calciumdeficientt

[calciumdeficientt]

car ride so long and boring i simply HAVE to think about fat terzo.

just… even as he piles on weight seemingly endlessly, it’s the more subtle things about his changing appearance that are the hottest. his hollow cheeks filling in, making his face rounder. how one chin becomes two, then three.

how his fingers get fatter, his wedding ring strangling the fat digit of his ring finger as he occupies himself with a pastry basket that will not make it to his coworkers.

how his silk shirts, shirts that used to be so breathable, so roomy are only one deep exhale away from bursting open and revealing his soft mound of a stomach. the same can be said of his slacks. once form fitting, with a little bit of room to move, now make his fattened thighs look like sausage meat stuffed into a casing.

[calciumdeficientt]

FORGET ME NOT

drew some cute little cameos today.

[calciumdeficientt]

Hello, quick question! Where did you get the photo of Secondo at bingo you used for the text post meme?

I’ve looked for it for ages ;-;

Thank you in advance

i got it off of pinterest!!! i’ve attached the normal photo for your viewing pleasure

[calciumdeficientt]

whatever… go my scarab

[calciumdeficientt]

i just finished putting together some stuff for a ghoul oc… i’m PRAYING the new ghoul doesn’t get called tempest or i will look like a FOOL 😭

[calciumdeficientt]

*posts more fat Copia for the approval of the committee*

@fratello-rigatoni @fatcopia @sacred-coffin @saintplaquerat

[calciumdeficientt]

Big Trouble

Cardinal Copia, a known fuck up, has made yet another mistake. This accident is follows swiftly by another… of a different variety.

CARDINAL COPIA X GN READER

WARNINGS: (this is one for those with mildly deviant tastes) omorashi/watersports, bullying (reader is the dom), allusions to sex, allusions to fisting, allusions to puppy play, allusions to dry humping LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANY FELLAS

PREV: He was never usually this nervous. Not for anything. Rituals, clergy meetings, blind hookups. They all passed over him like water off a duck’s back. They were easy, almost too easy to mention. But here, now, sat across from an empty chair waiting for you to come back to your office, it was enough to make him sweat. He felt hot and cold at the same time. And dizzy, so so dizzy.

WC: 2, 672

you can also read this HERE

He was never usually this nervous. Not for anything. Rituals, clergy meetings, blind hookups. They all passed over him like water off a duck’s back. They were easy, almost too easy to mention. But here, now, sat across from an empty chair waiting for you to come back to your office, it was enough to make him sweat. He felt hot and cold at the same time. And dizzy, so so dizzy.

You were a pretty big fucking deal in the ministry. A bigger deal than he was anyway. He’d completely fucked something up and despite being previously entwined with you, he knew he wouldn’t get off easy. Copia reached shakily towards a jug of water on your desk. There was little lemon slices in it, that, he thought, was just the right amount of cute for someone as needlessly terrifying as you. He thought about it for a moment, mulling over just how badly he needed the water. Considered how angry you might be if it went missing, before he tipped himself out a big glass and gulped it down faster than he could pour it.

He didn’t know what he was keeping you but he did know his mouth was so incredibly dry that even glass after glass of water wouldn’t make it feel any more wet. Copia was probably on his forth glass by the time you came in, his hand shaking as he watched you linger in the doorway, he placed his glass back down on your desk. His stomach sloshed as he leaned back in the chair, hoping you didn’t hear it.

“You drank that?” you asked, not able to school the look of disgust and awe on your face. Copia felt even more like he was in the wrong, his spit felt thick as he forced himself to gulp “Was I… not supposed to?”

Technically? No. But he looked so cute all worried like this. It was the courteous thing to ease him of a little bit of his worry “No no it’s fine it’s just… been sat there for a little while, I was going to put some flowers in it” you hummed, taking a seat back in your fancy, high backed leather chair.

He made a noise halfway between a squeak and a yelp as he tries to form something resembling an apology, unfortunately for him it didn’t work. You laughs. It’s soft, pure. It almost hurts more than the barking laugh of his brother, who usually deals with his nonsense. “Now what did you break….” you leaned forwards, trying to read his face, pained and covered in a thin sheen of sweat“who did you break?”

Copia's cheeks flushed and his eyes darted anywhere but your face. His gloves creaked audibly as his hands fisted into his thighs, balling up his cassock between his fingers. He suddenly found the floor tiles intensely interesting, studying them as if they held all the answers to the universe. A broken noise escaped his throat as he leaned even further forward, his body attempting to curl into a human ball. The only words that he mumbled were, "I..I may have...accidentally released my rats into the catacombs..."

You couldn’t help but snap your neck up to look at him. This wouldn’t just create problems for him, this would create big problems for you too. “Pardon?” you ask, your words are sharp, harsh. They feel like broken glass.

Cardinal Copia flinched backward, almost falling out of the leather chair. His hands clutched at the air for a moment, as if to grasp at an apology. The sight was so pathetic, and adorable. It was like kicking a puppy, which wasn't really your intention. It was honestly impressive how terrified he was. He suddenly felt the urge to squeeze his legs together, trembling a little more as he looked over to a poster of a waterfall hung beside your desk.

Fuck.

"Well, you see-" he started, before stuttering into silence again. His gloves squeaked as he gripped the edge of the chair instead. He felt his whole body pulsating.

“Ah ah ah Don’t make excuses to me sunshine” you hold a finger up imperatively. Your face is stern and he can see the muscles tensing in your arms and the dark lord you look strong. So strong. Strong enough to pull his skeleton out of his body in one swift and simple motion “I want solutions. Quickly” As much as you tried very hard to stay understanding with him, the poor dear, this problem was one that could be the end of you. And believe it or not, you did not fancy a shiny Italian dress shoe up the arse. Not at this late hour.

The poor man was physically shaking now. His entire body was trembling, like he'd just run a marathon. His green and white mismatched eyes flitted up to your face for a moment, catching a glimpse of the stern look on it. A glimpse was all he needed, he’d seen Secondo make that face once, and the person that he’d made it at fell asleep and never woke back up again.

Seeing that same expression on your face was when he nearly fully lost control of his bladder. He fought hard against it and let out a tiny whimper. The sound was almost enough to make you break your resolve. It made you want to pat him on the head and tell him it's ok, but instead you folded your arms, a clear sign of ‘get it together or I'll make you get it together’

"W-well, it was only two rats.." he stuttered, holding up the correct number of fingers. He nervously tugged at the collar of his cassock with his free hand. “Cardinal Copia. You are familiar with rats, yes?” you ask, the statement basically redundant. Of course he was familiar with rats. He was the fucking king of the rats.

Copia looked strong for a moment, eyes drifting to the waterfall again, oh god oh fuck. Not the waterfall. Anything but the waterfall. The leather of his gloves squeaked again with the sheer force of how hard he was gripping the arms of the chair, hoping by some great power he could conjure some kind of wall around him. He made another little whimpering noise, his legs shifting uncomfortably under him as he nodded a shaky, near-frantic "yes" to your question.

His green and white eyes were darting between your face, your hands on the desk, and your clenched fists. Now trying to avoid eye contact with that fucking painting. Or any kind of moisture. He was clearly trying to prepare for the worst. “Then I am sure you are very much aware that two rats can very swiftly become *two hundred*” You feel your throat tighten with an anger you had not experienced in a very long time, certainly not one you had ever felt within the walls of this ministry. “They eat. They sleep. They fuck.”

Copia let out a tiny, high-pitched and fearful noise that could only be described as an aborted scream. The man's entire body flinched again, as he sank further into the now suspiciously damp leather cushion under his ass. He bit down on his lower lip hard enough to leave marks, his gloved hands white-knuckling the leather armrests of the chair as he tried to stop any more liquid from seeping out. One more drop would be enough to burst the dam and he could not let that happen. His dignity was already dwindling. He could not let it go further.

One part of his brain was chanting "you're going to get your ass beat, you're going to get your ass beat.." in a constant anxious mantra.

"I-" he croaked out, voice trembling like an autumn leaf in a windstorm, his whole body locking and seizing up in a manner that was, he assumed, what it felt like to experience rigour mortis “I didn't think about that..."

He didn’t think about it. Of course he fucking didn’t. You felt your entire body clench, heating up very briefly with an anger that could only be described as the white hot rage of a dying star. You breathe in shakily through your nose, doing your best not to leap over the desk and strangle him until he was a lovely shade of purple. Dragging your knuckles over the fine antique wood of your desk. A desk you had earned with hard graft. With blood, sweat tears and… a range of other fluids. “Copia” you rasp, bringing your tongue over your lips to wet them.

“If you are so familiar with how quickly rats breed.. why are you in here with me instead of out FINDING THEM??” you pound your fists into the desk, your fingers clenched so hard that your nails cut little crescents into your palm. The sturdy wood rattles underneath them from the force of the blow. Holy shit he was going to die. He was going to die and his lover was going to be the one to bludgeon him to death.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. HELP.

His mouth was dry like desert sand but his pants… not so much. The dam had burst after your last outburst and there was piss running down his leg and into his shoes. Overflowing out onto the carpet. The carpet you had just had put in… he’d picked the pattern. He remembered the smell of the store and fuck… he was still going how was he still going?

You were still angry, of course you were. Maybe even angrier at the fact you were likely going to have to fork out money to get the carpet ripped up, or maybe you’d let him be responsible for his own mess. Rub his face in it, get his pretty sideburns messy. Other dogs who had issues with toileting were often trained like this.

Eventually, he ran out of steam, blubbering and crying and trying to make himself small. He flinched so hard he nearly fell out of the leather chair he was currently glued to. His mismatched eyes were screwed shut and his paint was dripping down his ruddy cheeks. His breathing picked up drastically, and he was half a moment away from either passing out, pissing himself more, or having a stress-induced heart attack. Maybe all three.

"I-" he managed to squeak out before stuttering into silence, clearly overwhelmed from everything being thrown his way. “I’m sorry, Im so so so sorry” he repeated, reaching home to grasp at his cassock again. Wringing out some of the piss from it. It was still warm, but slowly beginning to cool on his wet skin. It smelled weirdly sweet. Maybe he needed to see a doctor. He’d definitely would look into that later, maybe after a nice warm bath. One thing was for certain

He’d definitely need to see a doctor once you were done with him.

“You fucking will be” you bark, fists slamming against the desk once more, toppling your little decorative ink holder and spilling crimson all over you and all your many hundred pages of unfinished paperwork and the floor, further fucking up your nice new carpet. The ink stains your hands and your sleeves and through Copia’s tear-blurred eyes, you look like you’re covered in blood.

You look so different like this, seething and looking down on him like he’s an ant. You were usually so pleasant to be around. So kind. So forgiving. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him a little hot under the collar.

At this point, Cardinal Copia was a whimpering, nervous wreck of a man. His mismatched eyes were blown wide with fear, both hands now gripping the armrests of the leather chair he rocked back and forth like he was riding a very uncomfortable mechanical bull. His entire body trembled as he took in the sight of you. You looked like a blood-stained avenging angel, your voice was thick, clouded by anger, your words were strong and came out accompanied by a growl . He was absolutely terrified, as well as half-way convinced you were actually going to try to kill him.

"I'll- I'll fix it! I will!" he stuttered, the leather squelching wetly under his ass as he shifted nervously. Fuck it was so embarrassing. It was even more embarrassing that he could feel his cock beginning to stand to attention through his pants.

“That’s right” you hummed, sitting back down. Oddly calm now. The worst, it seemed, was over. “You are going to fix it. And quickly”. Your stare was strong, he could feel it boring holes into him. Making him feel like dirt. Filth. Copia clasped his hands over his lap, squeezing his dick as it continued to soil his pants; little beads of precum rolling over the head of his cock like perfect little pearls. Staining his crotch.

You’d never looked at him like that before. And admittedly, he never wanted you to stop. The more you glowered at him over your desk, the more open he was beginning to feel to this side of you. So open in fact that his nervous mind wandered to an image of you, your fist so far up his rectum that you could use him as a hand puppet.

“Aren’t you?” you questioned, leaning just a little bit towards him over the desk. It made you hot to be so very in control of him. To watch him quiver and whine and piss his pants just to please you. You liked it when he feared you.

“Yes, I am” he bleated, all the ruddiness in his cheeks flared up. He was blotchy and messy and so horny for you that a few years ago they would have had him lobotomised. “I am going to fix it. I am. I am”

Fuck. You wanted him right then and there. He was in such a state, the poor thing. A state you knew very well that you could make a whole lot worse. You were no stranger to conjugal visits in here, especially not when you first got promoted. You had done considerably more fucking than admin in this room. Even so, you did feel a little bit sorry for him despite also wanting to dry hump him until he passed away.

Rising slowly, you walked with purpose toward him in the chair, watching with delight as he leaned far enough back to fall over into a puddle of his own piss. He was knelt in front of you, grovelling over your shoes, wetting them with his tears. You couldn’t resist stepping on his head, pressing his cute little nose into his own urine, watching with barely contained glee as he fought back a moan.

“Copia” you cooed. Sweet. Sing-song. Sadistic. He couldn’t exactly lift his head up to you but he did reach out and grip your ankle. “Yes?” he inquired, his voice still slightly wobbly. “I want you to go down into the catacombs and find those little things of yours…And do not come back into this office again until this problem is sorted”

You leered over him, despite his natural advantage for height, in this moment he felt so small. “or I will find those rats myself and I will shove them somewhere they like best. Tight and dark”

You released his head from the ground, watching as he made no effort to wipe his face clean from the piss. “Yes of course. Of course I will” he repeated, more for himself than for her as he tried to make himself look presentable for the walk back across the ministry.

The poor, wet, nervous man limped down the halls of the ministry. His cassock squelched audibly with every step as he made a beeline for his private quarters. His ass and everything around it were already absolutely destroyed from the piss, there was no saving his night. Apart from maybe a nice tug off.

[calciumdeficientt]

Secondo’s big fat nuts reblog if you agree

[calciumdeficientt]

Papas as Inspirobot quotes

this one is stupid. it’s so so so stupid (papas + imperator bc why not)

NIHIL

PRIMO

SECONDO

TERZO

COPIA

PERPETUA

SEESTOR

[calciumdeficientt]

on loving copia

Loving Copia is like loving a dog. It’s pure and true. He’s loyal to you, he can’t fathom life without you. Even if you beat him back, if you scream at him, if you hurt him. He’ll still be there. Tail between his legs, begging to try again. To make it better. He whines and he cries and he begs to be absolved. He’s eternally apologetic. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks so he must rely on the ones he knows.

Even if he’s done nothing wrong he feels so culpable. He’s the kind of guy who leans into the blade of his lover as they stab him, betray him. Just like Ceasar. He slides towards his love to be just those few inches closer. Copia thrusts himself into love, he puts his heart into his hands, raw and bloody and pounding; and he asks you to be gentle.

Even as papa, he preaches about love. Advocates for it. He longs for love. He’s loyal to love. He lives for it. His heart is big enough for two, maybe even more than two.

[calciumdeficientt]

hello i’m milky/el !!

i’m 19 years old (baby) and i like to write. i like lots of fandoms but at the moment my main interest is the band ghost

i use she/they pronouns predominantly but i can’t really stop you if you use any others, im just glad people are talking about me ^v^

i have an AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkybonezz/works

and a ko-fi here:

[calciumdeficientt]

my ask box is open by the way please send me an ask!! hcs, opinions, anything!

i don’t bite!!! (not since the court case)

[calciumdeficientt]

The papas as fruit

does what it says on the tin. papas + fruit

Nihil

Banana.

Sweet for a time but when they go bad they go bad. They begin perfect. Pristine. There’s no mistaking what they are. Nihil had his vision, had his time as papa. He has transcended generations, everyone knows what a banana is. But over time they age, they get blotchy, they go brown. They’re sweeter when they’re overripe but over ripe quickly becomes rotten. Mushy. Decrepit.

Primo

Apple.

He’s classic. Crisp, and generally appealing. But sometimes apples are gross. Sometimes they’re full of pips and worms and nastiness. They rot a lot quicker than their good for. Primo is the first, but maybe not the most memorable of all the papas. He caters to those looking to be tainted, like Eve in eden. There’s a reason apples are so iconic. So linked to sin. Primo is easy to love. Easy to devour, if you ignore how prone to decay he is.

Secondo

Pomegranate.

There’s so much to Secondo, despite his unassuming appearance. But you can’t have all of him at once, you can’t dig straight in. It takes careful consideration. Peel back the layers, poke at the seeds. Leave the pith behind. When you put in the work, he’s sweet and tender. At first glance there’s more bitter pith than tasteful seeds, it’s always a pleasant surprise to see just how much of him there is to uncover

Terzo

Peach.

A universal favourite. Effortlessly simple, effortlessly sweet. Terzo is so full of energy it spills over, sticky and wet. He runs all over your hands. He drips down your chin. There’s a lot of him to enjoy and it’s all marvellous. But he has a bitter centre. A hidden part to him. Hard and tasteless. He does a lot to compensate for it. Terzo is soft in your hands and sweet in your mouth.

Copia

Blackberry.

Plump, sweet and seasonal. Copia has waited a long to to have his time in the sun. He receives his papal duties in the autumn of his life. And he is sweet. Blackberries are the favourites of vermin. Rats nibble the sweet berries off the lower brambles. Birds peck at the upper ones. Copia is loved by the unloved, all his maturing, his ripening pays off. He is sweet, dark and misunderstood.

Perpetua

Cherries.

Sometimes tart, sometimes sweet and with a hard centre. They paint your fingers crimson, they stain your mouth. They burst all over you like blood vessels and leave you a mess if you’re careless with them. Perpetua is a mystery to be uncovered. There’s an eroticism in feeding on the flesh to reach his middle.

[calciumdeficientt]

secondo's place within the ghost timeline is what really makes him so interesting to me. not the first. not the last. not the favourite. a literal placeholder for the title, before terzo inherited it. he was probably the only one born to be just papa: primo set the example for him early on, so he had a concrete idea of what it meant to be papa from a young age, and always knew that it would be him one day. papa emeritus ii, that was his life's purpose. and he wasn't even really that passionate about it at all; unlike primo, he seemed to view the role less as an unholy duty to be fulfilled, and more as an inevitable part of his future, the way children view the vague concept of employment. "i'm going to be papa", and then what? crank out one album, tour a little, leave an impression, but not too strong. you're just warming them up for the one who'll replace you, soon enough. you know he's going to be more successful. more beloved. a real fan favourite, a real star. that's fine. that's life. your life, anyways.

it's all in the name: secondo. it can only mean one thing. primo can also mean primary, important, top notch, which lines up with how primo viewed his position: the mission always comes first. terzo has its meaning tied down to a similar simplicity as secondo (just like how terzo was also raised to be papa), but it can make its own path to a new meaning; three numbers can be the number of the beast, a threesome, "third time's the charm", the magic number, how terzo twisted and changed his own role into a shape that fit himself better, built a new meaning on top of such a simple concept. but secondo can only mean one thing. secondo can only be second. coincidentally, it's also the one that's the closest to its english variant, which i find interesting, since secondo is the only papa shown speaking italian despite being fluent in english (my interpretation is that this is him trying to establish some sort of identity beyond being papa). it's almost a taunt, that everyone can tell what secondo means, his purpose is so clear to anyone who sees him. he's secondo. he's the second one. that's all there is to him. that's all he's ever allowed to be.

[calciumdeficientt]

Travel related headcanons for the papas! ✈️🌴

I started these when I had down time traveling a while back and I just remembered I did that so I finished it up and yeah!! This is my first time writing out something like this to post so … be nice 😅

Nihil:

- He throws a bunch of random things in his bag with no sense of organization and then needs someone else to fix it for him and will complain about how they organize it because “he had a system” (there was no system)

- He takes his sweet time in the TSA line, no sense of urgency at all. If his bag gets stopped he immediately starts arguing.

- On the actual trip, he cannot stick to a schedule, he’s the least punctual person in existence.

Primo:

- He’s very preplanned and organized without having to put in much effort. He’s able to pack right before he leaves and packs pretty minimally.

- His bags get through TSA easily, that’s not to say that he doesn’t have anything illegal on him. He has his ways. Don’t worry about it!

- HATES airports. Too many loud people who can’t figure out how to do simple things.

- He doesn’t do anything on the plane. He just sits there. What’s he thinking about? Who knows.

- His trips are generally for business only, he doesn’t enjoy traveling very much. Though, he will stop to see the nature of the area if there’s some.

Secondo:

- Secondo is absolutely an overpacker, but denies it completely. But not in the “i’m bringing 10 pairs of underwear just in case I shit my pants every single day” way, no. Like he’s bringing 5 different kinds of cologne and way too many outfit choices (thinking about that one picture where he’s in that very eccentrically decorated room that was scrapped from Papaganda i believe) And he is able to give serious rationale for everything he brings.

- Hates airports just as much as Primo. His bag gets stopped at TSA every time without fail for absolutely no reason.

- I don’t think he travels much outside of clergy duties BUT if he has to go on a trip for business, he absolutely makes the most out of it… he might get a bit distracted and not fulfill some of the business duties.

Terzo:

- Terzo is packed and planned WELL in advance. He knows exactly what he’s wearing everyday and has alternate outfits depending on the weather. He has all of his essentials and his bag is well organized. He always makes reservations with timed out schedules, but isn’t afraid to deviate from the plan to do what he feels like at that moment.

- Though, he really doesn’t like planes. Not that he’s scared of them, the elevation just gives him a headache. He brings a book to read to try to distract himself, but it usually doesn’t work very well.

- Even if a trip is technically for business, he’s able to make the absolute best of it. I think he’d like to travel for pleasure as well. Honestly, I think he would be the best to travel with.

Copia:

- Unlike Secondo, he is definitely the “packing 10 pairs of underwear just in case i shit my pants every single day” type of packer. Overpacks because you never know what could happen. And even with his overpacking, he definitely forgets something essential and has to get it overpriced at the airport. He also procrastinates packing until the last minute which doesn’t help either.

- Doesn’t like sleeping at hotels. Hell, he has trouble sleeping at home. The cold and unfamiliar hotel room is definitely not going to help him out in that regard.

- He only travels for clergy business, so it’s all planned for him. He tries so hard to adhere to what he’s supposed to do that he stresses himself out. He’s able to get it all done though, despite the chaos.

- His ghouls make sure he lets himself relax and actually enjoy the trip at some point when there’s time so he’s not just overworking himself.

Perpetua:

ngl i don’t have a great grasp on his character yet, i can’t wait until i see him at my ritual!!!

- He seems like the type who comes off very planned and put together, but is totally just going off vibes.

- I have a feeling that those claws aren’t getting though TSA easily

Wow you made it to the end! I’m not really anticipating anyone really reading this lmao BUT if anyone wants any of these ideas developed some more or if you have any of your own travel related hcs for them, feel free to drop something in my ask box :3

[calciumdeficientt]

i’m in a strange place right now… you guys want some secondo stuff? body worship but like….. on himself heheh

Prev: It was mid-morning, or at least he thought it was. All he really knew for certain was that he was naked, and that he was sweating. His alarm clock lay shattered on the floor, doused in what smelled like sherry. It had been a long night, and the clock with all of its shrill beeping had been an enemy to his drunken slumber.

THIS IS ALSO NOW ON AO3 OK LOVE YOU BYE

Fine Art - milkybonezz - Ghost (Sweden Band) [Archive of Our Own]

It was mid-morning, or at least he thought it was. All he really knew for certain was that he was naked, and that he was sweating. His alarm clock lay shattered on the floor, doused in what smelled like sherry. It had been a long night, and the clock with all of its shrill beeping had been an enemy to his drunken slumber.

Stuck in purgatory between drunk and hungover, Secondo stood in front of the mirror, naked body illuminated by the morning sun. He had admired every body in the ministry, it seemed, apart from his own. He had painted his brothers for their official portraits, studied their faces, their posture, their clothing. Primo before him, Terzo and Copia after him. He had captured parts of them, trapped fragments of their souls in the oil.

Other models had allowed some interpretation, those bodies translated less to likenesses and more to the overall composition. Many Siblings of sin had sat for him, their bodies becoming that of Lilith’s triumphing in Eden. Or Abraham’s preparing to sacrifice his son for glory. He had painted so many of these people naked, it scarcely made him feel anything anymore. Nakedness had become less and less erotic as he aged. Secondo seemed to think more clinically about it these days. Every naked form was a collection of organs and tissues and bones to him now; as opposed to his younger self who had believed wholeheartedly that humans were made more of magic than flesh. It made him a little bit miserable that he couldn’t enjoy the human form in the way he used to but maybe he was just bitter about getting old.

Looking at himself, even when he was so incredibly hungover that he was probably going to have to abstain from eating for the day. He saw a man of excesses. Excessive wine and excessive women and excessive quantities of good food. There was almost too much of him to take in at once. And that, partially, was not an innuendo. Secondo was all bulk. Big arms, swollen with muscles and covered in tattoos, these arms rested below his even larger shoulders. Secondo was broad, broader than most anyway. He was roughly the width of two Terzos stood shoulder to shoulder, something he greatly enjoyed was holding this fact over his rather waifish little brother. Huge, hulking. The kind of man you have to respect just in case he decides to grab you and fold you up like an accordion.

His hands, curiously ungloved, were also very large. His nails were neat and trimmed, his skin lightly liver spotted, his knuckles lightly scarred but otherwise completely unblemished. He always through he had nice hands. Capable hands. Powerful hands. Large enough to engulf the hand of an average person entirely. These hands trailed over his chest, slightly swollen from years of overindulgence and slightly sagging from his age. Secondo’s fingers traced his pierced nipples, rolling some of his thick greying chest hair between his thumb and forefinger. He seemed to have no trouble growing hair anywhere else aside from his head.

He’d put on some weight over the years. His stomach jutted out, also covered in coarse grey body-hair and he seemed apprehensive to examine it too closely, almost like it was separate to him, like a tumour. But the more he stared, the more he realised that he rather preferred it to the way he had used to look. So skinny he was almost concave, that was his twenties. Lucifer preserve him, he was long past his twenties.

Below his stomach, as is with most people, were his legs. Also a testament to willpower, they were still incredibly toned. Part of him was jealous of his own calves, if that was even possible. He looked strong, he looked good. Especially for a man his age. His legs were also covered in tattoos. Most of them were utter crap, but they reminded him of simpler times when he would spend his paycheques in shady back alley tattoo shops. He was almost all leg, his torso was short and broad and his legs picked up the slack, raising him to 6’2” which was nothing to sneer at. He was second tallest of all his brothers anyway, bested only by Primo, who loomed over most humans at an almost sarcastic 6’5”.

Then, led down by a small trail of hair, between his muscular legs, nestled in a bush of nearly shaped pubes, was the beast with many names. Semi erect on account of the rather erotic dream he had been having some 20 minutes ago, his cock was probably his best feature. At least to him, beauty is in the eye of the beholder or so he was told. It had not been spared from his teenaged body mod frenzy, he had a selection of piercings staring back at him. Glinting in the warm morning sunlight. A few, he remembered, had him walking like a cowboy for weeks but fuck, he loved them. Secondo even now held a strong fondness for his Prince Albert. Mostly because it made him feel like his cock was going to shrivel off when he’d gotten it pierced, and he had survived. All 10 inches of him had survived, and by all the power and grace of Satan he was grateful. His eyes wandered just beneath his behemoth cock to his balls. They were… fine he supposed. Larger than average and once again, pulled down by the weight of time, they were slightly darker than the rest of his olive skin. Secondo wasn’t exactly thrilled with how they were looking these days but then again he’d never seen a particularly attractive scrotum in all his years of life anyway.

Blinking slowly, his gaze moved back up to his face, jaw slightly clenched, brows slightly furrowed, nose slightly wrinkled. He’d been concentrating very hard on everything else, it seemed. He’d laughed at himself, so critical of his own features. He was too old to be insecure, too important. He was still handsome, still very handsome actually. Rugged, Secondo thought, was the best kind of handsome to be. His face was freckled and sun worn like his hands, his bald head smooth save from his little ‘tache. It gave him an air of mystery, it stopped him looking like an egg. He liked his moustache very much. Below this thin line of hair he called a moustache were his lips full and pink and had kissed a thousand others of their kind, of all varieties, he was not limited to just faces after all.

He had a good strong chin with a slight cleft in the middle and a nice jaw to match. By the feel of it under his fingertips it was likely due a shave, but that was neither here nor there. His brow was very low and slightly distended, coupled with his penchant for squinting it created his usual angry expression. His brows were thick and well groomed, angled slightly upward on his face. The crows feet all over his face showcased how much he enjoyed furrowing them.

It was strange, looking into his own eyes in his full length mirror, and seeing his father in them. At least in one of them. The other one, emerald green, caught the light beautifully and could in some conditions shine a touch on the hazel side of green. The white, he was not so fond of, even though it seemed to compliment the rest of his face. Something about it irked him but what? He did not know. His eyes were set pretty far back into his face and were slightly downturned. As a child those eyes had gotten him anything.

His fingers rub over his nose, tracing the bump. It’s a good, strong roman nose, thrice broken and Secondo couldn’t be happier with it. It was slightly crooked due to the more recent of the breaks, this was some thirty years ago now, but Secondo preferred it like this to how it used to be. Maybe he’d just looked at it too long, and had forgotten what his nose used to look like. Secondo ran his large hands over his face with a groan. His back cracking and popping as he reached his hands up to stretch. Revealing more thick body hair under his arms.

Papa Secondo admired his whole form in the mirror, gently posed, mimicking a painting he’d once seen of the dark lord that he had found so incredibly arousing that he had left black mass early to jack off. He gave himself a lopsided smile and stumbled back to bed.

[calciumdeficientt]

Reference for my Papa II 🖤

[‼️ Important ‼️ these designs are not exactly supposed to represent the actual looks for the Papas, but exist as…my versions for my interpretation, and some of mine and my wifes headcanons and plotlines for them, so I would appreciate if these would be taken as such. I understand they might not be everyones cup of tea and thats ok, but I’d appreciate if everyone was nice and respectful! Ok thanks ☺️]