i once again see an influx of blogs screaming in the tag to block them if one's a proshipper/papaxpapa shipper. like. no my dude, you curate your own internet experience. i won't do it for you. grow up. stop yelling that something dared to cross your path when you stepped on the fucking highway.
this is the internet, this is fandom culture. you navigate around it or this place isn't for you, like, the freaks were here first. get out.
My catboy Terzo didn’t make it to the rounds nearly as much as he deserved. Please be a dear and adopt him/pet him/reblog him to make him feel special <3
Fic request: Terzo spends the night at Female Reader's house (he enjoys sleeping over at her place, she likes doing the same at his) and has brought a small overnight bag AND WEENIE.
Anyway, later on, as he and reader are doing the do / steaming up her bedroom, Weenie has a little adventure that lasts the entire night (I wanted the adventure scene to be told a bit from her pov).
The next morning, when Terzo and Reader wake up, they see Weenie sleeping on the couch and find it to be the cutest thing ever.
Ohhhh I love the idea of Terzo having this little dog he is attached to 🥹 I guarantee she has all the ✨ Sass✨
For context: Weenie is basically an original character made up by @enchantedchocolatebars based upon the pictures of Papa III cradling a sweet little dachshund doggy.
Check out her fic Weiner Takes it all for an extremely cute Dachshund race and Terzo as a doggy dad
I originally wrote Weenie’s characterization on a romantic fall walk with Terzo in Paws and Effect 🍂
I also wrote her in a very cute Halloween trick or treating/Bela Lugosi trivia fic with Terzo in For The Love of Bela 🧛♂️
None of this has to be read first or in any order to enjoy this fic, it just explains the characterization in fun ways 🖤
By Moonlight and Milkbones
Terzo brings his dog Weenie along for an overnight stay at your house, expecting nothing more than a cozy evening together. While the two of you are blissfully occupied behind closed doors, Weenie decides someone has to protect the neighborhood. What follows is one tiny dog’s very important moonlit adventure—complete with new friends, neighborhood patrols, a trove of treasures and a warm homecoming 🦴🎾
A03
Coupling: Papa Emeritus III x Female! Reader
Word count: 1790
The moment the front door opens, Weenie launches herself forward with all the enthusiasm of a creature who could never fathom the possibility that someone might not be thrilled to see her.
“There she is!” You laugh as the little dog scrambles up and into your arms.
Terzo follows behind her carrying an overnight bag over one shoulder, looking entirely pleased with himself.
“Excuse me,” he says pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “I came all this way and she received the greeting first?”
You roll your eyes.
“You’re a grown man.” You tease with a grin.
“I am a very handsome grown man.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you playfully. You laugh.
“And she’s Weenie.” You gesture toward her theatrically. As if to prove your point, Weenie licks the tip of your nose.
Terzo sighs heavily.
“I never stood a chance.”
The little dog wags her tail harder. Victory.
She has missed you. She likes your house very much. She likes when Papa stays here. This is clearly a sleepover. She loves sleepovers. She likes when everyone stays in the same place so she can keep track of her humans. Everyone together. Everyone safe. Everyone where they belong. Simple. Perfect.
You take Terzo’s overnight bag while he gently kicks the door shut behind him.
“Long drive?”
“Terrible.” He says.
“Liar.”
“Fine. It was acceptable.”
You laugh. Terzo smiles at the sound. Then you smile back. Then the smiling continues for an uncomfortable amount of time. Weenie sits between the two of you…waiting. And waiting. And then waiting some more. Neither human seems interested in discussing anything important.
The evening passes as is expected:
•Dinner
•Treats
•cuddles
The humans are laughing. Her humans. Her Papa. Her favorite human. Everything is right as it should be. Until it isn’t. Eventually humans always become strange.
You and Terzo sit on the couch, his arm around your waist as you talk about everything and nothing simultaneously. Weenie is curled up nearby, half asleep, when she opens one eye. Something has changed.
Papa is looking at favorite human differently. Favorite human is smiling differently. The air has become suspiciously full of affection. Weenie sighs. Humans are such strange creatures.
Terzo gently kisses your forehead. Then your lips.
You immediately melt.
Pathetic.
Weenie sneezes.
No one pays attention.
A grave injustice.
Terzo starts towards the bedroom, beckoning you with a crook in his finger and a come hither motion.
“Come here.” He smirks.
That’s all it takes for you to disappear down the hallway together.
Weenie follows. Obviously. She is part of this operation.
The bedroom door closes. Directly in her face. Weenie stares.
The door stares back.
She waits. Surely this must be a mistake.
A minute passes.
Nothing.
Two minutes.
Nothing.
A muffled delighted laugh drifts through the wood. The humans appear to be occupied. They sound happy. Good. But also…
They had forgotten something.
Her.
The guardian.
The protector.
The most important member of the household.
Very well.
If they insist on abandoning their responsibilities, Weenie will just have to take charge of the evening herself.
With a determined huff, she trots away. Someone has to patrol the premises still. Clearly, that someone is her.
The humans have made their choice. They chose the bedroom and closed doors.
They have chosen to leave the protection in the paws of a small but highly capable guardian. Weenie accepts this responsibility. Someone has to.
She begins her patrol. First, the living room.
Clear.
The couch? Comfortable.
The blanket. Acceptable.
Papa’s overnight bag? Still suspicious.
She approaches it again. Perhaps she missed something earlier. A thorough investigation is necessary.
Weenie approaches carefully.
She sniffs one side. Then the other. Then the zipper.
After several moments of careful examination, Weenie reveals several important discoveries:
One shirt.
A small expensive bottle of liquid that smells terrible.
A crumpled receipt.
Then perhaps the most important discovery:
A sock.
Papa’s sock.
She stares at it.
This is valuable. Extremely valuable. It smells like Papa. It belongs to Papa. Therefore, it belongs somewhere safe.
With great determination weenie grabs the sock and begins the journey. The sock is long and determined to fight. Weenie is more determined.
After several attempts, one dramatic pause, and a very impressive amount of pulling, she successfully deposits her treasure onto the couch. Perfect. Papa will be proud.
She continues her patrol.
The house is quiet. Too quiet.
Then she sees it.
The door.
The magical small door that leads to the outside. Just her size.
Weenie has been through it several times before.
Outside is where the adventures happen.
Where squirrels live.
Where all the smells are.
And tonight…something is new.
The yard is full of stars. Not sky stars. Ground stars. Moving stars.
Upon further inspection, she can see they are tiny glowing creatures floating through the air. Weenie freezes.
The light of the creature blinks.
Weenie blinks her eyes.
It moves. Then she moves.
A very serious investigation begins.
The glowing creature is strange. It does not smell dangerous. It does not bark or run away. It simply floats. Clearly it is either very brave…or very foolish.
Weenie decides to keep watch. She steps outside, the warm nighttime air surrounding her. The grass is cool beneath her paws. She notices nighttime smells different. The world smells different after dark. There are secrets everywhere.
A flower that has opened.
A bird that has gone to sleep.
A rabbit that had crossed the yard hours earlier.
Evidence. All of it.
Weenie has work to do.
She follows the path of mysterious smells and important discoveries.
First comes a fence. A normal fence during the day, a suspicious fence at night. She sniffs it carefully.
Nothing. Acceptable.
Then came the tree. The tree is home to something. Something that had made noise earlier. Weenie looks upward. A squirrel stares down at her. A silent body language conversation ensues between them.
“I see you.” says Weenie’s stature.
The squirrel flicks its tail. Its composure says:
“I have seen many things.”
Weenie considers all of this. The squirrel is strange, but perhaps useful. An alliance could be formed.
She continues her journey.
The neighborhood is awake in small ways.
A porch light glows.
A television plays softly behind a window.
Someone laughs somewhere far in the distance.
Everything is different at night. Everything is important. Everything needs inspecting.
Weenie is almost completed with her inspection, and then…a scent drifts toward her on the warm nighttime breeze.
Weenie stops. Food. Interesting.
She follows it with purpose and dedication.
Two houses down, someone is sat on their front porch beneath a string of warm white lights, a paper plate balancing in their lap. Soft music drifts from a little speaker beside their rocking chair.
The woman looks up as tiny paws click along the sidewalk.
“Well hi there!”
Weenie stops. Tail wagging in recognition. This is the nice lady.
The nice lady always bent down to scratch behind her ears whenever she and favorite human have walked by previously.
The nice lady laughs.
“I know you!”
Of course she does. Weenie is unforgettable.
“What are you doing out so late sweetheart?”
Weenie blinks. Working. Obviously.
The nice lady reaches into a small tin beside her chair.
“I’ve got one milk bone left!”
Weenie sits down immediately. Professionalism matters.
“Oh! So polite!” The woman laughs.
The biscuit is accepted with the dignity it deserves.
As Weenie crunches happily, another porch light flickers on across the street.
“Marjorie?” An approaching voice calls out. “You’ve got Terzo’s little dog!”
“I do!”
Another neighbor wanders over.
“Oh my goodness- it’s Weenie!”
Her tail somehow wags even faster. These people know her. Excellent. Her reputation continues to grow.
“Where’s your Papa tonight?” The second neighbor asks, rubbing beneath her chin.
Weenie considers this. Papa is…
Busy.
Humans became very strange during sleepovers.
The neighbors exchange amused smiles.
“I bet he’s over at his partner’s house.”
“I’d say so.”
“Should we call someone?”
They all look down at the tiny dog.
Weenie looks back up with complete confidence.
Nothing about her suggests she is distressed or lost. If anything, she looks as though she has appointed herself neighborhood security.
“I think she is just making her rounds.” Marjorie chuckles.
“I think you’re right.” The second neighbor agrees.
“I have just the thing!” The first neighbor smiles while pulling out a gold sparkly ribbon from their pocket. Gently, they tie a perfect bow around Weenie’s collar.
“There! Our own official neighborhood watch dog!”
Weenie wags her tail happily and sits proudly, chest puffed out. The second neighbor approaches Weenie and bends down, producing a brand new Tennis ball from behind their back.
“Here ya go Weenie! A treat for all your hard work!”
Weenie gently takes the ball into her mouth and stands up, tail wagging excitedly.
The neighbors watch as Weenie proudly trots away, biscuit finished, tail held high.
“Goodnight officer Weenie!” One of them calls.
Weenie doesn’t know what an officer is, but it sounds important. She accepts the promotion.
Now that the neighborhood is deemed safe enough, Weenie proudly carries home all of her treasures.
Once back inside, she begins arranging them around herself on the couch and decorative pillows. Slowly, the tired puppy curls up cozily, tucking Papa’s sock beneath her chin. Barely any time passes at all before Weenie is softly snoring on a bed of her own making.
The next morning, Terzo wanders into the living room, hair adorably disheveled, expecting an enthusiastic greeting from his faithful companion.
Instead, he freezes.
“Tesoro…” he whispers.
You step beside him. Hair messy.
There is Weenie. Fast asleep. One ear lazily flopped over. Tiny paws twitching as she vividly dreams. Papa’s sock hugged tightly against her chest. A tennis ball beside her. A ribbon on her collar. A daisy entwined in her fur. Then a slightly crumpled sticky note, peeking out from beneath her back paw. Terzo picks it up and reads it quietly, and immediately starts laughing. Not loud enough to wake her, but still a genuine laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes. You read it over his shoulder.
“Neighborhood patrol complete. She accepted one biscuit, supervised the block, and was the sweetest visitor we have had here all week. Please tell officer Weenie she is welcome any time. –
Marjorie.”
You look at Weenie. Terzo looks at Weenie. Neither of you have the heart to wake your tiny adventurer. Instead, Terzo crouches beside the couch, gently brushing a fingertip along her little head. Gently, he whispers with absolute conviction:
“Brava, mia piccola. The neighborhood was safe last night because of you.”
Somewhere in her dreams, Weenie’s tail gives one tiny sleepy thump of acknowledgement against the couch cushion.
When the newly appointed Papa Emeritus IV comes upon a young Sister of Sin still mourning his predecessor, he is determined to show her the true power of his position and prove to her who the true Papa is
So the gist of this is 'What if a fic wasn't Papacest, or Papawich, but a secret third option that's somehow...more unsettling? The Terzo widows are not going to like this and Copia's going to get real disrespectful. Pretty much everything in this is borderline problematic, so don't read unless you're prepared for that.
18+ Explicit (2,816 words) Cardinal Copia x fem!afab!Sister of Sin x Portrait of Terzo? TW Dubious Everything
[Terzo is Newly Dead, Copia is a Hater, Mira is Legal But Barely, Mention of Underage Masturbation, Age Difference/Power Imbalance, Dubious Con/Coercion, Corruption Kink For Sure, Semi-Public Sex, Forced Masturbation, Fingering, Squirting, P in V Sex, Dirty Talk/Degradation, Problematic Everything]
Read on AO3
.
To her the small gallery connected to the Chapel had been a place of solace ever since she'd been a small child growing up in the Ministry orphanage. During Primo's time as Papa she was still young enough that her curfew has strictly enforced. Generally an abider of rules, no one suspected that she would sneak from her bed long after the lights went out to stand in front of his portrait, viewing him less as the malevolent bringer of unholy destruction, and more like the grandfatherly figure she'd never known. Oh, how she wished for him to choose her to be his assistant whilst tending to his cherished blossoms, maybe even to be trusted to care for them while he was away on tour. And though the idea of Primo having a tea party with a precocious young girl was laughable in hindsight, in her mind it was very real.
By Secondo's ascension she was just enough older to have more freedom, and being able to spend as much of the time not devoted to her duties or schooling as she liked devouring the tomes in the Ministry library opened her eyes to a great many things. But the more she learned, the more questions she had. Ever the worldly and wise father figure, she came to the picture of Secondo with all her curiosities. And though he couldn't give her the answers she craved, he always listened in a way that no one else did.
When Terzo's image appeared in its prestigious position on the wall, something changed in her. Time had marched on and she was on the cusp of womanhood by then, with all its complications and hungers. His mismatched eyes pierced into her in a way that the others hadn't, like he could see through her skin and directly into her soul. She yearned to drop to her knees in worship before him, to feel the supple leather of his glove against her cheek and the soft skin of his cock against her tongue as she took unholy communion. And it was in that very spot in the gallery, in front of his benevolent supervision, free of judgement, that she coaxed the first orgasm from her young body, the first of many he would inspire without even knowing it.
Now she sat again on the worn, dusty bench, left neglected since Terzo had been dethroned though the painting remained. The lustful longings of her younger self were the farthest thing from her mind, replaced with the dull ache of mourning that never seemed to fade, though she'd long since run out of tears to cry for him.
And beyond the constant sting of the loss, since she'd recently come of age, the time had come for a difficult decision to be made. Should she transition to taking her vows as a Sibling of Sin as so many of the foundlings chose to, or leave the only home she'd ever known and venture out on her own? The question hung heavy on her mind and the deadline to make her choice menacing ahead, closer by the day.
She was so consumed with her troubled thoughts that she didn't hear the clicking of heels on the stone floor slowly approaching, and she jumped when the lean, black-clad figure entered her peripheral vision. "Huh?!...Oh, Cardinal, it's you. You startled me. Nobody ever comes here anymore..."
He waved a gloved finger with a mock-scolding smile. "Ah ah ah...It is Papa now, remember?"
She blushed, uncomfortable to her core to address him by the title in such a sacred space. "Right...Of course...My apologies, Papa."
"I was just stopping by to make sure everything is order for my own portrait to be unveiled." He ran his finger along the ornate frame that held Terzo's picture and grimaced at the dust it collected, looking up at him with thinly-veiled distain. "The place certainly could do with a good cleaning..."
He sat down next to her, confidently extending an arm on the back of the bench behind her narrow shoulders, leaning in a bit too close. "And you, Sister...Why is it that I so often see you sitting in here with such a...dreary expression?"
She smiled wistfully, weighing just how much of herself she should disclose to the new Papa who filled her with such unease. "When I was old enough to be able to venture out of the orphanage wing on my own at night, I would come here to visit the Papas. I'd make conversation like, 'Nice weather we're having, Papa Primo', or, 'Your sermon for Black Mass was lovely, Papa Secondo'."
He watched her with rapt attention, though his focus was more on the movements of her plump lips and heaving of her chest than her words. "Once his portrait was hung, it was the one I was drawn to more than any before. And it was always the same...'So nice to see you, Papa Terzo, and how are you this evening?'"
"And how did he answer?" His voice was flat, his dislike of the man tainting every word.
She sighed heavily at the memory that now felt like a lifetime ago. "'Better now that you are here, bellisima.'"
His smile widened, but there was an unmistakably green smolder behind his eyes. "You had, eh...A bit of a crush?"
She bit at her bottom lip nervously, smoothing back stray tresses to hide her flustered reaction to his words. "I suppose so."
She could feel his warm breath on her neck, what little distance was left between them shrinking and stealing the air from her lungs. "And were you...Attracted?...Aroused?"
The low purr of his voice was making it hard for her to think clearly and words were tumbling out of her mouth beyond her control. "Yes...I-I wasn't sure what I was feeling...It was new."
"Heart beating a little faster in your...ample young bosom?" She tried to ignore the way his eyes wandered over her body, leering and predatory, but it was growing more difficult by the second.
"Y-Yes."
"And what did you do with these new feelings, little one?" His lips barely brushed against her pulse point, just enough to make her stomach start to flutter. "Did you touch yourself?"
Her breath caught in her chest, and she cursed herself internally for her body's visceral reaction to his nearness, his warmth against her exposed flesh, the friction of leather sliding up her inner thigh.
"Sweet lamb, there is no need to be embarrassed. What you were feeling and what you did are both very natural. A young woman's relationship with her Papa is a very special thing. I only hope that someday you consider me your Papa, eh?"
His palm slid over supple flesh, barely reaching her apex before retreating again, giving the faintest of feather-light brushes against the growing wet spot on her panties only to leave her trembling from the sensation.
"Papa?...W-What are you doing?" She knew she should put a stop to whatever was happening. She was an adult now, wasn't she? And perfectly capable of setting clear boundaries. And yet...Every motion of his skilled hands only made her legs spread wider to give him better access to his prize.
Her eyes popped open when his hand disappeared suddenly, gently nudging under her chin to force her focus to his piercing, mismatched eyes. "Shhh, little one...Just let Papa make you feel good."
He pressed his lips to hers, soft but claiming, and when he felt her body shiver and relax he slid his hand under her skirt and hooked a finger into the waistband of her modest white cotton underwear, wrapping a strong arm around her waist to help her shift enough for him to slide them down her shapely legs. She looked up to her beloved Papa with pleading eyes as if he might come to life and rescue her, save her from her own wanton desires.
"What a shame he never truly saw you like this," he muttered against her ear as he bunched up the hem of her habit against her quivering stomach. "Such a lovely pussy...So plump and pink...So desperate for pleasure...So ready to be used and defiled in Satan's name..."
Her focus remained on Terzo's handsome but stern face, too afraid to look into the eyes of the man who held her in place with an iron grip, panic bubbling in her gut, arousal pooling hot and aching in her core.
He brought her tiny fingers to his mouth, wetting them on his tongue before pressing them against her clit and guiding her to stroke and rub it gently. "Show me, angel. Show me how you touched yourself when you were here alone. When you thought of Papa's tongue...Papa's fingers...Papa's cock inside you..." His last words made her moan, letting her trembling thighs fall open wider. He pulled one across his lap, giving him a better view and access to her dewed sex, his erection pressing hard and pulsing against her plush thigh. "Show him."
He waited for her to find a steady rhythm, slow circles around the eager bud that swelled under her touch. He kissed her with growing possession, breaking to give her soft words of encouragement until her lips fell slack, only able to pant ragged breaths into his open mouth.
"I'm going to fuck you with my fingers now," he said calmly. "Are you ready for me?"
"Y-Yes, Papa...I'm ready..." Her eyelids fluttered closed and she tried to focus on the pressure building in her core and block out the lewdness of it all. "Just p-please be gentle."
He slid just his middle finger into her at first and she took it easily, already so dripping wet and teetering on the verge of orgasm. "More, little one?"
She nodded with a needy whimper and his first digit was joined by a second. He felt her breath catch with a tiny mewl, but the sting of the new stretch dissipated into pure heat, and before long her hips were bucking to meet every pump of his deft fingers.
Her own touch was faltering, her strokes growing more erratic, and the sensation of his knuckles breaching through her tightening entrance only became more intense with each snap of her hips, her free hand twisting in the silk of his shirt until her knuckles turned white.
"Is this how you pictured it?," he growled as he felt her body start to shake, her inner walls clenching as he stroked the sensitive, spongy spot within. "Writhing and pleading like a little slut?...Wishing your tiny fingers were thick, gloved ones instead?...Now look at you...And all with your beloved Papa watching your sweet little pussy getting stretched open for another..."
Her head fell to his shoulder when the sensation overtook her. "Y-Yes, Papa...Oh, yes..."
"Cum for him now, sweet girl. Show him how much pleasure his successor can give your little body."
She cried out weakly, muffled against the muscular pillar of his neck, her whole body wracked with tremors, her release gushing violently and pooling on the marble tile between her feet. She clamped down so hard around him that he had no choice but to hold his hand still, rocking her gently through each lingering spasm until she was limp and whimpering in his arms.
"My angel...You have done well...Very well...," he praised. "You cum so beautifully...So perfectly..." He held his hand up in front of her face, her juices running in thick streams that he lapped up from the buttery leather. "And so much nectar...All for Papa."
He stood up suddenly, leaving her to slump in her seat while she fought to catch her breath. He approached the painting, facing Terzo eye to eye with a satisfied grin. "Don't you wish you had been able to taste her first, eh? Here you go, Papa. Buon appetite, stronzo." He smeared her slick across his predecessor's painted face with a grim chuckle before turning back to his young conquest.
Clutching her hands and pulling her to her feet onto wobbly legs, he positioned her without any resistance to lean forward and brace herself against the frame of the portrait. pressing himself tightly against his back to keep her still.
"I have been waiting quite some time for you, little one." He rolled her skirt up around her waist, spreading her legs farther apart with one hand and placing the other on the small of her back, encouraging her to arch for him. "I am going to enjoy feeling your tight little flower taking every inch of me..."
The sobering realization hit her like ice water, and the shameful lust she'd felt only moments ago was replaced with fear. "But I...But I...Papa, I've never-"
He stroked and squeezed her haunches as if he was trying to tame a frightened animal, but his voice was an ominous, rumbling threat. "You do not want to disappoint your Papa, do you?"
Things were moving too fast, too much out of her control. "No..."
"That is what I thought." Her hands left her for a moment once he was satisfied that she wouldn't try to escape, and she could hear the unmistakable metallic sound of a zipper and the rustling of fabric behind her. "Then let Papa show you what your little body is made for."
She pinched her eyes shut when she felt the heat and pressure of his swollen head against her entrance, whispering a useless, barely audible prayer to the Dark Lord for mercy. He entered her in one long, slow thrust until he felt her tense and squeeze the polished wood under her hands. "P-Papa...Please...It h-hurts..."
"I know, my dear, I know. I promise it will feel good soon." He circled his hips slowly, giving her time to relax, for the sharp sting to fade into a throbbing ache, pleasure and pain warring inside her straining walls.
But he didn't wait for her to be ready, too full of blood-lust by then to think of anything but his own pleasure and pride and glaring smugly at the face above. Once he started pumping into her tight spongy depths it was like lighting gasoline with a match and her pained whimpers fell on deaf ears.
"That's it...That's it...," he grunted, wrapping his hand around her neck to force her into an even more bowed, contorted position. "Show him how much you love giving your cunt to Papa."
Tears were pooling in her eyes, more from the grief than the pain. And yet every time he pulled out of her snug grip she awaited the next slam of his hips into hers like an addict craving their next hit.
"Who is your Papa now?," he panted, leaning forward to huff it against her ear but still leering up into Terzo's towering presence as he pounded into her tender flesh.
"Y-You...You are...," she whimpered, voice breaking pitifully.
He twisted her hair around his leather-clad fist and yanked her head up to force her focus on the deposed man's face, still dripping with her release. "Don't tell me, whore, tell him!"
"H-He's my Papa now," she groaned.
"Tell him who your pussy belongs to," he growled. "Say it!"
Tears were spilling down her cheeks by then, shame burning them while nausea twisted in her gut and her walls tightened and started to quiver. "My pussy is his now...I'm his..."
Her strained words only made him fuck into her harder and deeper than ever, and the intensity making her vision blur, a loud ragged scream parting her lips and echoing through the sacred hall, the most intense orgasm she'd ever felt quaking through her entire body.
He pulled out abruptly, releasing his iron grip on her and letting her crumple to the floor, fucking into his fist and spraying a thick, abundant stream of his seed across the portrait with an animalistic roar.
And just like that, they were in silence. She looked up from where she'd fallen to see him spraying the last few spurts onto Terzo's elegant spats with a proud smile. He leaned in tight to the dead man's face, hissing just loud enough for her to hear. "Who is Papa now?"
He looked down at her with cold, unfeeling eyes as he adjusted himself back into his sleek pants, smoothing back his hair and already looking like nothing at all had happened. "Perhaps I will call on you here again when my portrait is revealed. We can christen it together, eh?" He turned on his heels and strode out of the Chapel gallery, whistling a familiar tune as he went.
And she collapsed, body still trembling through aftershocks, sobbing as Terzo loomed from above, unphased.
If Terzo's pants fell down in the middle of a show, do you think there would be a slide whistle sound as his penis comedically flopped around or a kazoo?
(or secret third option)
Thanks to this ask I have now spent many hours contemplating penial sound effects for our shared husband so for that, I’m incredibly grateful 🤭
The verdict?! ✨ BOTH ✨
This bitch is a clutz who falls sitting down 🪑
If ANYONE is going to pants themselves, it’s Terzo. I imagine it’s Omega on slide whistle as they fall leaving Terzo on Kazoo
Then he would try to recover like a dork like he always does when he falls, trips, or gets a beach ball punted at his face.
“Bene, Bene…even my wardrobe wishes to worship at my feet.”
Meanwhile, his penis is flopping in the wind until someone backstage tackles him with his robes so the entirety of the audience doesn’t pass out in one huge puddle on the floor.
Afterwards? He shrugs it off.
“I don’t know what you speak of. The dark lord works in mysterious ways.”
theartofmadeline
amandla
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
yousharknotpass
