Here Comes The Sun (Luleå 2011)

The Fluffy Papa Series: Part 1

Alyssum

A Primo Story

No plot, no drama, no sad. Just fluff. Can be slightly suggestive. Fem reader.

Tiny rocks scrape and crunch beneath your boots as you walk the pebbled path toward the Ministry greenhouse. Wisteria hangs from the lattice framed above the door, interlaced with ivy which blankets the facade and reaches with eager fingers across the roof. Potted plants litter the ground of various shapes and sizes, the stone patio wet from a recent watering. 

“Did you have a nice drink?” You question the plants, smiling softly as you continue through the greenhouse door which hangs slightly ajar as if expecting your arrival. The smell of soil and freshly cut flowers greets you upon your entrance, and you take a moment to breathe in the space. Primo’s space. 

Primo prefers to do his gardening outside, the greenhouse used mostly as a workshop and a place for his little experiments. You step around a few stray gardening tools, following your nose to the beautiful bouquet expertly potted on a little table fit with a lace cloth. You lean forward to take in the honey-like fragrance, your smile growing. Each day, a new flower. A new meaning. Primo always says each flower tells a story. And these stories are for you. 

“Alyssum,” Primo’s warmly accented voice sends a butterfly fluttering about your stomach, and you turn to watch as he takes off his soil-stained gloves, laying them casually to the side. “Worth beyond beauty. And you, my petal, are worth far more than any flower I have ever grown.” His lips twitch with a smile. “Sì, you are beautiful as well. Perhaps tomorrow will be purple heather.”

You turn and delicately pick one of the blooms from the bouquet, approaching Primo with a blushing smile. He chuckles softly, his well-used hands reaching out to settle upon your hips the moment you are close enough. You hold out the flower, “And for my Papa? Whose green thumb, clever mind, and sweet nature are invaluable. And very much loved.”

Primo hums, his hands sliding higher, fingers squeezing and massaging your sides. He lets go of one to take the bloom and bring it to his hooked nose, inhaling deeply with a gentle sigh. A slow smirk crosses his thin lips, and he bops you on the head with the flower. “Sweet, my petal? You know more than anyone how passionate my true nature can be.” Primo’s words end on a soft growl and he pulls you closer, his head dipping into the crook of your neck. You squirm and giggle against him as he bites playfully at your soft skin, soothing it with his tongue. Your hands come to settle on his shoulders and you relax in his grip, sighing gently. Your eyes flutter shut as Primo drags a wet line to the shell of your ear. “Ti amo.” 

A tiny squeak of happiness erupts from your throat, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Primo grins, dropping another kiss to your neck. “Hmm, my petal?” He murmurs softly. “Does that make you happy?” 

“Very happy, Primo,” you say, your voice dreamy. You place a hand on his wrinkled cheek, feeling how soft the sagging skin is under your fingertips. “Oh! And…anc…anche…io?”

“Anche io, sì,” Primo encourages, smoothing a few flyaway hairs back from your forehead. “Very good! Learning more every day, amore. I am very proud.”

“It’s just a few words,” you say a little sheepishly, glancing to the side. 

Primo catches your chin with a thumb and forefinger, drawing your gaze back to his. “A few words that make my heart sing. It’s how you are willing to learn that makes me proud, not how quickly or how well.” He tickles your side and you can’t help but laugh, the sound of your happiness warming even an old man’s cheeks. “Do not worry, tesoro. You will be able to eavesdrop on my brothers’ conversations soon enough.” Primo’s eyes twinkle as you gasp, and he swallows your rebuttal with a kiss. He tastes of rosehips.

“Did I interrupt tea time?” You ask softly when you part, your lips brushing against his as you speak, neither of you willing to part fully. 

“Interrupt? Non essere sciocca! Do not be silly. You improve it,” Primo takes your hands, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “Rosehips for the arthritis, il mio amore for the soul.” He brings your hands to his lips and you beam, turning your hands in his to rub gently at his aching joints. Primo smiles sweetly at you for the gesture, his grip tightening as he pulls you toward his little parlor set up in a corner of the greenhouse. 

You delicately step over pots, and watch out for his propagating babies, ducking under drying herbs, and avoiding bubbling beakers on bunsen burners. Primo walks amongst it all, well-practiced and unworried, depositing you with a kiss into your favorite high backed chair: pink, and patched, and plush. You sit contentedly as he sets about preparing fresh tea things, humming some old Italian love song as he takes out a tin of loose tea. “Il mio amore’s favorite,” he mumbles to himself with a small nod, shaking the tin as if to accentuate his point. 

“Four sugars, please!” You say, leaning back in your chair with a broad smile. Primo glances at you with a raised brow, placing the kettle on the hot plate. “Or maybe five, I’ll have to taste it first,” you continue.

“How about we make it two,” Primo chuckles, approaching your chair. He makes a gesture with both of his hands to rise, and you stand. Primo takes your seat and then slowly pulls you down onto his lap, adjusting you here and there so you’re both comfortable. “Don’t give me that pout.” His finger taps your bottom lip. “I won’t have you diluting the flavor.” 

You sigh, and in favor of replying, you nuzzle your nose into his cheek. You drape an arm loosely over his shoulders while your other hand becomes occupied greebling his ear. You press little kisses on his face, and Primo practically coos. His hands can’t decide where they want to touch, his fingers traveling up your spine, over your thighs, across your stomach. They eventually settle on cradling your face. Primo looks at you with unfettered adoration, his eyelids hooded and mouth drawn into a lovesick smile. 

“I do not know what I did,” he whispers. “To deserve you. But I will pray to Lucifer every day to keep you.”

You close your eyes and focus on the feeling of his gnarled hands on your cheeks. Your fingertips explore the wrinkled and rough skin of his face, the wiry white hairs which are barely hanging on atop his head, the divots across his forehead, and the sagging skin of his neck. Alyssum. Worth beyond beauty. Primo earned every line of his face from hard work, dedication, and a life as well-lived as any of us could wish for. And a love like his? Completely worth it.

𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒐 [𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒚 𝒑𝒕.2]

𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒐, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒊𝒐. 𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒑𝒕𝒐𝒓, 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔. 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒎, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒆𝒙𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒚. 𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒅𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒆. 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒂𝒔 𝒑ø𝒓𝒏́𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒄, 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚. 𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒂 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚.

[Prints] | [Commissions]

sorry for romanticising the mundane. i have little else

inspired by my fucking cat (who id die for). let me present this thought to you all. dewdrop constantly standing. RIGHT. BEHIND. everyone and when they step back/turn around they always step on him/run into him and HES always the victim. he’s always SO offended that the others step on him like they should really watch where they’re going he can’t believe he has to put up with this

write bad fanfic. write mediocre fanfic. write fanfic that a thousand people before you have already written. write niche fanfic. write fanfic that only a few people will read or understand. write fanfic just for you. write fanfic just for a friend. write ocs. write self-inserts. the fact that you’re taking the time and energy to put your ideas into the world is amazing and people who shame you for it need to find better ways to spend their time.

Once you stop thinking about queer people's labels as strict indications of what's in their pants and who they do/don't bed and instead view queer people's labels as how they interact with the world, you'll find that you'll get along with queer people better and treat them better, I think.

this is a PSA for fic writers who haven't updated in a while :

there are fics out there I'm subscribed to that have gone double digit months without updating.

rest assured the moment those babies catapult an AO3 email my way i'm dropping from the face of the earth to sink my teeth into them

i'll wait, and so will your readers

if Secondo was a type of parrot, which would he be 🗿

I had to research some parrots for this. There’s nanday parakeets which aesthetically make me think of Secondo being mostly green with a black hood marking over their head but most parrot species, assuming they’ve been raised well, are pretty social and affectionate animals. Some say that Pionus parrots are much more independent than others and will typically be more reserved except with chosen close people, so maybe that?

But since we’re talking about Secondo and birds… I’d like to introduce y’all to the King Vulture, scientific name Sarcoramphus papa, inspired by the Latin Papa for bishop as their plumage resembles that of one’s dress. It is bald with a small patch of colorful feathers and the species is minimally sexually dimorphic which means there are minimal differences between the appearance of males and females ( <—genderqueer Secondo believer)

In Mayan mythology these birds were believed to be messengers of the gods or to be a god themselves and often were depicted as gods with a human body and bird head. Historically, it’s blood and feathers were often used in medicines and remedies.

As a child, I was always searching for the meaning of it all, the big Why; and my father always said that there is no one big purpose but I had the most ripe orange today and kissed my cat goodnight, I think that's enough purpose for a day.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned

:)

I love that he would be a earth ghoul and a gargoyle as a monster. It might just be me but gargoyles are very earth-y, you know? Created out of stone and such. Does Secondo being a gargoyle have something to do with the symbolization that they're creatures from hell and part human and part monster or they're symbolization of "guardianship" and to ward off evil spirits?

I definitely think of it as both! They’re an all around really perfect creature counter part to him, imo. Ties elemental connections, spiritual symbolism, and personality traits all together and it can’t get much better than that.

There’s also an old “origin” story of gargoyles, I believe it came from early Christianity, of a Saint attacking the gargoyle of a cloister. Upon resisting capture, the Saint poised its head on the outside wall of their church to make an example of their prowess and to ward off spirits from the building.

I think it makes for an interesting parallel to the common HC that the Ministry demoted and made an example of the previous Papas, both tearing down figures of their own faith to illustrate a point. Gargoyles are thought to have been modeled after Pagan symbols and used to entice (or scare) them into converting to Catholicism via familiarity meanwhile the Papas lead a project to recruit a larger following while imitating Christian symbolism.