#secondo <3

[lumierexfics]

Chat Log Name : It hurts to be something, It’s worse to be nothing with you

Chat Log Description : Papa Emeritus II and his knight trying to survive.

Online Users : Papa Emeritus II (Secondo), Knight! Reader

Chat Log Status : Medieval AU! & Knight AU!

CONTENT WARNINGS : Second POV, Murder/Human sacrifice, Secondo is OOC, Fluff, Major Injuries, Historical and Medical Inaccuracies. (No plot & will not make sense, first time writing for Papa II.)

< Ao3 link Event >

The bright flames ignited a long forgotten flame in your chest. It was the unholy ceremony for the Dark Lord. His unholiness was dressed in his papal attire, you’d been the right hand of Papa Emeritus the second for as long you’ve been alive. The blade of Papa Emeritus was the title that was given to you due to your unwavering devotion to him. This unholy ceremony was to grant an excellent battle for Papa Emeritus II to spread the words of the unholy master. Everything was correct, all he needed was a sacrifice.

The wooden doors opened to the room, the sound of dragging chains on the cobblestone echoed throughout the room.

The sacrifice was dragged by their arms, skin covered with bruises, cuts from bloodletting, and soot from the floor of the cellars. Their eyes were drained of life, they flopped on the altar table like a recently dead fish; unmoving and accepting their fate of no longer seeing their home. The jeweled blade entered their chest, watched them jolt up from the pain that sparked them back alive.

You retrieved the bloodied blade from Papa Emeritus II, wiping the blood away with a handkerchief. Candelabras were put out by the acceptance of the dark lord.

You and Papa Emeritus II walked past the courtyard, the echoing sound of your iron armor moving danced throughout the open space. A clergyman had stopped you both, discussing where to speak to the problem with the lost followers that don’t want to hear the truth.

“Do you want me to deal with the non-believers, your unholiness?” you asked.

“No.” He looked at you with a stern expression. “You have better things to do than to care for some non-believers.”

His chasuble dragged on the marble floor almost matching the noise of your sabatons clicking on the stone and dirt. The ferula that he held was polished as it tapped with every step he did, the silver ghrucifix shined with the sun as You couldn’t help but admire the subtle beauty of Papa Emeritus II Secondo. He ignited a flame that seemingly could never be put out.

His hands were scarred from his rituals but they all showed the passage of knowledge with each scar yet he still admired your scars that covered your face; a miracle he murmured with each subtle kiss on the healed scar to try and make it disappear but it never went away. Your iron helmet rested on his lap, it felt like ages feeling the warmth of the sun on your face.

His chambers were littered with undergarments of previous siblings of sin who he desired for a moment or who desired him. A dozen of siblings of sin hurriedly put on their clothes and left as You opened the door for him to walk his chambers in instead of opening it for the siblings of sin who hurried out. It was a sacred ritual that you both had created to ease the stress and pain from the long awaited battles. 

His scarred hands removed the helmet and bevor that seemingly had become your second skin. The same scarred hands that held your crying face all those years ago. He removed your iron gauntlets which still had blood from the previous battles in them. His hands took off vambraces, couters, rerebraces and pauldrons from you. His hands stopped at the center of your cuirass, carefully untying it and the faulds that came along. You untie the iron cuisses, poleyns, greaves and sabatons. Leaving you in a hauberk and an aketon.

You dipped the wet rag, twisting it so it would remain damp, carefully wiping away his papal face paint. He wasn’t the young man from his youth as wrinkles appeared whenever the paint was removed. He is beautiful in your eyes. His closed eyes opened since you had stopped wiping away the papal paint. 

“Caro mio/Cara mia, is something wrong?” He asked. 

“I’m alright, Secondo.” You lied, in-fact you were dying in the inside of your chest due to his beauty. 

 He knew that you had lied to him but he never decided to bring it up since it might’ve made you uncomfortable. You continue to carefully wipe away his papal paint then drying his face, your hands took off his mitre to put it on a nightstand, your hands still trembled taking off of his chasuble and dalmatic. You had long discarded the hauberk and aketon; leaving you in a tunic and undergarments as it was the same for Secondo.

He guided you to the bed. Your scarred hands trembled with the gentle touches of Secondo’s hands pulling you closer to him. The good thing about riposo was that he was a fast sleeper yet something urged you to stay awake; was it fear or overwhelming thoughts that refused to calm down but they all revolved around the safety of Papa Emeritus II. 

“Caro mio/Cara mia,” he groaned. “Sleep.”

His tired hand patted the pillow next to him. You didn’t utter a word as resting your head and it felt comfortable and calm to be able to sleep next to him.

Soft yet scarred hands caressed your cheek as you stirred awake, your tired eyes shot open realizing that he was already dressed. You were behind and needed to get dressed, immediately.

“Calm, caro mio/cara mia,” he said, softly yet his voice held a soft rasp to it. “You haven’t rested well enough in days.”

Your hands could only give a response of running over his knuckles while your body turned to get up from bed. Feeling his sharp glances on your body while he glided over to you, hearing the dragging of his chasuble.

“You don’t deserve such scars.” His fingertips glided on your exposed shoulder. “I wish I could take these away from you.”

“These scars.” You turned to look at him. “These bare no such burden, Secondo. These mean that it was worth it for your message to spread.”

His hands helped you back into your undergarments while you carefully adjusted your tunic to fit correctly underneath your hauberk and over your aketon. Your heart cracked seeing the mighty Papa Emeritus II kneel before you to tie and adjust the sabatons, greaves, poleyns, and cuisses. You always wanted—always needed help getting into your armor which you requested multiple times for a squire to help you get ready to not disturb him but he seemingly rejected every request for a squire.

“Will you ever give me a reason?” You placed on your gauntlets. “Why do you always reject my needs for a squire?”

“You have no need for a squire,” he grumbled, his fingertips remaining for a moment then left.

His smooth palms tied the cords that held your iron breastplate to your hauberk and your forehead rested on his dalmatic; feeling the sliver embroidery.

Afternoon of oranges, pinks, and purples swirled to reveal the sunset. The cloister garths were decorated with the finest jewels and a feast was held in the honor of the streak of successful battles. You felt that you were naked since the silver armor that acted like a cocoon and second skin was stripped off of you due to the insistence of a Sibling Superior that wanted the day of feasts to involve nothing of the sorts for such a feast.

Cold air of the midnight sky brushed your skin even though you wore the basic layers of your tunic, it was still so cold; subtly causing your body to shake and cold air seeped into the tiniest hole of your tunic and into your skin, tightly clutching your bones and leaving an invisible imprints.

“Cold, amore?” Secondo placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

Your fingertips swirled around the golden goblet, looking down to see yourself in the reflection, as a smile carved onto your face while sipping the wine from the golden goblet. You didn’t like this, absolutely loathing the sense of relaxation that was different to blood pumping adrenaline in battles.

“Allow me to guide you somewhere more to your liking?” He asked with a smile that you knew.

You nodded, following right behind him like you always did. The smile remained on your face, seeing the small table decorated to your likings of meals. Watching how the yellowed candlelight revealed each wrinkle and crease of his face; intimidating yet comforting. Your eyes spotted something familiar hanging on a hook.

“You still have my rosary?” You asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He replied, still having a smile on his face. “It is important since it was the first gift that I received when I became Papa.”

Your hands ran over the beads of the rosary, remember how difficult it was to make it and how many beads you had to steal from the arts and crafts storage room.

“I will make you a new one,” you stated.

Papa Emeritus II merely laughed at your response as his hand held your cheek. Was he always this close?

“It takes away the speciality of it,” he said. “But you can try to make a new one for me.”

Your fingertips ran over his hand that decided to rest on your cheek. You smiled at him and allowed him to guide you to the table that held the freshly cooked meals.

“Secondo,” you said, “you can still enjoy the festivities. I’m not making you stay with me.”

Secondo raised his eyebrow, he seemed disturbed by your statement since he was known for his partying yet you didn’t want to hold him back.

“I don’t think that I would trade this for the feasts,” he said.

Secondo felt your side of the bed, empty. He wasn’t surprised by your side being empty since you occasionally left to grab something to drink but you always came to the bed. Minutes seemingly felt like hours as he begrudgingly got up from the warmth of his bed to see the small storage room light on and the door slightly creaked open.

He opened the door to see you, hunched over the wooden desk as yawns escaped your lips.

“Amore, you need to rest.” His hands made it to your shoulders. “This can wait.”

“No, just…I’m almost done with this, Secondo,” you replied.

Secondo watched your hands bend wires to finish the gift that you had promised him. As your hands used round pliers to add the hook to a silver ghrucifix to the end of it. He noticed your reddened eyes staring up at him, handing him the newly made rosary.

“It’s the same, nothing different,” you said.

Secondo merely smiled, helping you up from the desk and helping you in bed.

Secondo’s hands linger on your shoulders; tying your pauldrons to your breastplate. He sighed not wanting to start the day's activities since today he would be made to give daily speeches to the village that they had recently gained control over. Rather than being assigned to guard Papa Emeritus II since that duty was given to his ghouls and you were sent to deliver the freshly baked breads and other goods that the village seemed to be lacking in.

“Secondo.” Your hands held his. “I don’t think that I should wear my armor today. It’s just a delivery of good will to earn their trust.”

“No,” he stated. “We must stay alert. We do not know what will happen.”

You grabbed the rosary that hung on the hook and put it on, tucking it underneath your aketone.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“It’s for good luck,” you responded. “I will need it since you always seemed to have a furrowed brow.”

It went wrong. You helped deliver freshly baked goods to the villagers with the fellow siblings of sin while Papa Emeritus II gave the daily words of encouragement from Sathanas but the daily spreading of Sathanas’ words were ruptured, ending in a pond of blood. Corpses ending up in mangled piles and unrecognizable. You managed to pull him into an alleyway, hidden behind sandbags and wooden piles.

“Please,” you whispered,” I’m l— I care deeply for your safety, Secondo.“

You tightened the discolored cream fabric onto his open gash on his leg while he gritted his teeth. How deeply you wanted to hold his cheek and reassure him. You couldn’t hurt him, you loved him too much to hurt the man who stole your heart. Yet, you didn’t want your heart back.

“Amore,” he asked,”what are you planning?”

You gave no response to his question and that’s what he feared.

“Earth, I trust that you will get him back to the abbey, correct?” You asked, looking up at Earth.

Earth blended into the darkness, only the silver glimmer of the earth sigil on his fascia shown, his bauta mask only seemed to tilt. Papa Emeritus II wanted to struggle out of his ghoul’s arms but it didn’t budge. No matter how much flailing or demanding to release him didn’t work.

Papa Emeritus II and Earth reached the abbey as its wooden doors opened. Papa Emeritus II sat on a marble bench next to the infirmary which smelled of blood and screams, he tried to understand what happened and he wouldn’t—couldn’t move his arms; they’d gotten heavier. The siblings of sin working in the infirmary peeled off the layers of his papal robes to make sure that he wasn’t injured badly. He didn’t want their touches, he didn’t want them touching his body. The touches weren’t gentle enough, they didn’t treat him with care or the just right amount of gentleness he wa—he needed.

Papa Emeritus II sat in his undergarments in his bedchambers, he didn’t allow anyone to touch his face. It was sacred, only you could touch it. His papal face paint had streaks and smears from his crying. His head shot up hearing a knock to his chambers, you finally came back to him. Grabbing the doorknob and pulling it open expecting to see you, slightly injured. It wasn’t you, it was one of many siblings of sin that were sent to gather the remains of parishioners to bury in the Church’s cemetery.

“What?” He asked.

The sibling of sin gave no response, hands trembling to hand Papa Emeritus II, the familiar gift. It was your rosary, he remembered the making of such a fragile thing. He could only close the door, why did the room get smaller? Why was it getting difficult to breathe and how do you breathe again? He fell to his knees, tightly clutching the rosary to his chest as the soft memories of your face holding a smile and how magnificent you looked while sleeping. Papa Emeritus II gasps echoed throughout his chambers, trying desperately to breathe as his chest tightened more with each breath.

Papa Emeritus II woke up, still on the wooden floor as his lips felt dry. He got up as he looked at his neat bed; not a single wrinkle. His scarred hands held the rosary, hanging the rosary on a hook where it originally rested. He rolled up his sleeves and walked over to his dressing table to wipe away the old papal face paint. His hands twisted the rag, wiping away the imperfect face paint smeared by his tears. His hands dipped into the porcelain bowl, catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror. Papa Emeritus paused, seeing newly formed eye bags caused by his crying.

Nothing other than reading the losses of parishioners and siblings of sin from the sudden attack from the previous day. Papa Emeritus II spent his time pacing in the cloister garth as it still had remnants of the feast that was once celebrated, days earlier, he looked up at the clouds; gray and gloomy. He heard it yet a nibbling thought swirled into his mind as was this his mind putting a facade over his eyes and ears?

He felt a strange sensation while walking the hallways and cloister garth, it was silent. Nothing. No more sabatons hitting the cracked cobblestone except for the soft hymns of sin mixed with prayers, his gloved hand trembled tightly clutching the ferula. A piece of him was—A piece of him is lost, a crack had formed into his heart; the one thing he always claimed that he didn’t have. He stood underneath the rain, his papal face paint was smearing down. Papa Emeritus II wanted to scream at the world, he wanted to scream at Sathanas. He wanted to scream at himself for being weak and not what a Papa is supposed to be. His voice was hoarse while his salty tears mixed with the rain, leaning on his ferula for support as his legs trembled underneath the heaviness of his wet chasuble, dalmatic.

Papa Emeri—Secondo needed to get rid of the void that decided to sleep inside of the cracks of his heart, he needed to fill the void; Fill the void to get rid of these lousy emotions. Day, night, and afternoon to nothing. His scarred hands dipped a wet rag into a porcelain bowl, water dribbled down, soaking into his rolled up sleeves, each wipe that took off his papal face paint seemed to only smear it more and more; ‘only if you were here..’ Secondo seemed to have a stare off with his reflection, how deeply he wanted to perfectly take off his papal face paint like you once did. How deeply he wanted to feel your warmth rather than seeking the somewhat identical warmth from the siblings of sin that could never be identical; he missed—he yearned for your very presence.

A never-ending wave as he drank communional wine from a golden goblet, bitterly smiling at the moon; losing count of the many times he indulged in sin to get rid of the never-ending void. Now, truly he no longer had a heart since you took it with you. He hated you for it. He hated your eyes, hated the way they stared at him with the purest love that he didn’t deserve.

Papa Emeritus II stood in the infirmary room, his heart hardened and his tears dried up from the amount of times that his tears decided to overwhelm him and caused his chest to ache with so much pain. He looked at the wounded and unrecognizable person who was lying in the infirmary bed.

“Do you think that I can be joked about?” He scoffed. “This isn’t them.”

“No, no, your unholiness.” Sibling of sin stammered, “But how are you certain that this isn’t them? Your unholiness, you must start checking the mort—“

“I immediately would know,” He stated. “Don’t suggest that I go to the mortuary. They are strong enough to survive, I know.”

It had been a couple of weeks nearly a month since you had been etched out of his world. Yet, a small piece in his heart and mind made him believe that somehow you could return back into his arms once more. Papa Emeritus II blinked multiple times as his eyes were unsteady and unfocused; trying to read the document. He heard a sudden knock that roused him from the document.

“Come in,” he said.

A sibling of sin twisted open the doorknob to see him engulfed in stacks of books and candlelight that perfectly etched the painted features.

“Your unholiness, the infirmary had requested your presence once more,” they said.

Papa Emeritus II stood up, causing his armchair to creak and he grabbed his mitre to place on his head while grabbing his ferula to help him balance. His shoes clicked onto the cobblestone floor in a hurry, pushing open the infirmary door to hear whimpers rather than the silence that he had gotten used to. His chest tightened, could it truly be you this time?

The greens in his eyes swirled with life, no longer were they dulled. You were still recognizable to him even if you were badly injured, currently. Watching the debridement process while others wrapped your arms with bandages, hearing your voice in such agony; unnoticed tears fell down his face.

He wanted—He needed a moment alone with you; requested it while they finished wrapping your body in bandages. He watched the infirmary aid workers shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind them. Immediately discarding his mitre to the nearby nightstand, rushing to your side as his heart ached. The throbbing sensation and heaviness continued with each step, how deeply he loathed his papal regalia that once was a symbol of never ending pride soon became apart of the weight of his anguish, seeing you; so fragile.

He watched your trembling bandaged hand raise up, your back was no longer smooth, it was touched by fresh stitches and bandages. He pulled up a nearby wooden chair to the bedside, watching your half-lidded eyes stare up at him and his handheld yours.

“Why did you do such a thing,” he murmured. “Why, amore? Why would you do it when you know it would cause me such pain?”

He could only hear your labored breathing as a response. As he wanted to be mad at you, at himself. Secondo loved you so much that he wanted to hold you even if you were scarred, broken beyond repair or dead but you were home. Home with him.

[blanchebees]

Papas because i'm rusty

Tip jar

[hamishoanvin]

started new pocket sketchbook! ⭐️

— come together, together as one.. come together for Lucifer’s son!

[kiselwp]

Nervous waiting

[southofsadness]

it’s been said many times now but huge shout out to tobias forge for making the most fuckable elderly men i’ve ever seen, he’s so real for that

[vogelfreyh]

„Leave him out of this!“

Guess who’s been an ass to his children again.

Nihil was shitting on Terzo, telling him how useless and worthless he was, then Secondo interfered. He was sick of his father’s neverending terror. He didn’t care much anymore when he was the victim himself, but when Nihil came for his little brother, he wouldn’t hold himself back.

[grahamdolce]

Hannibal 3.02 Primavera | 3.03 Secondo

[kabukiaku]

secondo has seen enough bullshit to not be fazed.

[breanna777]

These men with their flowers..

[enjoy-my-swearing]

🖤🖤 Choose your ghalentine 🖤🖤

[mcklunkers]

Ok but the fact that Copia’s room phone has a shoulder rest attached means that the little rat man discusses clergy business while playing games frequently and that’s iconic of him.

Like imagine Secondo or Terzo or even Nihil trying to have a serious conversation and the cheeky bastard’s just agreeing with everything they say while playing Mario Kart or some shit. Gamer girl Copia losing his mind on Rainbow Road while half the abbey is on fire.

[namelessdumbass]

yep, they are brothers

[hamishoanvin]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰

𝔄𝔫 𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔟𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱…

[kiselwp]

I like how Secondo looks here

[leighways]

complimentary Halloween costumes for you and the homies

bonus:

[blackbird5154]

Now of the relationship between Terzo and Secondo. The fandom likes to present them as "classic big brother" and "classic little brother". That's okay. But let's look at it from a different perspective.

Tobias has emphasized in many interviews that Terzo and Secondo know each other well. This could mean that they've known each other since childhood, or that they've became close as adults. Either way, their age difference is only 3 months. Think back: you probably had a buddy during your school years who was a few months older or younger than you. Did it matter? No. In fact, Terzo and Secondo are peers. I don't think they had a hierarchy in terms of "older brother - younger brother". Either one of them could have been in the lead in the relationship, or they could have felt on equal footing.

I think they could both be good leaders at one time and total assholes at other time. They deserve each other.

[part 2] ... [part 4]