. he has worked very hard to keep his anger at bay, even going to therapy to find more healthy ways to cope with his trauma and rage. in fact, he does his best to be polite and kind to everyone in the ministry. but his kind is different than others kind, he comes off as cold and calculating. his emotional range is very limited and he finds himself struggling to open up to anyone. the only person he’s ever opened up to was primo, and even then it isn’t really opening up if his brother can just read him like a book. secondo often doesn’t have to say much for primo to understand what he’s going through. primo helps him through it regardless, as he’s always done since secondo was a baby.

secondo isn’t sure if he would want kids of his own, but he does love children very much and is very good with them. he often volunteers to run events for the orphans at the ministry.

he would like to fall in love but thinks he is much too old and not nearly attractive enough to find a long term partner. has flings here and there with some siblings of sin but they aren’t very serious. he isn’t sure if he’s really quite ready to give up the party life yet no matter how much his aching bones say otherwise.

does frequent bars and clubs to feel like he’s still a part of the scene after losing papacy, but it doesn’t quite feel the same and most nights he leaves drunk, angry and alone. the few nights when he finds company are not as fulfilling as he hopes they would be, and it isn’t the other persons fault it’s his. he feels so melancholy now it’s hard to focus on simple pleasures like sex, especially when he hardly has the time with how hard he works. he often lays away most nights wishing he could’ve done better as papa, even though he knows people love him and respect him he still feels like he never quite did enough. he feels like he isn’t enough.

loves sex, and can get quite rough but is very, very good at aftercare. definitely not picky about sexual partners but tends to prefer people who are shy cus he enjoys bringing them out of their shells and getting them to snap at him. secretly wants to be fucked and dominated.

terzo: 54, born june 12th, 1969 gemini

5’3, around 120ish pounds, black hair like nihil and wishes he looked more like his mother who was a redhead, definitely spot treats grey hairs, hates the idea of getting old and is very insecure about having wrinkles, is quite small but still a little chubby, though he lost lots of weight since losing papacy. might be bigender or genderfluid but is afraid to really think about it too hard.

his mother was also a prime mover, but she fought to be in his life even as sister imperator tried to push her out. she was a very loving mother who did everything she could to teach him to be a good man, to be nothing like his father who she had come to despise. she taught him many things, she taught him how to dance, to draw and to cook. he loved her very, very much and it tore him up when she passed. he was 14 years old, and that’s when he decided to put up a façade. he did not want to be vulnerable anymore, he didn’t want to have to be sad or scared at least not where anyone could see him.

primo often held him in his bed when he would cry about losing his mother, he had nightmares for years. he vowed to himself to not let himself ever be so vulnerable in front of any one again. to this day thinking about her kills him little by little, though he is much better at expressing his feelings.

his flirtatious and playful persona is something he really relies on in his older age, he thinks it’s all he’s really good for anymore. a show and a good lay. and when he loses his papacy he absolutely crumbles. the persona completely falls away and he hides himself in his quarters most days. he loses weight and wallows, he becomes enraged by fate but he finds he could never really be mad at copia for taking over, it’s not his fault anyways.

in his teenage years he was quite promiscuous and took on many lovers, and while he still has casual flings with some siblings of sin, he never lets partners overlap anymore. he’s a gentle soul at heart and he learned that very fast, he can’t stand seeing someone upset, even if he’s only attracted to them in a more primal way it would kill him to see someone upset because of him.

i believe he is very loyal and if he were to get into a relationship with someone, even if they didn’t state that they were exclusive, he would still ere on the side of caution and not have sex with anyone else. i think if he were in love he would be hopelessly devoted, he’s more sensitive than he tends to let on and cheating is not something he would let himself do. maybe when he was young, he might’ve slipped up somehow, but not now. he’s much too intelligent and much too mature, he’s grown and he knows how to control himself now.

and while he does have quite a lot of sex, i think the sheer abundance of partners has been greatly exaggerated through false rumors and gossip. people tend to lie about having slept with him just for the five seconds of fame it brings them, and that often causes problems with people thinking he has cheated on many people.

is terrified of marriage but longs for it desperately, he wants to feel like someone wants him for him and not because he is/was papa. he’s not sure if he wants kids, he’s horribly afraid of being a bad father.

is horrified of being like nihil in any way, and nearly throws up when someone mentions that he has the most resemblance to nihil out of all his brothers.

is a huge giver sexually, could literally come from just watching someone else come. loves to overstimulate and go above and beyond. doesn’t really require someone to reciprocate and take care of him as well but it is deeply appreciated as he can also be quite the pillow princess.

copia: 52, born october 15th, 1971 libra

5’8, around 130ish pounds, light brunette hair that is going grey at the sides, is very petite but with a softness to him especially around his belly, hips, and thighs, he has light freckles all over his body,

he was an accident, sister imperator never meant to get pregnant but she had planned to tell nihil about the baby until she had caught him with yet another sibling of sin. she decided it would be better for copia to grow up as an orphan in the church, and to be raised by her secretly. copia didn’t even find out she was his mother til primo had found him and taken him in at age 11. sister often pushes copia to work harder, her hopes for him to become papa one day slowly begin to become his hopes as well. and it’s hard for him to say if he really wants the papacy or if he just wants her to be proud of him.

he grew up very lonely and outcast, the other orphans in the ministry thought him strange and unappealing. he had been told from a young age that he was ugly and weird. now that he’s older, he’s since found out that he’s autistic, but he knows that’s not the entire reason they didn’t like him. he thinks maybe he really is just strange and ugly. and as a young boy, when he’d found a rat scavenging for food outside of the ministry, he thought to himself he’d finally found a friend who was like him. unloveable and unwanted. misunderstood.

growing up he never understood the importance put on sex and romance, it isn’t until he’s older that he realizes that he’s demisexual and demiromantic, but it doesn’t really phase him. he never really cared about those things, he doesn’t care that he’s old now and hasn’t had sex, it’s not something he would want unless he really loved someone and had a deeper connection to than just passing lust. although, at night he often dreams of meeting someone he could have a connection with, and those nights are the only ones he really partakes in lust alone in his bed. dreaming of something that could be, but in his mind, is more likely to be just a dream.

when he becomes papa he is terrified, not only of the immense pressure on him to be the best he can be and do good for the church but also of losing himself. yes, he loves the new attention this is giving him and yes, he loves feeling important now. but something just doesn’t sit right in his stomach. again, he’s not sure if he really wanted to be papa anyway or if he just wanted to complete a goal that was thrust upon him at a young age. he tries not to let his papacy change him, and for the most part all it really changes is it brings him out of his shell a little more. he begins talking to more siblings and higher clergy members, but like always, he ends up lonely. they’re never quite interested in copia and more interested in papa, and he doesn’t understand because to him they are one in the same.

his stage presence is very different to his real presence, he likes to let out his “wild side”, as he calls it, when he’s on stage. he feels more comfortable, more free to be sexual and flirty, as well as quite commanding, when he is in front of the crowd. mostly because he knows they like him, that they’re there to see him. it gives him quite the confidence boost, in his performance and his personal life. he doesn’t get quite as depressed as often as he did as cardinal but now his depression holds much harder topics to grasp. things like his identity and where he belongs in the grand scheme of things, and if he will turn bitter like terzo when he eventually is traded in for a newer papa. he hopes not, but envy was a sin that often came easily to him.

is terrified of aging in a similar way to terzo, he feels like he is already very ugly and now that he is getting older he feels like he is becoming even more unattractive. he tends to avoid mirrors as much as possible because his reflection nauseates him, he hates his face and his body with a burning passion.

he does not indulge in the willingness of siblings like his brothers do, while his stage presence may suggest he is a sexual person (which he is honestly) he hasn’t felt any sexual attraction to any sibling of sin so far. most of which only really approach him because he is papa, and while he has no problem with guiding and helping his flock, he does have a problem with it when they ask for him to fuck them. it’s not something he wants.

is also the only papa to not participate in sexual rituals and black masses, though he does oversee them and encourage siblings of sin to participate if comfortable. he celebrates others choice to lust but doesn’t feel tempted to lust for anyone else.

when he is in a relationship with someone, and he does feel sexually attracted to them, he is incredibly eager. he has done his research i can assure you, countless videos and articles on sex and hours of “research” watching porn of the porniest variety. he gets quite horny, and before his partner he masturbated quite often, he isn’t innocent by any means. he is a virgin and is quite awkward, tends to fumble and trip over himself a lot but he isn’t subtle about wanting someone when he does want them. definitely a switch, pls someone peg this guy.

——

hope you liked these!! and if u have any questions or just wanna indulge me in conversation, i would love to talk more in depth about these headcanons!!!

[lucifers-little-sunshine]

Dance Macabre/ Papa Nihil Origin Theory

Dance Macabre is one of my favorite music videos, but Lore wise it seems to open up more questions than it answers. It doesn’t seem to fit into the timeline that the Chapters present of a continuous bloodline of Papas that stretches back for ages.

This is my theory for how Dance Macabre fits into the Ghost Lore and reveals a lot to us about the history of the Ministry and Papa Nihil. I felt motivated to finally write this out after reading @ngnt-writes theories on how Papa Nihil may become the next Papa.

Let’s start with his title. Papa Emeritus Nihil. Like most things in Ghost this phrase has an actual counterpart in the Catholic Church and is used to refer to a deceased or retired Pope. This implies to me that the first person to carry that title within the Ministry of Sin would have been an actual Pope in the Catholic Church at some point. Maybe he quit after he began to worship Satan to form his own church, maybe he died and Satan sent him back from the pits of Hell.

We also have the issue of if the bloodline goes back so far why have we only reached number four? (Okay obviously the real world reason is that the lore wasn’t planned out at the time Secondo gave his “Io Sono Papa Emeritus Secondo” speech, but I’m still going to try and reconcile it with the lore.) I think that Papa Nihil was the first ancient Papa who founded the Ministry.

At the Start of the Dance Macabre video we see Nihil and his friend show up at the party. They seem clueless to what the nature of this party actually is, although Nihil isn’t really digging the vibes. At first I interpreted this a couple different ways.

Nihil has no idea what’s going on and they’re walking into a trap

Nihil is already a part of the Ministry and is luring in an unsuspecting victim to be sacrificed

The first seemingly doesn’t fit, unless somehow Nihil is from the bloodline and doesn’t know it, and this party is meant to bring him back into the fold. But I think there’s another possibility. The Nihil we see without a white eye at the beginning of the video really is just a random guy the Ministry picked out. So this is my most far fetched theory, but the one I think explains the most.

Before the video the Ministry has a major problem. The last Papa died with no successor. They are scrambling to appoint a new person. A young Sister with ambitions of power sees this an opportunity and begins to dive into the history of the church. She learns about the first Papa Emeritus and attempts to contact his spirit within the crypts of the Ministry. After all, if Satan brought him back to life once he might do it again.

Next they select the host and the sacrificial lamb. The party is set up to lure them both in for the resurrection ritual. The doorman can’t let them in until he’s sure they’re the ones that have been chosen, because it can’t just get out into the world that the Ministry performs human sacrifices. I don’t think they’re even something they commonly do these days. But in this case it’s clear that the only way is a life for a life.

At the moment that Sister punches Nihil and gives him his white eye, he looks around as if seeing the world for the first time. He could be seeing things from a new perspective as someone who has ‘seen the light’, or it could be that this is Papa Nihil’s first time being alive in centuries.

This makes Nihil’s betrayal of Sister all the worse. The kiss at Whisky a Go-Go was just the last straw. She had brought him to life, fallen in love with him, and he didn’t even choose to have one of his heirs with her. I think there is also a good chance that she thought she could control him and his career in ways that she couldn’t. We see with Copia that even though she loves the people closest to her very deeply, that manifests in her having her own plan for their success that she expects them to follow.

She brought him back to life with expectations for how his career and their relationship would go, and when he didn’t play along she left and plotted give her son that power.

[onedaughterofman]

You, forever (Chapter X: Dance Macabre)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go. Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses, death, blood and violence. Biblical references and Satanism. Angst. Around 8K words.

A/N: The end is here. I want to dedicate this chapter to King Satan. None of this would have been possible without Him.

PREV CHAPTER HERE

"The fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth. To him was given the key of the bottomless pit. He opened it and there arose smoke and the sun and the air were darkened. There came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth."

Breathe.

The sky remains calm. Ominous gray clouds obscure the firmament, rendering it black. Copia’s eyes gradually lift from the old, decayed remains of marble tiles and rubble on the floor, examining the area until they inevitably fall on you.

Breathe again.

Copia’s heart jumps inside his ribcage, stopping scarcely for a moment before resuming a measured, heavy pace. His organ throbs and whines painfully, beating slowly. The sensation it’s terribly burdensome, as if his heart alone weighed more than his entire body. Mouth agape, he battles to inhale but even if the air enters his lungs, there’s no substance in it.

The entire world has come to an abrupt stop. No birds or cicadas dare to sing, not even the wind whistles in his ears. Copia is unsure if he’s still alive and breathing, or if he has ceased existing too. His fingers twitch, not quite moving, but desperately yearning to reach out.

You are standing in front of him. As beautiful as the last day he saw you, laying in bed and sleeping soundly. Copia remembers that morning previous to his trip, before the word crumbled at his feet. He recalls your tousled hair in the pillows, the way the dim light fell on your exposed body and how the sheets and blankets swirled around your figure. Copia remembers the little smile on your tender lips, the way your eyelashes fluttered when you acknowledged his departure.

That morning, the sky was equally dark as today, rain threatening to fall at any given moment. Now, even if the air is humid and saturated with dew, Copia fears no storm. The ground could break into a thousand pieces, turning into nothing but fire and lava, and he would nevertheless try to reach out, to hold you even if dread and guilt anchor his feet.

Suffocating as it is, Copia is sure he’d rather experience forever this solid weight his heart carries than to lose you again. It would be a hungry beast to feed, a dreary peace coated in blood and sacrifice. But worth it, so worth it. 

 It’s been months, years, an eternity since he saw you standing for the last time…And now, now Copia’s right hand lifts, fingers shaking and yearning to take yours. Yet, he doesn’t dare to. His feet are glued to the ground.

Frozen in place, Copia can only stare at the way Goore’s hands hold your waist and wrist, firm grip restraining you in place. There’s a black blindfold obstructing your vision, and the hair falls on your forehead in a way he’s convinced you must hate.

Yes, you used to despise that. His memories may have faded now, to the point he’s no longer certain what is reality and what a dream, barely a product of his imagination and mind tricks. Copia no longer remembers his past, the days and nights have become a blurry, mushed mess in his jaded brain. However, he’s sure of this. 

If it’s about you, then he naturally knows it. He feels it in his guts, in his heart.

In front of him, you remain both hauntingly beautiful and sinister, much like the phantasmagorical version of you he has kept alive all this time inside his mind.

“For you,” Goore announces, definitely shattering the deep silence. The tree tops move with the wind, practically in slow motion. “Right back from the bottomless pit.”

One step, then another. Copia’s legs vacillate, weakening at the sight of you oscillating limply in Goore’s arms. Your hand moves by degrees, in a very artificial and articulated way, almost as if there were invisible strings holding you together by the joints. He breathes through his teeth, raw air freezing his insides.

And yet, he moves. There’s no strength, no soul behind his flesh, only muscle memory keeping him upward. Copia’s hand extends again, fingers narrowly brushing the hair on your forehead before something hastily strikes at his face.

The effort to move out of the way makes his heart race. At least, now he’s sure he’s alive. Goore’s laugh pierces the silence, demolishing it into a thousand pieces as a low growl dies in your throat.

Copia swallows, but there’s no saliva in his mouth. His tongue is dry, and something wet is scurrying down his cheek. The realization hits him like a train.

It’s blood. He’s bleeding, from a shallow cut on his forehead.

Oh, impious father, why must he keep suffering? Hasn’t he given enough? Hasn’t he sacrificed everything, everyone in this spiteful earthly realm? He only wanted one thing, and that was to live with you, to love you. Was it too much? Was it so greedy of him, to desire your love?

Is he so wicked, so cursed that not even Satan himself would grant him his one, true desire?

It’s hard to accept it, to face the truth. You have attacked him, mercilessly tried to claw his eyes out of his face. Copia could cry, but his throat is closed and his soul is tired, empty. His lip merely quivers, before he regains control.

Behind his back, he perceives the muffled growling of the Ghouls. The tails are flickering and wiping the air, in a visible demonstration of their uneasiness. Copia gestures for them to calm down, but the growl persists, only becoming a dull rumble he chooses to ignore.

Mary’s chuckles are completely different. This time, their hands nudge you away, making you trip on a pile of debris. Your body doesn’t hit the ground, only because they grip both of your wrists before the fall, keeping your nails away from their face.

“Careful,” Mary advises, blowing a few strands of hair out of their eyes. “Their wrath knows no difference between a friend and a foe.”

“What have you done to them?”

As much as his soul hurts, there is no anger reflected in his voice. Copia is terribly numb, too exhausted to even consider devoting his energy on someone like Goore. If he’s about to plumber to the ground and allow nature to consume him to the very core, then he wants to use his last vital force to hug you and be with you under the moonlight.

“Me? I opened the pit that kept their soul trapped in the underworld. Just like you asked me to.”

“This is not…” Copia begins, but the words taste bitter, like poison. He debates whether or not to say them, pondering if it’s better to spit them out and release them to contaminate the ground or swallow them and hope to die from their venom. “This is not… the person I used to know.”

No. You, the one he fell for, would have never hurt him. You were kind, lovely, so full of warmth. Copia detects bits of you in the creature he has in front of his eyes, notes the resemblance, but there are also striking differences. It feels as if he is looking at you through a thick, colored glass or a distorted mirror. 

You’re the same and yet, you’re a stranger. He can’t overlook the way his muscles spam and tremble when he takes a step back, head shaking. Oh, how afraid he is, how strongly the anguish tears into his throat. He’s terrified, frightened of you and of himself, of the things he has done and the blood on his hands and clothes.

The fear in his small pupils is evident. Goore sees it even in the gloomy night, smells it permeating the air. Their lips stretch again, a wide grin on their face. “Man, don’t be like that,” they say, fingers digging into your cheeks. A growl escapes through your teeth, but you remain in place. 

When Copia doesn’t move, Mary continues. “You heard that? He doesn’t want you anymore,” they mock, turning your head in the other’s direction. Only a low gasp exits his lips. “You can’t rely on a man’s loyalty, believe me. Been there, done that.”

Finally, his words elicit a reaction. “That’s not…!” Copia complains. To ever think about leaving you or, Lord forbid, you discarding him makes his blood burn, then freeze. You can’t. He loves you. He needs you. You have promised to stay together eternally, to rot and burn forever united. “You must have made a mistake. Something is wrong, I know it!”

Rejoicing in Copia’s internal turmoil, Goore merely huffs in response. Their eyes are wide open, pupils blown inside the light irises. The gaze is intense, malevolent even. If there’s a spawn of the deepest circles of Hell on earth, then it’s Goore.

Maybe it’s not Death the one who didn’t want them. Maybe even Satan preferred to keep them far away.

“Well, you made me speed up the process way too much. Human resurrection is not as simple as one might think.” A long pause. Mary’s fingers uncurl from your wrists, pushing you away. Your legs tremble and give up, barely regaining your footing before reaching the ground. “Why, though? Death doesn’t take everything away, only the soul. The flesh and bones remain, just like the memories stored in the brain. If you give them a little push, a spark of life, they start moving like flesh puppets.”

Yes, that sounds right. Most of Goore’s projects were just flesh puppets made to satisfy whatever selfish desire they had. It quickly became a boring hobby, a stale one. Mary wanted more. So, they got more. “But yours? This one has a vigorous, tortured soul. That’s why it’s fucked up. I told you to only bring the body back.”

“You’d say it’d work.”

“It works. They need some adaptation time to reconnect the soul, body and memories.” Or so, Mary hopes. All their past projects were incomplete, way too complicated to be allowed inside the Ministry. You’re different, a masterpiece, a beautiful creation. “If you still want them, here they are. Hell, I’ll make them behave for you.”

A deep breath is all it takes. When Goore concentrates, it’s almost as if the cords holding you in place suddenly tensed up. Like a puppet with no visible strings, your back straightens and both feet get planted firmly on the dirt. A twitch of their fingers makes you twirl and dance round and round under the ghastly moonlight.

It’s awful.

“See? Are they not more beautiful now?"

No. It's terribly awful. Copia stares, eyes wide open, air frozen in his throat. His guts hurt, and he feels about to puke. “Stop!” he yells, moving forward. His fingers touch you for the first time, and there’s a spark there. He feels shivers down his spine, the bile rising to his mouth. 

Oh, Satan, if he’s been a good servant, then he only pleads one thing: let this be a nightmare. Copia is suddenly small, so scared, both happy to finally hold you but terrified of this reality. He has you back, but something is terribly wrong, he can tell. The realization of what he has done, how he has turned you into this, condemned you to this monstrosity, hits like a train. He could cry, sob and wail for days to come. 

But he doesn't. “Just leave them and go. We are done here.”

“As you wish,” Mary says, starting to walk. They stop before crossing the old Ministry’s gate, head tilted to one side making the long bangs fall on their eyes. “If you put them back in places they used to like, their memories will come back quicker and maybe they’ll regain some of their humanity. Don’t remove the blindfold yet, the resurrected don’t like it. There’s a reason why Nihil had to wear those stupid sunglasses during the rituals.”

“Maybe, you say?” The leather gloves make a loud noise over the silence when he clenches his fists tight, knuckles turning pale under the cold material. “I sacrificed everything I ever had to the Old One, and all you can give me is a maybe?”

Under his breath, Papa Emeritus IV curses. Why? Why is this happening to him? He was chosen. He’s Papa now. 

 It’s not fair. Life has never been fair to him. Maybe Imperator was right all this time. If you want something, you don’t ask for it, you don’t pray and hope to get it.

No. You conquer, you destroy, you take it by force. That’s how she lived, no fear, no guilt, no shame. And Satan liked it, Copia is sure. He rejoiced in the suffering she caused, fed off the atrocities and sacrifices she offered. Satan is a cruel mouth to feed in the Ministry, a curse that weighs on top of all of them, all the time.

In this world, either you bleed, or others do it. There’s no magical benediction, no way to free the soul from curses. They are all slaves to someone. Perhaps Terzo was also right. There should be no God, and no Satan.

There should be only men, only himself. 

Blown pupils burning holes on Papa’s face, Goore speaks up one last time.  “What can I say? Suffering for the Lord is not an easy thing.”

Copia allows himself to fall to his knees when Mary crosses the gates and disappears into the darkness. Behind his back, the ghouls mutter between each other, words in a language he can’t recognize. If they are laughing or mocking him, he doesn’t care.

In his arms, now on the ground next to him, your body twitches. Copia takes hold of your wrists, pulls them until your head comes to rest on his chest. The tickle of your hair on his cheek reminds him of old, better times. It’s a bitter comfort, a loving touch to his starved skin. 

“Amore, it’s okay,” he whispers over your hair. “You’re home now. I’m here with you.”

There’s no reply. Holding you closer, Copia lets his eyelids fall as he slowly rocks his body back and forth, humming an old song. When your skin begins to retain part of his heat, he feels a smile forming on his lips. The humming grows louder, melody vibrating in his vocal cords. 

Oh, how happy he is. Copia’s mouth opens to let out a joyful chuckle, but only sobs come out of it. The tears fall on your hair, clinging to the strands like dew drops.

“It was commanded to them that they should hurt only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads. In those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.”

In the abbey, although now run down by the passage of time and the unforgiving fire, there is a garden.

Long time ago, Papa Emeritus I took it as his job to build an educational area where Siblings could study and research herbs and plants used to treat diseases or to create deadly poisons. The exotic species were guarded by gargoyles and surrounded with beautiful painted tiles, a gift he received from a Bishop resident in northern Italy.

When Papa Emeritus I died, the maintenance of the garden fell on the Siblings. Shortly after, diverse rumors began to be spread, whispered in a hushed voice on the hallways. Some Siblings were convinced the soul of the old Papa was still roaming around, carefully tending to the plants and haunting anybody who dared to disrupt the peaceful and educational nature of the garden.

If the rumors are true, Copia doesn’t know it. The whole yard is nothing but a burned, withering mountain of weeds and dry leaves. There’s no ghost tormenting him, not heavy weight pounding down his shoulders and no promises of revenge coming from Primo.

It’s almost disappointing. Sitting under a tree, Copia wishes Primo could be here. The old man used to be the least bothersome of them all, and also the one who dedicated himself to the church the most. If only he could be near, willing to impart his wisdom for a bit of time, he’d be grateful.

Some kind of ancient rite, a special herb conjunction or even a spell could help him sleep for a whole night, without falling prey to the terrible horrors of his dreams. Copia endures the way his eyelids weigh down, desperate to offer some relief to his weary eyes. His sight is blurry, sclera bloodshot.

Copia is tired, so tired all the time.

There’s no respite for his old soul. He can’t rest, for as long as your situation remains uncertain. Copia knows deep in his heart that you must ache so badly. Still, on long days and eternal nights, he merely wishes to hold onto your body and wrap his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. If love could heal and relieve any ailment, if it could become a vital motor of life, then you would live perpetually in peace.

What a selfish idea. And yet, love is such a selfish, cruel thing to impose on others. The crushing weight of it, the brutal nature of desire and hope… Copia is aware of how abrasive his longing is, of how much his love will follow you like a restless shadow. He recognizes, deep down, that he is constantly asking so much. He’s begging for things no one else ever gave him, for him was not even worth the idea of it.

And you didn’t care about it. You never minded his flaws or his ugliness. Instead, you embraced every little detail with the tenderness of a lover.

Love: brutal, wonderful, cruel and tender, both a blessing and a curse. Since that first moment you asked for a dance, he hasn’t experienced peace.

There’s no peace for you either. He understands how being trapped in this existence must hurt you. Still, when the idea of ending it enters his mind, he feels repulsed. No matter how much his hands hover over your neck, wishing to squeeze it until you stop moving, he doesn’t.

No, you must stay by him, love him beyond death. You will come back to him, forever his. During interminable nights, you two will dance under the moonlight and eternal sky. The flames of his desire and adoration will burn as bright as the stars, but not as much as your gaze when your eyes meet his.

You’re his fate. Copia will do anything to make sure no one will ever touch you again. Nothing will happen. Not anymore. He’s not weak, he has found strength and power hidden deep within his guts.

Copia died, the same day he lost you, and now he’s been reborn. Just like Christ.

A whole new figure.

A whole new person.

You’re a whole new person too. Two lovers, different than they used to be but still reaching out to each other, swimming eternally in damnation.

And damned, that you are. In the dark, the earth trembles and crumbles. A deep pit, no bottom to be seen, opens its mouth to devour you whole.

Falling. You are falling away from the light, the warmth. Consumed by the shadows and the cold, your fingers reach for the sky, for whatever vestige of light that your eyes can see.

It’s useless. Heaven has darkened, and wisps of smoke curl around your body, engulfing every inch. It’s freezing, everywhere. The frigid air burns in your lungs, bites at the exposed skin of your cheeks rendering it numb. Gradually, all your muscles become numb, rigid.

Stiff, falling into nothingness, you try to focus on the last ray of sunshine in the distance. Through tear coated lashes, your pupils stare until the smoke completely obscures your vision.

Something wet is on your face. Maybe it’s tears, blood. Or maybe it has begun to rain.

Descending, you close your eyes. There’s nothing to observe anymore. No sound, either. Deep in silence, you wish something would save you. What’s happening? Where’s Copia? Why isn’t he here, with you, holding your hand?

Is this… the end? Just like that? It’s not like falling asleep. No, it’s like drowning in liquid darkness, thick fluid filling your mouth and nose and permeating your lungs.

It burns, so hard. The pain doesn’t feel right. It’s not raw, real pain. No, it’s more like a vague memory, as if you were merely remembering past sensations.

Death, won’t you spare me over until another year?

Someone hauls you out of the dark pond. A frozen hand on your own. Moving your fingers, yanking your wrist. Someone is handling you, pulling, holding. A hand, long fingers, cold skin. Someone is there. Something is there.

Then…

Light, air, it’s too little, too much. Your eyes are open, but you can’t see. There’s dirt on them, something coating them. Blind, you reach out. Your ears ring, loud, so loud. It hurts, and this time the pain is right, raw, pure, vivid. You wish you could go back to where you were before, comfortably numb, lost away.

Who…

Who are you?

Everything is overly bright, too loud. There are voices, too many of them, screaming until your ears ring. Pressing on them doesn’t help. Your nails dig in your scalp, and now there’s warm, fresh blood dripping down your forehead too.

What happened?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Memory broken into pieces, shattered beyond recognition, you try to move but your body doesn’t respond. The voices keep screaming. Or maybe that’s just you. 

“The sixth angel sounded, and I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar which is before God, saying to the sixth angel which had the trumpet, “Loose the four angels which are bound in the great river Euphrates”. And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared to slay the third part of men. By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.”

“Have you ever heard of the Codex Gigas, my girl?”

The Nameless Ghoulette stands still, long fingernails going over the edge of the desk. Copia perceives the body heat radiating from her, senses the strong outburst of intense energy that she releases.

“It’s an old tale,” she responds, clicking her tongue. “But humans like to change stories as they please, so I wouldn't know much.”

Slowly, Copia nods. The myths around Codex Gigas, known as “The Devil’s bible”, are various. “Legend says it was written during the 13th century in a Benedictine monastery in Bohemia, by a condemned monk seeking absolution. He admitted having committed numerous sins, including fornication, gluttony, envy and bestiality.”

“A spicy one,” she adds, a smile on her face. The gesture is partially obscured by the black mask, but there’s an unmistakable gleam in her pupils.

The amusement she provides is contagious. Copia allows himself to let out a few hollow chuckles, too. “That’s not what the Abbot thought. They sentenced the monk to be walled up alive, but before the punishment was completed he begged for mercy,” he explains. “They ordered him to make a book that would include all the world’s knowledge, and to do it in a single night.”

The task was impossible. In the secret underground library, Copia’s eyes absentmindedly examine the pages on top of the desk. The manuscript is ancient, faded by the inclemency of time. Next to him, the Ghoulette’s fingers continue drawing lines on the desk, nails following the swirling pattern of wood. “The monk made a deal with Satan. He surrendered his soul in exchange for the book.”

“Our Father is too kind. What use would He have for an old human soul?”

Kindness. If Copia ever had to describe Satan in a way, he’d never employ that word. Kindness is a human emotion, a trace of something He could never comprehend. Much like the infernal creature next to him, the Old One might behave and speak like a human, present himself as he wishes, but he’d never understand the whole spectrum of human emotions.

No, Satan isn’t kind or cruel. Copia used to believe he knew so much about the Lord, about the principles and history of their religion. Maybe a part of him, that intrinsic mortal part of himself, was so afraid of the unknown he clung to whatever could offer him respite. The idea of being watched over, guided, protected by Him…

That idea made Copia feel safe, wanted, needed. Now…

Now he no longer experiences such stupid feelings. “I don’t believe Satan asked for an old soul either,” he carries on, sucking in a deep breath. “I think he wanted the book to be written, shared between humans.”

“He took it as a personal project, then? Was He giving a message to humans?”

The silence in the room is profound when Copia nods, pupils observing the flickering flames of a torch. It’s cold between these walls, incredibly so. Deep in the underground tunnels, he barely remembers the sensation of the sun on his skin, the warmth coming from it.

As cold and dark as it is, Copia would rather spend most of his time there than to adventure to the upper levels, where you are kept under the watchful eye of the Nameless Ghouls. He left some of them caring for you, being unable to face the task himself without his stomach churning and hands trembling.

No, it was too hard, extremely nerve-racking. He’s a coward. Copia knows it, and yet…

Yet he’s only human, weak and flawed. No one could blame him, though. Even the Ghouls appear uneasy to spend time in your presence, flickering their tails and baring their teeth when you make a sudden move. It makes them tense, to be in front of someone who resembles a human but it’s anything but it.

An insistent tapping on the desk plumbers Copia back to the present. “It has all the world’s knowledge, from above and below. It’s a treasure to many, a curse to even more people.”

Everything has a price; Copia has learnt it long ago. Wherever that book went, chaos and blood followed. “The manuscript is now at the National Library of Sweden in Stockholm,” he continues, waving a hand and staring back at the walls. “But it’s not complete. Ten whole pages are missing, and no one knows what they say.”

From the corner of his eyes, Copia manages to catch a glimpse of the fleeting glint on the infernal creature’s eyes. The opaque glass does nothing to hide it. She’s interested in his story, probably more interested than any other ghoul would be.

It’s not a surprise. Ghoulettes are, after all, more ambitious, smarter and unruly.

The words are measured when he speaks up again. “No one but Sister Imperator and me,” he declares, moving the stack of papers closer to the demon. Her fangs glisten under the golden light when her mouth opens, a grin on the lips. “These are the missing pages. They were hidden under the Ministry, behind a secret passage. I don’t know how they came to be here, or who brought them, but whoever that was is now gone and forgotten.”

Gradually, the Ghoulette steps closer. Copia senses the faint whistle of her breathing under the mask, and endures the unmistakable heat of her body. She smells like burnt wood and smoke, a mix of sweet briar and incense coating her clothes. The sharp nails trace the pages, written in neat calligraphy. All the letters are the same size and style, still clear over the yellowish paper.

Copia’s hand darts out to prevent her from tearing the thin paper, but he halts before making contact. Ghoulettes are scarier and more dangerous than their male counterparts. They don’t react well to any aggression.

No. In general, Ghoulettes don’t react well to any man. Since the beginning of the times, they have chosen to aid women. During centuries, only priestesses were able to summon and strike a deal with Nameless Ghoulettes. It was a major surprise when pathetic, poor little Cardinal Copia was the one who without precedence managed to summon not one, but three.

Imperator was immensely proud. She bragged about it to Nihil for days. "I told you my boy is special," she said. "He's the one we were searching for, Papa."

Contrary to his own fears, the creature doesn’t shred it. The pages crack under the soft pressure, but remain intact. “What are they about?” she asks.

“How to summon Satan, the coming of the Antichrist…”

“Beware of the storms that gather in the sky,” the text said. “For the thunder will bloom and the birds will caw. Listen to the moonlit star, the one who exclaims: ‘I see no day, only the cold night that will fall, summoned by your own hand.’”

The story matches that one The Clergy used to repeat. A secretive nun, carrying the old man’s bastard child. Copia heard it a thousand times, without completely understanding all the implications of it. To many, it was just an old scary tale to tell in the dark, some wishful thinking.

And yet…

The crows were incredibly loud the night Goore was born, their file said.

“The Earth will shake and break, and death all around will rise, lifting old hopes from shallow, troubled graves. The estranged son will return, unleashed from the bottomless pit.”

Everything matches. The first time Copia read it; he didn’t pay much attention to it. Now, after everything he has gone through, after studying Goore’s old files and witnessing the raw nature of their power…

Now Copia’s eyes are wide open. Why would Satan choose someone like Goore as The One? He can’t grasp it. Goore is everything The Clergy feared and despised, everything himself tried to avoid. He was devoted, a believer… He gave up everything for this cause, for the Ghost project and the church.

Goore never had to give up anything. Goore only took and brought devastation. But...

“Straight out of Hell, the Antichrist will walk the earth.”

Maybe Copia never truly understood his own Lord. For all one knows, he is and has always been wholly Fatherless, alone.

And perhaps that’s the way it should be.

There is something else in the pages, something no one should ever witness. It’s dangerous in the wrong hands, revolutionary in good ones. And his, his are meant to hold these pages. “The last pages are the more interesting ones. They share the forbidden, necessary knowledge to become Him.”

In a swift movement, the Ghoulette’s nails press harder. Copia looks at her, notes the way her fangs are bared and her pupils are blown behind the opaque glass. “Become Him, you say?”

“Did you know Satan is a given name? Much like Emeritus, it’s only a title. It means adversary,” a pause. “The Satan we serve had this power bestowed upon, at the beginning of the times. But you know how it is with empires. They must fall, one day.”

“That’s a risky thing to affirm, especially to a servant.”

“I always thought Ghoulettes had a bit more independence, but I might be mistaken.”

The Ghoulette thinks, for long seconds. There is a loud rumble coming from her throat. “You are crazy,” she says, at last. “Completely mad, absolutely unhinged. Yet, now I see why my sisters heed your call. You have His fire. I’m curious.”

It’s time. He’s been pondering over it a lot, wondering what his next steps should be. To find himself suddenly lost, no Imperator or Saltarian to tell him what to do and no Dark Father to ask for guidance, Copia has been severely lost. Now, he’s seen the light.

With you back at his side, he can do anything. Even if you don’t completely come back as you were, he can march straight to Hell and recover whatever vestige of your soul might be still lost there.

It all makes sense now. He’s the number one, you’re his number two, and there’s so much work to do. “Are you and your sisters in the mood for some hunting? I think we have to send one last gift to our Father. As a farewell, si?”

“You know us well, Papa.” The Ghoulette leans in closer, a feral look in her eyes, pupils a slit. “Give us the command.”

In her ears, Papa whispers the words he has long wanted to tell. His white eye glimmers in the gloomy room while issuing the command and, with a click of his tongue, all the nefarious Ghoulettes are set loose on earth, to feast and to conquer.

There can only be one architect of the new world, and that is him. 

“The rest of mankind who were not killed by these plagues still did not repent of the work of their hands; they did not stop worshiping demons, and idols of gold, silver, bronze, stone and wood—idols that cannot see or hear or walk. Nor did they repent of their murders, their magic arts, their sexual immorality or their thefts.”

They pass the old ministries' ruins first. Speeding through the tombstones and the raised roots, they run to the left, then right. The starless sky remains calm, motionless and frozen in time, like the rest of the forest.

The smell of rotten flesh is what gets to them, first. It’s a murky and complex fragrance, a mix of sulfur and old blood, of decay and putrefaction. In the distance, the faint grunts and wails become a dull rumble, barely audible over the raging sound of blood pumping in their veins.

It’s natural to run, pushing vigorously until the burn on their legs makes it painful to continue moving. Wherever their feet touch, the ground trembles and shatters open, bones and remaining tissue filling with the impulse of life. Maggots and flies swamp the place, sticking to their hair and clothes, crawling in the dirt and brimming over the air.

Despite their efforts, the flesh puppets don’t last. It makes sense. Necromancy is a fine art, much like playing guitar. You can’t simply grab an old, broken, forgotten instrument from the trash and make it sing. No, you require time to repair it, tune it and make it feel right underneath your fingertips. Just like that, you can’t take a decayed corpse and infuse vital energy and a soul back into it.

And fuck, you definitely can’t do it while running for your life.

A sudden, loud noise forces Goore to duck, rendering them immobile. Their legs tremble, muscles spamming after all the effort. Heaving for air, they pant as their back hits the trunk of an ancient tree. Not too far off, probably near the remnants of the abandoned chapel, the monsters feast and tear the flesh off the undead, their growls echoing into the night.

The smell is always the worst part. Sniffing the air, Goore detects the distant tinge of blood and rain. It’s odd, the sky is clouded but calm, and rain hasn’t fallen in ages. It’s almost as if it is waiting, waiting for something to come, for the hammer to ultimately fall.

The bittersweet stink of Death follows them through the woods and the cemetery. They continue running, escaping in vain. There’s no way they can outrun beasts from Hell, but the rush from this chase fills their body with a thrill.

Yes.

Goore only feels truly alive when he’s about to die.

The path deep in the shadows calls their name. Mary follows it, heavy combat boots crushing the dead leaves. The smell grows more pungent, distinctive, before the glint of a black mask becomes evident in his side vision.

Oh, there she is.

One of them, at least. The other two are apparently still hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce and sink their claws and teeth in skin and muscle tissue. Goore’s boots sink into a mix of mud and leaves, fingers reaching up to remove a few branches off their hair.

Is this it, then?

The Ghoulette’s head tilts to one side by degrees, movement blurry and paused. There’s a loud crackling sound coming from her, a deep growl circling around them. Goore stares, and it resembles the feeling of watching a movie that’s slightly corrupted, all missing frames and delayed noises. In the distance, he hears a final wail, and it’s not hard to sense the last one of their flesh puppets has fallen.

Well, it was fun while it lasted, at least.

“Are we delaying this any further, or…?” They ask, voice vaguely coated with mockery. “Are you supposed to deliver a message?”

No one answers. Those round glasses on the visor glint, mask slowly regaining its original position before tilting to the other side. Mary’s skin shivers when something blows air over the exposed skin of his neck and hell, there is the other one.

Right next to them.

The razor sharp claws dig over their leather jacket, making it creak. The strength is not enough to pierce the thick material, but Goore nevertheless feels the bite. From up close, the glint in the creature’s eyes is almost blinding. Her pupils remain nothing but slits, thin and long, inside the irises. He notices it even through the dark glass.

“No message for you,” a voice says. It comes from within the forest.

Silence grows more deafening in the woods. Not even the bugs dare to disturb it. The only sound comes from their wild, beating heart and from the rush of hot blood, so loud in their ears. “I’m a bit disappointed,” their voice is a growl, a low rumble through gritted teeth. “He could at least curse me, at the end.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll curse you enough.”

Everything goes dark. It’s only a few seconds, a blink it’s all it takes. When Mary opens their eyes again, they are staring right into the clouded sky. The tree tops obscure their vision, leaves falling in slow motion before swirling in the wind. The ground is damp under their back, and something wet trickles down their forehead.

Blood. It tastes like blood when they lick their lips to clean it off. A drumming sound fills his ears, rhythmic and rapid. Mary inhales, snatches a shallow breath before enduring the burning cold of the air. The indistinct murmur of the demons comes from their right, words almost unintelligible.

Fuck. They are awake, but soon it will change. These creatures are hungry for blood and despair, insatiable. Goore fears no death, not anymore, yet the pain stabs their nerves right to the core. Once again, their body grows cold, muscles tense and skin too tight.

“Should we play with it first?”

“Papa said to have fun.”

Mary blinks once, then twice. Each time their eyes open, there’s the same gloomy sky and the tree tops. Their head hangs to one side, body completely limp in the hands of the demons. The stench of blood is extremely pungent, and their clothes are completely soaked in it.

Fuck. The world moves around them in a hazy bliss, almost like a dream they can’t completely wake up from. Midnight has passed long hours ago, and now it’s the devil’s time, the hour for them to rise again and bathe in the perverted lust of gore.

If the glimmering fangs and shiny eyes of a demon it’s the last thing they see, that’s okay. They feel no guilt, no shame. Heart hammering in their ribcage, wild adrenaline pumping along the blood, Goore smiles one last time. They only wonder how long it’ll be until they are reborn in morbidity, just like before.

Until then, they’ll remain as nothing but another bloody corpse, forgotten and buried under an upside-down cross.

“The seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, which said: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever.” And the temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightning, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail.”

“Amore, careful there, please.”

This place… Copia recalls it as if it was yesterday. He had been ordained Papa, there was a party in his honor and he felt overwhelmed, shaken. Imperator urged him to prance around and talk to people, something he dreaded. He hid underground, in his sheltered place away from prying ears and judgmental eyes.

You were beautiful, as always, but even more wonderful that night. Copia feels his throat tighten at the remembrance, caresses the memory inside of his mind with barely the tip of his fingers. He doesn’t want to stain it, doesn’t wish for it to shatter under the weight of his actions.

Oh, how ethereal you looked, how soft your voice was when you asked him to dance with you. He recalls the fragrance of your perfume, the softness of your hair on his cheek when he leaned his face on the top of your head. How gentle your embrace was, that time. How grateful he felt to be alive, to be able to experience all the wonder of your love, the tenderness of your touch.

Tonight, among the same walls, Copia feels like crying. If it’s out of happiness from having you back or pure despair for all these past months, he doesn’t know it.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate"

“Careful here too, my dear,” Copia guides you through the door, eyes buried on the ancient inscriptions that sit at the top of the old stone. Your hands are stiff, and your body moves practically in slow motion, not quite following the same rhythm you used to have.

It’s okay, he understands how tired you must be, how much your muscles and heart ache. Copia’s fingers scarcely trace over your wrists and back of the hands, supporting you as if you were about to break into a thousand pieces with the slight pressure.

Oh, how careful he is, how attentive. He shushes softly, whispering sweet nothings into the air as he escorts you through the place. The black blindfold blocks your sight, but your head follows the sound of his voice and he can almost picture the adoring look in your pupils, the gentleness of your gaze.

If the blindfold is there to shield you from overstimulation or to protect himself from the hate it might fill your stare, he doesn’t recognize it either.

It doesn’t matter. Copia stops in the middle of the ample room, next to the old fountain. His arms embrace you, and you melt into his hold. Copia’s heart stops, restarts at a measured pace, both heavy and pained. You melt into him, between his arms, as if you have never belonged anywhere else. 

Silently, he accepts it. Stiff and frightened, his breath hitches when your hand raises, slow as if someone was gradually pulling from the strings that hold you together.

When your nails hardly caress one strand of his hair, Copia feels like crying again. No, not crying. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing, screaming into the night. He's tired, so fatigued and wounded, but your touch is so affectionate, lovingly. It feels like a dream. Even if it's nothing but muscle memory, you cling onto him just like you did that night, so many years ago.

The world seemed so small back then. 

Copia allows you to card your fingers through his hair like a young boy tasting love for the first time. To the entire world, he might be the terrible and ruthless Papa Emeritus the IV, a merciless murderer, but not to you. To you, he’s sentimental and vulnerable, nothing but an enamored fool.

Not a single sound breaks the calming silence. Standing in the middle of the room, he looks at you with full attention for the first time in forever. You have become a strange and beautiful companion, skin still ghastly but slowly recovering a glimpse of life. Immobile, your face bears a languid expression and your breathing is so fast your chest rises and falls with a tumultuous respiration.

Copia wants to soothe you, to give you the whole world if you desire so. “I’ll ask you something, just like what you asked that night after I became Papa," he whispers, instead. "Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have returned to me? ”

There’s no reply. No verbal, at least. Unhurriedly, your arm lifts up in his direction, extended hand hanging in the air that separates both of you. Copia's mouth remains agape, eyes wide open. If you are a serpent of temptation, the snake offering him the apple of sin, then he’s Eve’s trembling hand blindly reaching for you.

He takes it and knows there’s no turning back. Your hands are cold, but he can’t let go. No, there’s no moment to let go. He’s been calling for you for so long, just like he’d call forever. Copia’s face falls on your shoulders, lips trembling as he presses a light kiss over the soft material of your clothes. He chokes on the whimpers his mouth refuses to let out, eyes closing and brows furrowing. His lids stay pressed tight, lashes coating in tears.

A hand on your waist and another holding your wrist, Copia begins to move slowly. It’s like that first time he danced with you, soon after the release of Prequelle. He was incredibly nervous back then, so scared of you. A part of him feels the same now, nothing but old Cardinal Copia clinging to an unknown Sibling of Sin, wishing for the night to never end. 

The air is frozen inside his lungs when your hand moves to his shoulder. Most of your body is still limp, so Copia holds close, guiding you around the place. Eyes closed, he bears most of your weight, experiencing the renewed ardor of a lover. His breath hitches when your cold lips travel along his cheek in the resemblance of a kiss.

Oh, no. He feels like sobbing again, lower lip quivering as he murmurs on your habits. “You are mine,” he declares, placing another kiss. “You and I are one forever.”

Underground, hiding from a world on fire, Copia has never felt more at peace. He is awake in your coiling spirit, illuminated in blood and fire.

It's natural for his hands to tighten on your body. The dancing becomes faster, flowing on the old marble floor. Copia senses how your fingers slowly curl on his clothes too, feet barely gaining a bit more of traction. He hums a song, the same song you hummed for him that time, the same one he used to sing to you on long nights before sleeping to help you relax, or after interminable nights of loving you under the moonlight.

The melody is carried by the air and resonates on the walls before getting lost in the long halls. There’s no one else there, no ghouls or demons, no Satan or human that could ever interrupt this moment. Forever, he’ll dance with you forever, cling to you forever, be with you forever…

There’s a sting in the way your lips graze over his cheek again, barely brushing his own when his head turns around. The bells chime in the distance, coming from a now forgotten chapel. If this is the last time before the end, he just wants to be with you all night.

Below the surface, locked in a loving embrace and following the faint melody of his humming, you two waltz in circles.

“Copia?" You call. There's something wrong, because the sound seems to be coming from far away, anywhere but your vocal cords. It's too rough, full of static. 

Throat dry, Copia struggles to find his own voice too. The anguish claws at his neck, but it doesn't matter. You don't give him time to answer anyway.

"I think it’s going to rain soon.”

Those words. He remembers them. Those words haunted him for days and night. You told him that, the night you confessed to him how scared you were for his safety, how much you feared for yourself too. Oh, he should have heed your words, should have listened to you. 

No, instead he disregarded your worries, ignored your warning. He won't do that, never again.

"Yes, amore," he mutters, this time. "The wind has changed." 

The silence falls upon both of you, once again. He doesn't mind it. It’s okay. No one will hurt you again. No one will bring you any harm. Copia will make sure of it. There’s no one else who could oppose him or challenge him.

No.

He’s God now.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit the ground. Soon, it hails. 

“The lawless one opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God …”

2 Thessalonians 2:3–12

The end.

BONUS CHAPTER