Copia Emeritus - Blog Posts

messy af Copia/Aether doodle because they make me sick

hc that Copia has the most atrocious fucking sleepwear (as shown above) and forgets to take his face paint off before bed, occasionally (every time)

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Projecting my period cramps onto these little fucks

Note: if anyone has any doodle requests, about the ghouls, papas and whatnot, you can always use my askbox or direct messages. I'd be happy to experiment with some ideas (and get to use my Ghoul designs)

Been thinking about the difference in ghouls a lot and it’s so fucking funny to me for some reason

Note: if anyone has any doodle requests, about the ghouls, papas and whatnot, you can always use my askbox or direct messages. I'd be happy to experiment with some ideas (and get to use my Ghoul designs)

more rodent brothers because I cried over them last night

As much as I love the idea of V being overly sweet and nice I also like to think that he can be the same kind of petty bitch Copia is all the time

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Kitties

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And some Terzo&Copia from that one magazine cover

Note: if anyone has any doodle requests, about the ghouls, papas and whatnot, you can always use my askbox or direct messages. I'd be happy to experiment with some ideas (and get to use my Ghoul designs)

- Memento Mori -

Todas las promesas de mi amor se irán contigo Me olvidarás Me olvidarás Junto a la estación hoy lloraré igual que un niño Porque te vas Porque te vas

HE FARTED HE FARTED EW!!!!!

My first Tumblr post :3

PHOTO EDITS : ZENEFESTO ON FACEBOOK

I hope you guys like it!!!! (this took 4 hours kms)

I did some papal makeup last night!!

HEAR ME OUT

Copia's favorite singer is definitely Michael Jackson. Idk why. But I said so. That is true now.

Copia redraw

A quick painting of my bbgirl Copia, a redraw of a photo I found on pinterest

Midsommar Copia

midsommar Copia was my first post here, I feel really emotional with this commisionm, feel free to ask if you're interested in one!

Halloween night!

Terzo was scaring Copia all the halloween night

This was my piece for a huge and amazing collab hosted by Kristallpoesie with a lot of talented artists on insta!

Antichrist Copia

Here's my entry for Simpera's DTIYS ✨ + some zooms so y'all can see more details of the drawing

All the way to the thirties...

Thinking of it happening rarely but when Cardi does get sick it knocks him on his ass. His throat is scratchy and sore and his voice is shot. His eyes are red and itchy and his nose is so clogged he can’t even talk properly.

“You look like shit.” Swiss looks him up and down quickly. “Like, holy shit shit.”

“Dank you.” he sniffs. God, his face felt so congested; his sinuses were putting so much pressure on his mind, causing a migraine to start forming. He tries his best to ignore it and keep focusing on his makeup.

“You seriously think this is a good idea?” Rain speaks next, “If you don’t feel well, we should cancel the show. It’s better you miss one and rest than push yourself and miss more.”

Copia pauses applying his black lipstick. He sighs heavily through his nose, deflating a bit. He knew his Ghouls were talking sense, but he didn’t want ti accept it. “The fans will be upset,” he tries his first excuse, falling back into tracing his lips. “I’m fine, I can push through.”

“But Papa,” DewDrop starts, but he’s cut off.

“I’m fine,” Copia repeats himself, tossing the lipstick into a pile of miscellaneous makeup items in a drawer. “I appreciate the concern, really. Thank you.” he places a hand on his heart. “But I’m okay, and the show will go on.”

The Ghouls have no choice but to accept his decision and keep getting ready. Come showtime, the migraine had turned into a massive pounding in his head, blurring his eyes and making his stomach turn. The swallows thickly, takes a sip of water and fixed his hair in the mirror. Deep breaths. Let’s go.

The first 3-4 songs go okay. He’s interactive with the crowd as usual, sticking to his witty personality and quirky little dance moves. It’s when Cirice starts to play throughout the venue that things start to get weird. Copia disappears behind the drums, into the little room backstage where he performs his costume changes. No one thinks anything of it, until he misses his queue.

The Ghouls recover quickly, just dragging out the intro with a little battle of the guitars until he finally, finally, came back out. Swiss writes it off as a wardrobe malfunction and focuses on his playing.

Until it happens again.

Year Zero rings and shakes the walls of the venue. Everyone’s waiting for him, yet Copia misses the start of the song again. This time, Swiss considers going back there, but just as he was about to set his guitar down and jet, the bastard is running out and yelling the lyrics like he never missed a beat.

When it happens the third time, Swiss follows him. He gets a lead when Copia ducks backstage again, this time between two songs he wasn’t supposed too. Quickly, he scuffles after him, almost calling out his name.

Copia moved quickly, quick enough that Swiss had to speed walk to keep him in view. They’re pacing down a hall when he takes a sharp right, into the men’s room, Swiss notes.

It clicks when he walks in after him, “Papa?” and is greeted with a retching noise. He looks and finds the poor performer on his knees in one of the stalls, the door still open; he didn’t have enough time to close it and give himself at least some privacy while this happened.

“Papa,” he hears, and wants to sink into the floor. He sniffles and spits into the toilet with a groan.

“Swiss, please,” his voice is raw, “Not now.”

The Ghoul struggles with something to say back; so he doesn’t say anything, and quietly steps forward to place his hand on Copia’s back. For once, he wasn’t trying to make a joke out of the situation. He just wanted to be there.

Copia tenses at his touch, but he didn’t have time to dwell. He retches again, feeling absolutely miserable. He still had a show to finish, he can hear the fans from where he kneeled, but sweet Satan’s sack, did he feel like shit.

“M’sorry.” he mutters, shoving the palms of his hands into his eyes. It felt good, the pressure of his migraine subsiding for a moment the harder he pressed. “I will be back in a minute.”

Now he speaks. “The fuck you mean? You’re not going back out there.”

Copia swallows thickly, flushes the toilet and slowly gets to his feet. He’s shaky, his eyes are red and teary and his makeup is smudged. He looks like he fought a devil and lost. “I am.”

“You’re not.” Swiss says more sternly this time. He didn’t want to overstep, but this was ridiculous. “I’m telling Dew the show’s over. You can barely stand.”

“The shows not over until I say it’s over.” Copia tries to growl, but the energy wasn’t there. “Just please go back out there and play. Please?”

He sounds desperate. Swiss clenches his jaw. “No.”

Copia looks at him. “No?”

“No.” he shrugs. “We’re done. You’re done. Fucks sake, you’re sweating the face paint off. Come here.”

Before he could react, the Ghoul presses the back of his palm to Copia’s forehead. If he wasn’t wearing his mask, he’d would’ve seen his eyebrows fly up in shock.

“You’re fucking hot.”

“Thank you.”

“Alright.” the Ghoul shakes his head. “That’s it. C’mon, we’re getting you undressed. Before you ruin the outfit with sweat or vomit.”

Swiss helps him back to the main room and drops him on the couch before running back out to the stage. He finds Dew immediately, pulling him close to yell in his ear.

Inside, Copia listens to the fans cheering and feels sick again. He hates to disappoint people. But this couch was so comfy, and his body was so tired, and his head felt like it was going to pop off his shoulders.

Maybe Swiss was right.

As he sat there, his eyelids grew heavy. He was so tired and felt so weak. His eyes flutter shut and he finds peace for a moment.

Slowly, the sound of the crowd disappeared, and he fell into a slumber.

I wanna see Copia smoke weed

Square Hammer

Rite Here Rite Now

I made a gif of her smoothing his hair back because I cannot get over the way he looks so vulnerable here

That just fits him so well 😭😂

How have I only just noticed this?

The Mummy bucks say “Treasure of the Clergy”… not “Treasurer”

Treasure

Copia became Papa and declared himself a national treasure within the Clergy😂

Monolith

copia x witch!reader

No matter what life you’d lived, you were always sentenced to a young death, dying at exactly twenty-five each time- no matter how you struggled to coax the curse, avoid what fate destined, death proved imminent, giving not a care to your sensitivity, leaving you to grapple with the predetermined destiny over and over again. Memories of past lives would surge in your brain, often around your teen years, inciting a wave of paranoia that would stretch to the last decade or so of your life- grasping at straws, skimming through every page of every book to find a solution, something to end this cruel cycle. Or maybe you yearned to find a justification to it, and you believed you did, in one life- perhaps beings of the earth just weren’t meant to wield the abilities you did, so the gods, or whomever was in charge, had to force their hand, leveling the grounds you treaded among mortals, whose mortalities outlasted you.

But you weren’t evil. Not a single bit. Every life you spent relentlessly in attempt to figure out something to help the next you to succumb to this looming curse, the promise of brutal demise weighing heavy on your shoulders. The pain of living each life thoroughly and having it torn from your grasp saddled your heart, all the people you’d grown fondness for never to be seen again and lost to the jaws of time, struck with heartache by your loss, but they were human enough to forget and recover from it, while you were stuck with memory upon memory of it all. Thus, a life of solitude crept upon you, isolating from everyone and anyone, though you craved nothing more than affection and love. It was a foolish and unrealistic yearning.

In your last life, you recalled a church-like building, and you emphasize like, because its aura completely differed from the holiness of a church, the only likeness between them the structure and grandiosity of it. The interior you’d never reached during your last life, a festering sickness overcoming your body in the last days of life, bones brittle and stomach shrunken. It was as if you were confined to that rotten bed as punishment for the discovery, the remainder of your days spent in utter agony- the hopefulness you had with each death diminishing there, but you’d returned like always, reviving that shred of light that still beamed, drawing you closer and closer.

So you stood feet away from the church, five years of your meager life to go, and you were keenly aware of how fast those years would pass by. It seemed a plentiful amount, but in reality, it couldn’t be further from it, and with those little years you had, you strived to finish your last life’s work. Feeling the same allure your past self burdened toward this place.

Shedding a sigh, you encroached on the land, surprisingly you felt welcomed rather than intrusive as you did on most properties. Witches weren’t often celebrated within society- being burned and stoned in old days, so the openness of this area must mean something. You hoped, at least, you didn’t want yourself to become stray and disappoint the you’s who rose before, all dying in various ways that only elicited a tremble as you pondered what awaited you.

Fingers curled around the door knocker, you gently hit the door a few times, briefly pausing, unsure if you should wait for an invitation or mosey on in, settling on the latter after no response. Guilt almost stemmed from your impoliteness, almost, you were years from dying and lacked another choice. Desperation clawed at your insides, the impending doom you’d felt for years now- and beyond that, millennia- never something you’d become accustomed to. It was normal, even for mortals, to fear death, so that supplied a sense of humanity.

The hallways were bare, yet you sensed the presence of many- filtering in the multitude of differing individuals. On the surface, it bore the guise of a church, but there was something more, carrying a supernatural element to it, although you were yet to witness any of it, sparing little time to admire the insides and seeking someone to speak with, striding further along the chamber that echoed your footsteps.

“Do you require assistance, my child?” Hinged with an accent, a voice garnered your attention, your body moving to direct your focus to the male. You weren’t certain if you should divulge everything, so you only responded in approval, conflicting thoughts consuming your mind- to do this, or to do that- analyzing the crimson drapes he donned, an ornate, inverted cross catching your eyes.

“And what is it that troubles you?” He pressed gently, gaze analytical as he studied your features- as if he could predict the torment you’re fated to suffer, you almost snorted, the predicament you were in far above comprehension to even you. That hopelessness swirled you, thousands of years without resolution, and you really believed this would help…? But if you sat and did nothing that would result in a wasted life as well.

“A library,” You blurted out, meeting his eyes unflinching, his striking and whitened eye hammering no cowardice into you as it might other humans. “Do you have any books or knowledge of witchcraft?”

The answer appeared to invoke surprise and intrigue simultaneously, a question he’d perhaps never been asked in his lifetime. “I’m certain we do, I’d simply have to fish it from the library for you. May I ask why you’re interested in this?”

You glanced to the floor, mustering a response. If they had books of it, surely they weren’t to scrutinize- additionally, past you located this place, there had to be something truly special about it for them to be harshly punished by the gods, a punishment to ensure you could make no escape from the bounds of fate. “I’m a witch,” You finally answered, eyes fluttering closed briefly as you awaited a response.

“Ah, uh, I see, I see, my child, I will fetch those books for you then,” You couldn’t decipher whether his tone held disbelief or interest- maybe both?- but nonetheless, he scampered away to retrieve the books you requested, and you were satisfied with that.

You began frequenting that church more, learning more about its inner workings and inhabitants, the days whisking away into months, and you felt the crushing weight of fate, if only you had more time, if only it didn’t slip through your fingers. And you still found yourself finding nothing to aid your cause, stress accumulating fast.

After months of nothing, you settled in the confessional at the church, thinking it may help to relieve yourself of the ever looming deadline, the anxiety of it, Cardinal on the other side, ever so curious as to what’s troubled you to the point of needing a confessional. You’d grown closer these months, but there remained a distance between you, the reasoning for which unbeknownst to him, and you grappled having to eventually leave it all behind. Despite the many you’s before you, you’d grown fond of this man, letting yourself feel again after centuries. The emotion was pleasant, budding sensations rising within you, but you despised the vision of dying and having to restart, leeching off of him for your own selfish wants, that you knew would only have one ending.

“What’s been troubling you, mia cara?” His soothing voice traveled through the wood separating you, his voice, albeit prompt, laced with concern. It made your heart ache, a painful throb that shallowed your breaths, and you swallowed the thickness in your throat, forcing the words from your throat.

“I’m.. gonna die. I don’t know how to stop it,” You exhaled, the silence in that box suffocating.

And perhaps it was coping, or he didn’t understand, but he responded a beat of silence later, “We all die, cara. It’s.. a frightening subject, but it helps you to appreciate the things in your life more.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you left the conversation at that, not clarifying what you’d meant, for fear of ruining the closeness you shared- or maybe to pretend everything was normal, for once in your many lifetimes. It felt strangely joyful graced by his presence, demonstrating your abilities and basking in the moment, taking breaks from your strenuous search to do leisurely things- you’d tell yourself you would catch up on it later, but really, would you?- in the end, it didn’t matter as long as you were with him. You couldn’t surrender that, not yet.

His touch was warm, so differing to the coldness you’d grown used to, the warmth he radiated addicting, not only in his touch but his personality- so kind and caring, gentle even if his background made it appear otherwise, handling you like prized porcelain, looking to you in admiration, and caressing you as if you’d break at the slightest pressure. You hadn’t experienced such longing before, the yearning brimming your being, sinking its teeth into you- and that was dangerous.

One day, a year since your first meeting, you two sat in the shadow of a tree, a book splayed in your palms, the pages yellowed and corners nibbled away at by the mice nesting in the labyrinth of the walls. Aged, a book hardly picked from the many, but you’d discovered it when you ambled into the library, and now you sat beside the Cardinal, rather close, elbows grazing one another. If you weren’t absorbed by flipping the pages, you might’ve held his hand- or at least wanted to.

“You’re always reading, always studying,” He spoke, accent tinged voice cutting through the calm breeze, you analyzed the words on each page, scanning for any mention of curses- he watched you, examining the intricate sketches on the pages, things he could hardly understand, but he was enamored by how concentrated your stare was. “I admire that. Your, uh, strong will, and capacity to learn. You are truly magnifica. Un'opera d'arte, addirittura.”

“I think highly of you as well, Cardinal,” You admitted, eyes still trained on the page, half-focused on feebly translating the latin inscribed page. “You’re truly… une bouffée d'air frais.”

“French? Smart girl,” He complimented, the smile he flashed melting your insides, your focus crumbling ever so slowly- blindsided by emotions, rather than your goal. “When did you learn?”

You hummed absentmindedly, recalling the memories of your past, tracing all the way back to the conception of the American Revolution. Being a medic, experiencing the war’s brutality firsthand, you’d learned French from the allies- as well, being alive amidst so many eras of time, you were bound to pick up a few languages.

“I had some friends who spoke it,” You responded, narrowed eyes facing the page, but you spared him a glance and a wistful smile. “I can teach you sometime. Would you be open to that, Cardinal?”

“Of course, mia cara. Tutto per sentire la tua voce,” You couldn’t understand his words, but you could sense the meaning behind them, heart thumping in your ears. You felt it and were aware he could too.

The next year your bones could predict the sickness filtering into them, just a tad bit weaker than they’d been the year prior, subtle but you realized it, and if you were to receive cruel punishment for basking in the company of your adored, then you would accept it. You still looked for an answer, but the chances of that dwindled by the day, your goal being nearly sidetracked entirely. But you couldn’t ignore it, or hide it, forever. By the third year, your symptoms worsened, little by little, and were delving into bodily signs- blood spilling from your mouth, climbing up your throat, heeding a deadly warning. And so you finally decided to repent, for your selfish desires, settling inside that confessional once again with your Cardinal just inches away, across the panel of wood. Long before this, he’d noticed something was wrong- you just swayed him otherwise, dismissing his concern, but you couldn’t be greedy any longer. You couldn’t brush off his feelings in place of your own. So here you were, prepared to truly confess.

“Copia,” Typically, you’d use his proper title in these circumstances, but you were serious. Very serious. And that frightened him, mind spinning with outlandish ideas, pointing toward the worst outcome possible, and your tone confirmed that. But he didn’t want to believe that. “I’m gonna die… and I really don’t know how to stop it.”

His heart cracked hearing that, your tone accepting and not necessarily sad- but very disappointed, regretful. “Tell me more, cara, what do you mean?” He nearly pleaded, heart thudding, a pit forming in his stomach.

“I’ve died so many times. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of times. It’s a cruel cycle, I guess a curse. I’ve tried finding everything I can in all of the lives I’ve lived, and it’s never enough,” You confided, toying with your fingers to distract your mind. “I have two years left. Always bound to die young, at twenty-five. And I should have told you, that day we met. It was selfish of me to put you through such pain.”

“Don’t say that, amore mio,” Copia rejected, his legs trembling, running a frenzied hand through his hair, nerves frayed and running wild, this admission worse than what even he imagined. “We still have time to figure this out, we can talk to my brothers, surely they have wisdom to share. There has to be something we can do.”

“Copia, please don’t be sad over me,” You murmur, head leaned against the wood, listening to the little movements he made. “I’m already dying, I’m sick, I’m being punished for my time spent here. But I want you to know I don’t regret any of it, truly you have been a breath of fresh air, so kind and loving, and I haven’t felt that way in so, so long. I still have two years left, but I can’t imagine my body will be in the best shape.”

You heard the door on the other side creak open, and his footsteps, your stomach twisting, at the thought of his abandonment. You couldn’t blame him if that’s what he’d chose to do, you’d lied from the start and subjected him to the same amount of pain you were experiencing.

But then your door opened abruptly, arms embracing you and a head falling into your lap, the sniffles evident, and your heart shattered at the sight, cradling his head in your hands, a few tears streaking your own face. Your hands traced under his jaw, tilting his chin up, so he could face you. Thumbs glided across his cheeks, wiping the tears from his face, the paint around his eyes smearing from the movement. You admired his features briefly, pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

“I’ll find you in my next life, Copia. I promise. We still have time it’s just, not the best conditions. It’s too late for my body this time, but it won’t be for the next,” You vowed, nose brushing with his. “My only question; are you… willing to wait? I’d.. understand if not, it’s a painful slew of emotion.”

“Amore mio, I would wait the rest of my life if it meant seeing you for just a second,” He held your face, thumb tracing your cheek fondly. His eyes were reddened, and it brought you pain to think about how he’d fare with you gone- and how you’d done this to him. Dragged him down into the pits to accompany you. He lifted his pinky, lightening the mood using the childish gesture, but his face remained somber, a smile he showed to make you feel at ease. “Pinky swear?”

Intertwining your pinkies, you mustered a small smile. “Pinky swear.”

When the fifth year arrived, and your twenty-fifth birthday subsequently, your body was eager in finally succumbing to death, and Copia tugged you close to his heart, shattering as the warmth dwindled from your body, skin greying, but you were free of the suffering that kept you captive- and that helped a little in breaking the shackles of grief. His heart mourned, and he delved into studies, flipping through every page of every book, talking to anyone who withheld necessary knowledge- all in preparation for your inevitable return. He just wasn’t certain how long it would take to see you again, but he lived by his declaration, dedicating all of his time to you, your memory.

He’d taken the roles of his predecessors before you’d returned, and it worried him, a part of him unsure if you would even want to crawl back into his arms, after all, age was catching up to him- a decade or two passing in his wait. But he remained as loyal as he’d been, yearning to see your face just one last time, he even found himself praying to Satan more frequently, pleading him to lead you back, back into this church, back into his grasp; where he would hold you and never let go, not again. It was excruciating being without you, the memories of you so long ago now, yet fresh in his mind, at the forefront of it.

He’d strayed to his room, stress riddling his bones and drowning them in fatigue, the touring and loss of partnership taking its toll as it would anyone. He sat at a table, forcing himself to peel his eyes through another old book, eyes lidded from the tiredness threatening to consume his being. Working until his shoulders were stiff, back was throbbing in pain, his head eventually colliding against the plush of his arm, sleep winning this battle.

The next morning the sound of his game console stirred him awake, grumbling Italian curses under his breath at the interruption. His blankets were draped across his body, the plush feel of his bed beneath him, a contrast to the hard desk he’d fallen asleep on- rubbing his eyes using the back of his hands, to wake himself up. Another day, more work to be completed, but firstly, he’d have to figure out who was in his room, who’d moved him so carefully it didn’t jolt him awake.

And when his eyes finally focused, the morning bleariness ebbing, he witnessed locks of h/c hair, so similar to yours. He gave his eyes another rub, scared this vision was just a symptom of overexertion. But no, they were still there, the pressing of buttons loudly evident, their head lulling side to side as they maneuvered whatever game they were playing. Only to see if it really was you- or just some lookalike. The bed echoed a soft creak as he stood to his feet, slowly approaching the figure. And at the noise, their head turned back, a game over screen flashing vibrantly on the box tv.

“Mia cara,” Left his lips, expression blank, yet brimming with so much unspoken emotion simultaneously. You ditched the controller on the sofa, practically running into his arms to embrace him, face nuzzled into the fabric of his shirt, memorizing the scent you’d missed oh so much. “It’s really you,” Copia’s hands were firm, clinging to you as if you’d vanish and never return.

“It is me, I’m finally back like I promised I would be,” You murmured, voice a bit muffled from your face buried into his chest. The moment you’d waited and longed for. You stared up at him, cupping his face in your palms, a small frown on your features. His hands traveled to your forearms, thumb gliding across the skin, a gentle caress. “My love, you look so tired and stressed. I was worried how you’d be when I’d gone, I’ve never wanted you to treat yourself so strictly and harshly. You, too, deserve to live a life of fulfillment and happiness.”

“Is there a.. such thing as fulfillment and happiness without you by my side? I waited for the day I could see you again, I did all of my research, just to make sure when you’d return, you would be back for good,” His eyes pierced yours, hand gliding to yours and pulling them from his face, leading you to the rustled bed. “Tell me; how are you? Did anything I’ve done help?”

“Copia,” You exhaled, prepared to tell him all that’d occurred in your time apart. “When I died, it was black for a while. Nothingness. I wasn’t even truly aware of my own existence. But a voice called to me,” Your hands were enveloped by his, scooting closer, knees brushing together. “And he had sympathy on my pitied life- lives. He didn’t agree with the gods above casting me into this decided fate, my punishment for being… simply different. So he allowed me to return to life under his guidance, and lead me right back to you. He told me about you, how you’d pleaded so much for my sake, and I’m eternally grateful for all you’ve done for me. All you’ve surrendered just to be with me.”

“And I would do it again in a heartbeat, mia cara,” His arms encased you, smothering you in the warmth you’ve craved for a millennia. “I’ve longed to have you back in my arms, to feel the warmth of your body as it left me so cold. Satan has heard my prayers, seen my yearning, and returned you to me.”

“I’ve missed you so dearly. You made me feel warm even when I went cold,” You confessed, soaking in the affection you were receiving so boisterously, not been able to feel truly at ease until Satan’s voice coaxed you from the abyss that heavens damned you to. Your fingers trailed down his spine, up and down, a repetitive, comforting motion. “Tell me, what has happened here while I’ve been gone? What have you been up to?”

He smiled, a lopsided one, your stomach doing somersaults. You were happy, for once, reclaiming all the pain you’d experienced, and letting yourself bask in the afterglow of this un-realness. “Well, I’m Papa, now,” He mentioned, fingers coiling around yours. “I’ve been touring with the ghouls, you know? I’m pretty popular these days actually.”

“I’m glad to hear that, seems you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve,” You planted a soft kiss on his nose, content to be in his presence again, sending a glance toward the tv screen flashing red lettering. “I couldn’t really figure the game out… The controls are… confusing.”

“Let me teach you then.”

-

just a lil one shot pooks

sorry it cuts off abruptly i wasn’t sure how to end it 🧐

Masterlist. . . all my published works :p

Let it happen - hwang in-ho x reader

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

Ghost BC

monolith: copia x witch!reader

today i had the realization that all of the italian i know (which is actually a good amount) comes from ghanfics. reason 82991283 to thank fanfic writers ♡♡♡

this is what copia sees in his room at 3am

spoiler?

couldn't copia just... decide to keep performing? like who's stopping him now?

having a movie night with copia and telling him to sit on the floor in front of the couch in his cornette hat as you make popcorn in the other room. then bringing it in and sitting behind him, pouring the popcorn into the hat, much to his annoyance. he grumbles about how his hat is an unholy accessory that is meant to be respected. about a quarter of the way into the movie he just huffs dramatically and reaches up to pop some into his mouth.

I am going FERAL for Papa's new red suit.

HES SO FIIIIINE

Petition to let Copia stay Papa forever or at least not kill him when he gets replaced.