#organized by the Ministry of Education | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

exilepurify · 2 years ago

Text

“You know a lot of big words.” — Determining Shigeo’s Kanji Literacy

An analysis in four parts:

Jouyou kanji and Japan’s compulsory education system, explained.

An introduction to the analysis—what I did and why I did it.

A presentation of data, evidence, and counterarguments.

The truth revealed: can Shigeo write a reasonable amount of kanji for his age group?

Jouyou kanji and Japan’s compulsory education system, explained

Let us begin this analysis by establishing a basic understanding of how Japan’s education system is structured.

As you may already know, only elementary school and middle school are compulsory in Japan, meaning that high school and college are completely optional. Therefore, compulsory education in Japan consists of grades 1-9, with grades 1-6 being 小学校 (primary school) and grades 7-9 being 中学校 (middle school).

The term 「常用漢字」(jouyou kanji, “Daily-Use Kanji”) refers to a list of 2136 kanji that the Japanese Ministry of Education requires be taught throughout education grades in Japan due to their importance and frequency of use in Japanese daily life. Knowing all 2136 is defined by the Japanese government as the baseline for basic, functional literacy in Japanese. The jouyou kanji list is further divided into two sub-categories: 「教育漢字」(kyouiku kanji, “Education Kanji”) and 「中学・高校漢字」(chuugaku • koukou kanji, “Secondary School Kanji”).

教育漢字 (kyouiku kanji, “Education Kanji”) (A.K.A. 学年別漢字配当表 [gakunenbetsu kanji haitouhyou, “list of kanji by school year”]) is the Japanese term for the 1006 kanji that are taught over the 6 years of primary school in Japan, grouped into different grade levels by difficulty and complexity.

「中学・高校漢字」(chuugaku • koukou kanji, “Secondary School Kanji”) is the term for the 1130 kanji that students are expected to learn throughout middle school and high school. This list of kanji is not strictly divided by grade level, though a general grade level is often provided, because students in secondary school—whether it be middle or high—are expected to learn kanji more independently. Though the responsibility of learning these kanji is shifted from the classroom to the individual, the importance of knowing these kanji by the end of one’s education, if that be middle school or high school, cannot be overstated. Once again, these 2136 kanji are considered the basics of Japanese kanji fluency.

According to the “Kanji Frequency Number Survey/漢字頻度数調査” conducted by the National Cultural Affairs Division in 2000, in 385 books published by a major publishing company, 8474 different kanji were used (not including duplicates). However, speakers are able to understand 99% of them if they know the top 2457 kanji, and 99.9% of them if they know the top 4208 kanji. And as is true for speakers of every other language, people can generally read more words than they can write.

I determined the “grade level” of each kanji in this analysis according to the grade level provided in my Japanese-English dictionaries, but consideration will be made for Secondary School Kanji due to the lack of official grade divisions and the less organized circumstances involved with learning them.

An introduction to the analysis—what I did and why I did it

In this analysis, I focused specifically on Shigeo’s ability to write kanji, not to read them. This is most obviously because it’s much harder to determine whether or not someone can actually read something, especially in anime, without it being explicitly mentioned. However, it is also because the meaning of kanji can be inferred from knowing the meaning of radicals, and as mentioned above, it is common for people to be able to read more words than they can write. The true mark of knowing a kanji is being able to write it.

To determine Shigeo’s kanji-writing ability, I studied screenshots from a few scenes from the anime, specifically a couple of scenes from the Reigen OVA where Shigeo is writing a LOT, and a couple scenes from the regular anime where Shigeo is explicitly seen writing stuff down and the audience is shown the writing.

The data has been organized into two different excel charts—one for kanji he uses correctly, and one for kanji he doesn’t know or messes up. The kanji in each of these charts have been color-coded and organized by grade level, with readings, translations, and explanations provided. There is only one kanji in the entire analysis that is not considered a part of the jouyou kanji, and this kanji has been marked by “N/A” in the grade level section.

I will provide each chart alongside a percentage likelihood that Mob will know any given kanji from each grade level based on the information gathered from the anime. Please note that the sample size is obviously limited, but I’m working with what I have. If there is a kanji with some sort of detail worth consideration, I’ve marked it with a (**) in the chart and will explain below.

Lastly, I included kanji used in names in the chart here after some deliberation. Name kanji are tricky in general, because multiple kanji share the same pronunciation and people usually don’t know what kanji are used in someone’s name unless they are shown by that person (unless it’s some crazy common name like 高田 or 森 or 田中).

A presentation of data, evidence, and counterarguments.

Shigeo’s known kanji:

Shigeo’s unknown kanji:

IMPORTANT NOTE: There are one or two instances of Shigeo NOT using a kanji at all that I’ve decided not to include on the chart. This is because it is common for Japanese speakers to omit kanji for super common verbs and write them in kana instead, either for personal style reasons or for convenience. Since the verbs are so fundamental and commonly-used, it’s unlikely that they will be misunderstood or mistaken for another word if written in kana. So, if Shigeo wrote the verb for “to read” or “to eat” without using kanji, I didn’t include it, as I highly highly highly doubt he doesn’t know those kanji and I felt like it would unfairly skew the results against him.

米** = I don’t blame Shigeo for not knowing this kanji. It’s fair to assume that Mob might not have seen Mezato’s name written out and therefore wouldn’t know which kanji to use. On TOP of that, “me” for 米 is a special nanori (used for names only) reading and is super obscure and uncommon. I couldn’t even find it in my name dictionary by searching “Mezato”, I had to find her name written in kanji in S1E3 and go from there. I wouldn’t expect this kanji to be in anyone’s top ten possible kanji guesses for the “me” in “mezato”. I included it because rules are rules, but wanted to mention this to make it fairer on the boy.

世** = I want to make it known that Shigeo does successfully write this kanji in the image shown here, when he writes 「世紀」(century):

HOWEVER. However. He messed it up SO BAD before that I think it actually overpowers him using it correctly and brings it back around to a “not properly known” kanji, especially because it’s a kanji taught in second grade that he shouldn’t be messing up at all:

The subtitles intersect it but I’ve rewritten what Shigeo wrote there at the bottom. He tried to write 「世の中には」”In the world…”, but tried to write the kanji, messed up, crossed it out, and then rewrote it in kana. Didn’t even try to write it a second time. This is egregious and, in my juror’s power, cancels out his later usage. This would be like misspelling “world” in English. I’m willing to entertain arguments that he just wanted to write it in kana for some reason, but as it is now, I don’t think that excuse is compelling enough against such damning evidence, so in “missed kanji” it goes. (It’s partly cut off but what gets me is that it doesn’t even look wrong in the first place lol but if he crossed it out, it means he didn’t know it well enough, which allowed him to doubt, which is still damning enough.)

造** = Just like above, Shigeo actually does successfully use this kanji once in the show when he’s filling out his paperwork for the Body Improvement Club in S1E2 (forgive my awful kanji, it’s hard to draw on the phone lol):

However, that was not only on an official school document, it was also in the presence of a student council member and Saruta (#2 in the grade lol) so I have to assume he either asked someone for help or got corrected. Either way, the instance where he doesn’t use the kanji is when he’s in his bedroom alone, writing in his personal notebook—a much more casual environment, and one that takes place AFTER s1e2 (can’t argue he learned it):

This leads me to believe that Shigeo does not naturally know the kanji, as he can’t reproduce it in casual day-to-day or when alone.

焉** = This kanji is not only not included in the jouyou kanji, but it is also used in an obscure word. In fact, it took me a minute to locate it in my Japanese-English dictionary app. It is absolutely not reasonable to expect Shigeo to know this kanji off the top of his head, and he probably wouldn’t know it even if he were a kanji ace. It is included and working against him, however, because the kanji he initially tried to write in its place was 「円」, a.k.a. the kanji for YEN/¥:

Sure, 「えん」is a reading for「円」, that part makes sense. But 「終焉」means “the finals years in one’s life”, so I’m really struggling to understand why Mob would think the yen money kanji would be a part of that word and why he would try to write it with that kanji instead of just writing it in kana first, like the majority of the kanji he didn’t know. It’s truly an enigma to me. I’m bewildered he even tried that, and for that, I’m holding it against him.

BASIC STATS:

GRADE 1 KANJI:

- Total known: 17

- Total unknown: 0

- Grand total: 17

- Shigeo knows: 17 out of 17

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 1 kanji: 100%

GRADE 2 KANJI:

- Total known: 16

- Total unknown: 3

- Grand total: 19

- Shigeo knows: 16 out of 19

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 2 kanji: 84.2%

GRADE 3 KANJI:

- Total known: 13

- Total unknown: 6

- Grand total: 19

- Shigeo knows: 13 out of 19

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 3 kanji: 68.4%

GRADE 4 KANJI:

- Total known: 11

- Total unknown: 0

- Grand total: 11

- Shigeo knows: 11 out of 11

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 4 kanji: 100%

(Baby apparently had a great year in fourth grade.)

GRADE 5 KANJI:

- Total known: 3

- Total unknown: 4

- Grand total: 7

- Shigeo knows: 3 out of 7

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 5 kanji: 43.9%

GRADE 6 KANJI:

- Total known: 0

- Total unknown: 2

- Grand total: 2

- Shigeo knows: 0 out of 2

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 6 kanji: 0%

😭

GRADE 7 KANJI:

(No known or unknown 7th grade kanji found)

GRADE 8 KANJI

- Total known: 5

- Total unknown: 6

- Grand total: 11

- Shigeo knows: 5 out of 11

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 8 kanji: 45.5%

^ To Shigeo’s credit, this isn’t bad at all considering he’s only halfway through his eight grade year at this point in the story.

% OF JOUYOU KANJI SHIGEO KNOWS:

% known from observed data:

65/86

75.6%

# of jouyou kanji: 2136

75.6% of 2136 = 1615 jouyou kanji

Here’s a graph for your visualizing pleasure:

Finally:

(All values are rounded up)

There are 1006 kyouiku kanji. There are 1130 secondary school kanji. Because high school in Japan is not compulsory, we’ll assume that the secondary kanji are to be learned over the three years of middle school. That means about 377 words per middle school grade. If Shigeo is halfway through eighth grade, let’s say he should generally know 1006 + 377 + (377/2) kanji, which comes out to 1,572.

There are 80 kyouiku kanji assigned to first grade, which Shigeo should know 100% of—80 total.

There are 160 kyouiku kanji assigned to second grade, which Shigeo should know 84.2% of—135 total.

There are 200 kanji assigned to third grade, which Shigeo should know 68.4% of—137 total.

There are 200 kanji assigned to fourth grade, which Shigeo should know 100% of—200 total.

There are 185 kanji assigned to fifth grade, which Shigeo should know 43.9% of—81 total.

There are 181 kanji assigned to sixth grade, which Shigeo should know… 0% of…. 0 total.

This all totals out to:

80 + 135 + 137 + 200 + 81 + 0 = 633/1006 elementary school-level kanji. That’s 63% of the kanji required for elementary school.

(Didn’t include a calculation for middle school kanji due to having 0 data on seventh-grade kanji and also him being halfway through eighth.)

The truth revealed: can Shigeo write a reasonable amount of kanji for his age group?

Uh… no. Maybe? Well… probably not, no.

I mean, of course there are flaws with my methods. I had a super small sample group and applied the stats there to all of the jouyou kanji, which is almost guaranteed to be lower than reality. I just didn’t really have another choice. Also, I’m very certain that Shigeo MUST know some 6th grade kanji, even if in the results here I considered the probability to be 0%. That’s assuredly not accurate. There were just, by chance, only two instances of sixth-grade kanji in all of the sample writing and he happened not to know either of them. This is just for fun, anyway. I can say with confidence, though, that he certainly isn’t a writer, and he definitely knows less kanji than the average eighth grader, but I wouldn’t take my numbers for anything more than entertainment.

But yeah. Shigeo is…. a little kanji-impaired. Which explains why he struggled with Emi’s writing and is only ever seen reading Shounen Jump volumes lmao. I believe in him though. He makes it work. My illiterate king. Who needs the other half of your elementary sight-words anyway?

All jokes aside though, he really started to scare me with the 世 and 円 things 😭😭😭😭😭

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #FINALLY IT IS DONE. This took me forever bc i’ve been SOOOO busy this past week #i’ve missed posting on here #so here’s a super long post as apology lol #i actually had a lot of fun with this #im so tired rn tho so i’m desperately hoping it makes any damn sense at all #our illiterate boy #i love him #like i said don’t take it too seriously. it’s all in good fun #kageyama shigeo #shigeo kageyama #mp100 analysis #mp100 meta #described in alt text

2K notes · View notes

fdelopera · 7 months ago

Text

Exactly, Anon. Exactly. This is why the Ivy League Universities being turned into Hamasnik terrorist bases is so horrifying. Especially with Jew-hating students attacking Jewish students and professors on campus, with the Universities' sanction. The Universities could shut these Jew-hate riots down. The fact that they don't shows that they want them to continue. They're trying to chase away the Jewish students and professors from these schools. That's always the first step. That's what the Nazis did first, too.

This article is taken from the US Holocaust Memorial Museum website. I highly recommend that everyone read the whole article. But even if you read the first paragraph, you'll see the parallels to what is happening on Ivy League campuses today:

After Adolf Hitler was appointed German Chancellor in January 1933, the new Nazi government began an effort to completely reorder public and private life in Germany.

The Nazi regime quickly targeted German universities—among the most elite in the world at the time—for restructuring according to Nazi principles. While the Nazi Ministry of Education initiated reforms, local Nazi organizations and student activists worked to bring Nazi ideals to German campuses. These forces, along with increasing antisemitism under Nazi rule, transformed everyday life at German universities. Throughout this period, students, faculty, and staff made individual decisions that both upheld and opposed Nazi ideology.

With the passage of the "Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service" in 1933, most Jewish professors in Germany were dismissed from their positions. Others, such as Professor Eugen Mittwoch, were able to keep their posts temporarily only due to the political value of their research. After purging Jewish and "politically undesirable" faculty, the regime then targeted the student body with the "Law Against Overcrowding in Schools and Universities." As German authorities continued to "Aryanize" German universities, Jews increasingly lost the opportunity to teach or study. Many non-Jewish Germans sought to benefit from their persecution.

The daily business of university life continued in the wake of these new policies, but political concerns increasingly influenced the way professors and students worked and studied. The practice of denunciation, as demonstrated by the "Request for the Investigation of Professor Hans Peters," illustrates the danger posed to both students and faculty if they failed to follow new ideological norms. Those willing to voice support for the new regime—whether out of enthusiasm or practicality—often received promotions or other rewards. Meanwhile, many others quietly accepted the new policies and passively benefited from the persecution of their Jewish peers. Very few, such as the small student group in Munich known as the White Rose, took any significant action to resist the Nazi dictatorship.

The Nazi government and its supporters manipulated several aspects of the country's traditional university system to turn German higher education into a crucial source of support for the new regime. For example, the German student population had been largely male long before the Nazi rise to power, and German campuses were dominated by fraternities. Those organizations maintained traditional military discipline and dress codes, and their alumni groups exercised significant political power both before and after 1933. Fraternities—often working with the Student Council and Nazi Student League—served as a powerful and violent force for implementing Nazi principles at universities, often going beyond the party platform in their radicalism. A Report on the Camaraderie House for Female Students of Göttingen shows how Nazi student groups used the format of traditional student organizations to train both men and women to become the next generation of Nazi leaders.

Although the regime could rely on many committed student activists, the Third Reich also sought the support of German professors to lend legitimacy to their policies. Because German universities were state institutions, professors' academic careers became vulnerable to the whims and wishes of the Nazi state. While only a small minority of professors had been Nazi Party members before 1933, several prominent professors quickly voiced their support for the Third Reich. In the new German university, political loyalty was valued over academic ability in the assessment of students and in the selection and promotion of professors. Authorities infused university classrooms with Nazi ideology—as shown in the document, "Foundation of the Advanced School of the German Reich". But prioritizing politics over academics affected the quality of German higher education.

Nevertheless, professors—even enthusiastic supporters of the new regime—often spoke out against some aspects of Nazi policy. The case of Eduard Kohlrausch shows how his opposition to student-led book burnings caused his removal from the university administration. Dissent against individual policies, however, did not give rise to any concerted resistance movements. German universities as a whole formed a solid base of support for the Nazi regime, contributing valuable knowledge to the development of technology for the war effort as well as logistical support for the Holocaust.

The Nazification of universities overwhelmed the daily lives of students with new requirements, including mandatory lectures, physical exercises, labor duties, and political assemblies. Many students resented those requirements, even if they supported the Nazi Party. In Heidelberg, for example, where the daily life of students was dominated by political instruction and mandatory physical training, large numbers of students withdrew from the university in search of other educational opportunities. As illustrated in the "Memo Regarding Maria-Elisabeth Koch," students also showed varying degrees of enthusiasm for the labor service that was often required of them in territories occupied by Nazi Germany.

The Nazi government's project of remaking German universities was broadly successful, but it produced unintended consequences. The quality of education suffered significantly as classes were regularly cancelled for political assemblies and students' schedules became filled with ideological and paramilitary training. Moreover, purging Jewish faculty deprived German universities of valuable expertise. Within a few years, many observers in Germany and abroad became deeply skeptical about the quality of German higher education in the Third Reich. Propaganda efforts such as the Carl Schurz tour for American professors and students—documented with a slickly produced video—did not prevent protest. The 550th-anniversary celebration of Heidelberg University met with opposition in Europe, even while prominent American universities such as Harvard accepted invitations.

With the defeat of the Third Reich in 1945, Allied forces occupying Germany began a long-term effort to remove the influence of Nazi ideology in German society. Many German academics who made significant contributions to the Nazi war effort fled to the United States, where they lived comfortable lives and their expertise was highly valued by American universities and the US military. In postwar Germany, many faculty and students who had benefited from the Nazis' discriminatory policies without being especially vocal or enthusiastic supporters of the regime sought to cast their dissent or their silence as forms of political resistance to obscure their own complicity. Although many Germans denied having supported the Nazi regime, antisemitism persisted in postwar Germany. The case of Hermann Budzislawski shows the difficulties encountered by the relatively few German Jews who decided to return to Germany after World War II.

Sources in this collection document the choices facing students and faculty pursuing their everyday lives in the shadow of Nazism and the Holocaust. Over the course of this period, as antisemitic discrimination escalated to mass murder, the higher education system proved to be a source of support—rather than opposition—to the party's project of remaking German society.

#jumblr #jewish history #the goyim are trying to speedrun the 1930s #goyim have always naively asked “How could the Nazi regime have murdered 6 million Jews??” - and now they're giving us the answer #Jew-hate makes you stupid #NOTE: I report and block antisemites. Any antisemites who comment on this post will be reported and blocked. You have been warned.

150 notes · View notes

codenamesazanka · 2 days ago

Text

the leaks:

skimming through the entire chapter 431 with my rough translation skills.

Uraraka's Quirk Counseling expansion seems to be her (and Tsuyu) trying to single-handedly screen for problems and child abuse by spending one month at every single (elementary) school/school district? They're helped by volunteer heroes.

She's also helped by Hawks, who negotiating with the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology and other organizations to provide support to change quirk education.

She is the best hero. 😭😭😭

My worries about quirk counseling have been slightly mollified by this. Slightly. It's geared towards very young children, and we don't see the actual counseling, just Heroes spending time with kids to make sure they're not showing signs of distress, but it's nice to see this tiny glimpse.

Uraraka has dreams about Toga, and wonders if Toga left her blood/quirk/will inside of Uraraka similar to how OFA functioned. Uraraka can't remember the content of the dreams, though, and wonders if Toga is trying to send her a message.

Deku says he's developed a policy to help students develop their quirks. He also goes around to elementary schools and facilities and give lectures, sharing his experiences with young girls and boys.

Shouto has taken up pottery-making classes, after thinking a lot about fate and inevitability and his path

The entire class mobilizes to capture a car thief who may or may not have used his quirk - alert said that if he does just his quirk, it might cause a big accident? idk about this part.

When Deku asks Uraraka out, Uraraka finally remembers her Toga dream, which is Toga telling her that just like how Toga lived as she liked, Uraraka should live as she likes. So Uraraka says yes to going out with Deku.

.☠️☠️☠️.

Laughing so hard because 'go live as you please!' is so Toga! It's Toga's ideal and guiding principle. She clung to being her quirk-influenced, bisexual-love, creepy-smile self, fighting to love and die as herself. She would be happy for Ochako following her heart! But did it have to be the most conventional hetero cutesy romcom shit.

The OFA-esque accumulation of will and power of Toga's quirk and love and ideals............... to encourage Ochako to date Deku.

I don't believe the League is mentioned at all by name except for Toga via Uraraka's dream, and one line from Shouto saying he was praying at Touya's altar (thus confirming that Touya is dead).

AFO is mentioned but in context of young heroes deriving their impressions of heroism from the AFO battle? idk about this part.

Two flashbacks to Shigaraki, from Deku.

First is Deku flashbacking to him inside Tenko's heart, holding Tenko's hands, as he talks about how even if he had OFA, he would still come to want to be a teacher.

(Feel like this is interesting because AFO has always been 'Sensei'/teacher to Shigaraki. In a way it feels like Deku is trying to be a Good Teacher to AFO's Bad Teacher, I guess?)

Second is Deku ruminating on Shouto's talk about 'inevitability' and how he's doing everything he wanted, and he's blessed. He flashes back to Shigaraki's "Really, do your best," which is when he also notices Uraraka laughing and get heart eyes.

So i'm laughing again that even without a dream ghost, Shigaraki's words about destruction also gets used and recontexted to fuel Deku/Ochako.

Did that extra panel of Shigaraki's almost-smile in Chapter 423 come about just to give us this ~*~parallel~*~???

It's pure gold. Villainous creeds (Destroy everything / Live as I please) ultimately used to not even prop up the Heroes doing heroic stuff related to the society that the Villains were rebelling against... but rather to get Deku and Uraraka on a date.

#nalslastworkingbraincell

34 notes · View notes

fishwithtitz · 1 year ago

Text

Was It Worth It? (Cardinal Terzo x Reader)

Summary: Worth (n.) - the value equivalent to that of someone or something under consideration; the level at which someone or something deserves to be valued or rated.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Cardinal Terzo x AFAB reader / 6.2k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of piv sex, religious trauma, alcohol, poorly translated Italian, angst

aO3 link

Part One: What Goes Up...

Sometimes, when the sun was low in the sky like this, and you could still feel the occasional pitter of droplets dispersing against your skin, you took the risk of abandoning your responsibilities and popping outside for the evening. It was peculiar how the salmon rays of the sun peeked through heavy, sodden clouds. The beams heated the water in the air and made it sticky and heavy. “Hot rain” your Granddad had called it. It reminded you of simplicity. Of home.

You stepped right outside the cloister on the farthest corner of the abbey to soak the weighted air and shafts of light inward as self-anointing. The grass was springy under your feet, verdant, and you lost track of your steps as you meandered out into the less-manicured side of the grounds towards the wooded border of the property’s boundaries.

It had been two years since you decided to join the order. Your family, long gone at the prospect of you choosing a life of sin and vulgarity, and your friends feigning happiness that slowly dripped away as time wore on and contact faded into simple memories. You didn’t mind it. If being a part of the ministry had taught you anything, it was that change was normal - healthy, even - and that embracing and adapting was necessary to find self-fulfillment and true absolution.

The first year as a Sister of Sin proved a heady challenge. With scripture and philosophy to study, on top of a laundry list of new procedures and rituals and ways of living to memorize, you had your hands full. There were some nights where sleep was truly a blessing from below and you started to understand the pull of addiction as you filled your coffee for what seemed like the umpteenth time at breakfast before starting your shift washing the ministry’s linens.

Uncertainty and impulsivity had inspired you to join. Desperation had encouraged you to stay. Like a mid-life crisis happening 20 years too soon, you clung to any open window to find purpose and opportunity. You longed for a defined path outlined in thick black marker on a map with an ‘x marks the spot’.

It wasn’t until a year and a half into your tenure as a Sister of Sin, fresh out of novitiate, that you met a young Cardinal Terzo (as he liked to be called) and your outlook on this new life began to shift. You couldn’t exactly point to why he had chosen you out of all the other sisters. You didn’t feel as though you were the most attractive, or the most seductive, or the most educated or intelligent. You didn’t feel secure in any specific talents and you didn’t feel a drive to accomplish anything specific. If anything, your energy was spent on yearning for direction.

Perhaps he had noticed your propensity to velcro into anything novel or interesting. Or maybe it was your enthrallment and willingness to engage. Whatever the reason, Terzo had chosen you to devote his time to.

You had been assigned to his detail as a temporary member of his small team of siblings. Though your past experience noted a range of clerical skills and literary study, you had instead been chosen to keep his chambers. It had taken all but a few days to learn Cardinal Terzo’s particulars. His sheets, which were a stereotypical black satin, had to be positioned just right (heaven forbid the fitted sheet have a loose corner…one would think that Papa himself had been murdered). Because of their color and Terzo’s…life choices, both the top sheet and the fitted sheet had to be changed nearly daily to save them from resembling Pollock’s “Lavender Mist”. His clothing had to be organized by occasion and style (and as you quickly found out, by random personal preference that seemed to change on a whim). Terzo required his wine fridges (plural) to be stocked twice weekly (including the large collection of reds that rested atop each fridge at room temperature), and it wasn’t uncommon to fulfill last minute requests for antipasto, fruit, candles, or other carnal delicacies to be brought to his room for later that evening.

Completing tasks was a nightmare. You never knew if your assigned shift would lead you into an empty (and disarrayed) room with Terzo having been up and out early in the morning, or an occupied suite that stayed inhabited up into the early afternoon. The latter still caught you off-guard and you made frequent mental notes to work on your stuttered apologies as you awkwardly left his bedroom to wait until it was empty to resume your duties.

However, one day that seemed all but special, you entered his bedroom to change his linens and refresh his wardrobe, only to find Cardinal Terzo hunched over the mantel in front of the fireplace. His head hung low, browbeaten, and a rocks glass of scotch was perched between heavy fingers while his fist was clasped to his right. If you listened closely enough, you swore you could hear his aggravated breathing laced with tears. You froze at the sight.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you eventually peeped out, trying your best to keep your tone even as to not portray any perceived judgment.

Terzo hadn’t turned to face you, but was quick in his reply — his voice gravely and gruff. “It’s best if you go, Sorella,” he responded, gripping even tighter onto the glass. The air felt thick and you could feel your own sweat (whether from the heat of the fire or the anxiety of catching Terzo at an inopportune moment, you weren’t sure) pooling on your forehead.

Despite his request, you stayed stationary.

You couldn’t help but look over the way his hair hung down to frame his painted eyes, tracks of tears threatening to wash away the intricate circular design and painted bow, and how his lips pursed in the firelight. Do you dare overstep your professional boundaries to show a touch of common humanity? To show that despite his role as a prominent Cardinal in the church, he was still a human being that deserved empathy and kindness? It was then that you decided to be bold. You took a deep breath.

“Do you need a hug?”

Your words seemed to catch Terzo off guard, and he suddenly raised his head and craned his neck to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. You gently set down the basket of clean laundry and took a step towards him, wringing your hands in apprehension as you approached him.

Upon seeing you, soft-faced and vulnerable in the dim light, his own expression dampened and he turned his body to face yours. “I think I would like that, Sorella,” he replied.

It was from the moment that your small frame enveloped him, your head tucking in against his chest while your hands moved comfortingly against the smooth fabric of his jacket that hugged against his back, that you felt your heart beam against his. And maybe, you reasoned, you weren’t crazy in thinking that you felt his beam back against your own.

Over the next week or so, your daily visits to his chambers began to change. You could almost bet on him being present for your visits now, and while it had made you nervous before, you had begun to look forward to seeing him lounging about in his chambers, coffee in hand as he greeted you with a warm, “Good Morning, Sorella.” Dinner in the refectory had been previously uneventful, but now was punctuated by stolen glances from (and to) the head table, with Terzo occasionally lifting his ever-present glass of red in your direction — a subtle, yet definite nod to your existence. You couldn’t help but internally swoon.

The second week after your fireside interaction, after replacing the linens, replenishing the firewood, and restocking a few choice wines in Terzo’s chambers, you were met with a personal request from the Cardinal.

Like many nights during weeks prior, Terzo had left his room with a special request for the evening. “A sensuous feast” he had called it, and having fulfilled his wishes before, you knew exactly the way it was to be done.

Ignoring your disappointment (and the pang in your chest when you read the note), you worked with the kitchen ghouls to create a charcuterie board to remember, rife with various fruits, cheeses, nuts, and the homemade rosemary focaccia you knew he enjoyed at dinner. A bottle of prosecco sat on ice in a marble wine chiller on the low mahogany coffee table (and you made sure to stock a couple extra in the nearby wine fridge for good measure), and two glasses were perfectly polished beside it, waiting for eventual effervescence. A low fire was kindled and warmed the plush rug that lay in front of it as it waited for its future occupants.

Swallowing the sharp spasms that assaulted your chest, you gave the room a small, unreturned smile and surveyed your work.

“Beautiful job, Dolcezza.” Terzo’s silken voice frightened you as it broke the quietude in the room. You let out a breath, a chuckle laced between it and your words, and you replied with your same gentle smile.

“Thank you. Will that be all, Your Eminence?”

You had been prepared for the Cardinal to shoo you away, possibly thanking you with another one of his thousand-yard smirks, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he wrinkled his brows in thought, walking slowly over to the velvet-tufted loveseat across from the mantel. His gloved hand stroked the back, fingertips brushing so lightly that they didn’t even leave a mark.

“Actually, no, Sorella,” he said, eyes fixed on the raspberry-hued fabric. You felt your lungs tighten. Had you forgotten something? You’d be the first to admit that you’d been distracted in your work lately, and it wouldn’t have surprised you to see that you missed something crucial. Terzo interrupted your worried visage, his duochromatic eyes flickering up to you with a sultry gaze. “...would you like to stay?”

His words had hit you square in the jaw, which you were sure was now hanging open just slightly at your surprise. You swallowed and stammered out, “I-I don’t want to intrude on your company, Cardinal.”

“I was hoping you would be my company tonight, Dolcezza.”

It was the first of many evenings spent with Terzo. The debut of your time together, if you will — and it was not at all what you had expected.

Tentatively, you agreed to the invitation, only doing so because you knew that his room was the last on your list to freshen and you were now technically done with your duties. You had watched as Terzo held his hand out to motion towards the seating by the fire, and you hesitantly moved to take a seat on the plump leather couch across from the loveseat.

To say that you had been nervous would be a gross understatement. Your senses drank in the stimulus around you — the pop of the bottle of sweet wine, the fizz of the bubbles blooming in the glass, the spicy, floral musk of Terzo’s cologne drifting through the air as he held out the flute for you to timidly accept — they all became cataloged in your mind as sensory memories of this first excursion.

If Terzo’s smooth, charming attitude hadn’t calmed you down, the prosecco surely had. Not long after you’d taken your first sip, Terzo had sat on the other side of the couch with his own glass in his gloved hand, his cardinal cassock floating down over his crossed legs like sin, and he had struck up a conversation. His body was turned towards yours, eyes always drinking in your form like it was the preferred spirit of the evening, as he asked you more about who you were.

He was easy to talk to (far easier to talk to than you’d expected). You divulged your history with the church and briefly described your one and a half year commitment with a peaceful pride. As a Cardinal, you were sure he spent the majority of the time discussing the intimacies of the ministry and you didn’t want to bore him.

“And what led you to the light bringer, Sorella?” he had asked you, fingertips stroking the stem of the champagne flute delicately, tenderly.

Even though you’d initially fabricated walls to guard you from revealing your past, Terzo’s soothing yet fascinating energy knocked them down almost instantaneously. You explained the falling out with your parents over your decisions for your career and lifestyle, how they’d refused to support you following your passions as it didn’t seem “financially prudent” to do so. With forlorn fondness, you recalled your relationship with your Granddad that had ended abruptly with his unforeseen death and how it had cracked your mother’s inward countenance and plastered it back up with vodka and Valium. The final straw, you explained, was your decision to openly renounce your faith and begin the exploration into different forms of spirituality. Terzo had listened intently, his face bleeding sympathy and compassion as you unraveled your past in a way you hadn’t since joining the order.

But despite the heavy conversation, the night turned to one of true connection as you both polished off the first bottle of prosecco (and eventually, most of the charcuterie). Laughter frequently permeated the air after the second bottle had been opened, and you giggled over shared stories of gossip about the ministry — Terzo even letting a few more secretive and scandalous pieces about the clergy loose after his fourth glass of bubbles.

By the end of the evening, you began to see Terzo in a new light. Before, he’d been the suave, debonair Cardinal with a reputation of philandry. But now, Terzo felt like a true kindred spirit. As you’d gotten up to leave (sea-legged from the alcohol, you might add) the Cardinal had offered you his hand to steady you. After helping you up, he continued holding onto your hand, his body advancing closer to you with a half-step.

You remember the light of the fire reflecting off the yin-yang black and white eye as he took in your features. You remember the notes of apple and pear on his breath. Most of all, you remember the words he purred out in a low, dulcet hum.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Dolcezza.”

And he had. Searingly slow, his lips lingered on yours for countless seconds before he pulled away completely.

It was the beginning of the downfall.

🜏🜏🜏

A mere two days after your memorable night with the Cardinal, you arrived at the workroom connecting the laundry to the housekeeping stores in increased anticipation to start your duties. Yesterday was your day off, and as such, you hadn’t had the opportunity to see Cardinal Terzo.

As soon as you set down your coffee thermos, Sister Teresa, a senior Sister of Sin, approached you with a jollied clap on her hands. She explained that the sister you’d been covering for had healed quite nicely from her surgery and was returning to work early — today, in fact — and your services in housekeeping would no longer be needed. With a chuckle, she reached out to touch your arm, saying, “It’s a blessing of timing from the Dark One. We have been running behind ever since you left!”

Outwardly, you nodded and thanked the sister for letting you know before heading through the connecting door to the laundry. Once out of sight, you sighed, turning to make your way down the walkway towards the oncoming chutes, closed fist lightly pounding against a pile of folded bedsheets as you passed. You weren’t exactly sure when you’d get to speak with Terzo again, which of course disappointed you, but you were arguably more disappointed that you’d spent the time shaving your legs and fussing over the exact flavor of lip balm before leaving for work today — all for naught.

That evening, you took your usual seat in the refectory with a slogged posture. Your hands smelled of bleach and detergent, and your skin felt dry from the dryer sheets you’d spent the afternoon picking from the dryer vent. After pouring yourself a healthy glug of table red from the decanter, you sighed and leaned back, watching as other siblings filled the room. After a few lengthy sips and more disassociation than you’d care to admit, you saw a flash of a black cassock from the corner of your eye. Towards the front of the refectory, seated at the clergy table, was Cardinal Terzo. He was mid conversation with one of the bishops and looked surprisingly pleased as he took a seat and accepted a glass of red similar to yours. His glance turned to your direction by chance and he met your eyes, smirking before raising his glass as he had so many times before. You raised yours back.

And on this went for the remainder of the week — you, successfully seeking out his gaze and him acknowledging you with a raised glass, a smile, or as of the night before, a wink. Each time made your heart patter so high in your chest that you could taste it in your throat (or maybe that was the pinot noir).

This particular night, after placing your napkin on the table and sipping the last drop of wine from the globe of the drink ware, you realized that this week put you into a state of melancholy. You’d felt trapped (an odd feeling in a church based on free will) and you craved a break in your monotonous routine. A walk would do you good, you'd decided. You breezed past a group of siblings and out the refectory doors so quickly that you hadn’t heard the voice calling your name from the other end of the room.

Down the cloister and to the gravel path your feet traveled, and just after you felt the crunch of the rocks beneath your shoes, a hand reached out to cup your shoulder. You’d turned with an inward huff, nearly frightened, but each muscle seemed to relax when you’d seen that it was just him, just Terzo, and a smile crept across your cheeks.

From an outward observer, the walk would have seemed ordinary. It wasn’t out of character for siblings to peruse the gardens in the evening, and members of the clergy indulged too, of course. But as you made your way through the carefully pruned rhododendrons and lilac-lined pathways, Terzo admitted something that made the stroll all but ordinary.

“I miss seeing you in my chambers, Dolcezza. I hope our kiss did not frighten you away.”

And of course you had assured him that it was anything but, explaining the predicament that brought you to the housekeeping staff in the first place, along with the reassignment to the ministry laundry earlier in the week.

As time wore on, you kept to your work in the laundry and he to his in the clergy, but both you and il Cardinale continued your joint traditions — the hushed glances at dinner, the occasional stretch through the church’s gardens. You shared the stories of your respective days, with the conversations always morphing into a mishmosh of memories or past experiences, with the occasional smattering of theological conversation. Sometimes you sealed the evening with a kiss, sometimes you didn’t. However, regardless of how the night ended, you always thought of the taste of his lips on yours (wine-bathed and smoky and soft).

Luckily, on occasion, the senior Sisters of Sin pulled the laundry staff to help out with housekeeping duties in the event of someone falling ill or needing to take time off. Each time this was proffered, you quickly volunteered, buttering the situation with the explanation that you had already filled in before and knew the routines and procedures, including the particulars of the clergy members. It made you appear as if you were flexible, hardworking, and willing to help the ministry in any way needed. Deep down, however, you knew that your real motivation was the off-chance that you’d get to see your raven-haired Cardinal.

One of these days you had all but physically jumped at the opportunity to help out with housekeeping. Your enthusiasm was nearly crushed when you found out that not only were they short staffed, but they had fallen behind due to a fairly extensive disaster left behind in an upper clergymen’s room by what appeared to be an entire pack of ghouls. In spite of your utter exhaustion at the end of the day (and shudders at the recollection of all the oddly sticky surfaces you had to wipe down while tidying up the ghoul pack’s aftermath), you found yourself

making the familiar trek to Terzo’s chambers. Ghoul juices aside, you had a slight jaunt in your step. The day’s unfortunate proclivities wouldn’t put a damper on your excitement of seeing the Cardinal. As soon as you entered his room, however, you noticed something felt strange.

Hoping to finish your more formal duties quickly, you beelined into the bathroom to replace the towels and gather the dirty laundry before passing through to his bedchambers. Removing and replenishing his sheets was like child's play now, and after a couple of minutes you had already balled up the used linens and placed them in the basket with the other laundry before turning to exit his bedroom.

You heard the crackling of the fireplace in his living space before you saw the dim flames, and the occasional scribbling sound of a pen against paper was even more of a telltale hint that you were not alone. Setting the basket down, you padded over to the leathered couch that reminded you of your first visit with the Cardinal and rested your hands against the back of it. Terzo was sitting against the rug, feet outstretched by the fire, with a notepad in hand. It had indeed been him slugging the fountain tip across the page, and from the balled up sheets of paper littering the floor, you gathered that whatever he was getting at was not a success.

“Your Eminence?” you rasped out softly, so quietly that he didn’t hear you. “Cardinal?”

With your slightly louder inquest, Terzo’s head shot up and his pen dropped against the paper pad with an audible clunk. The delighted expression on your face dimmed, though, when you noticed his own.

His usually slicked-back hair hung down in messy strands across his forehead, barely covering the lines that had formed there undoubtedly from a frequently furrowed brow. His eyes looked a little glassy, and although the paint around his eyes and upper lip didn’t seem to be tear-scathed, you could tell that he had rubbed at his face more than once by the blurry edges of the black makeup. In sum, Terzo looked doggedly stressed.

“Dolcezza,” his voice perked up with a hint of surprise, “What a treat it is to see you here.”

You could feel the color creeping into the apples of your cheeks like ripened fruit. “They needed a little extra assistance and I offered to help,” you explained, your voice calm and surprisingly steady at the scene in front of you.

“Ahh, bene.” Terzo threw the notepad down to the floor with a little more oomph than you expected, stretching his feet out in front of him. You noted that they were dangerously close to the fire.

“Is everything alright?” you asked as you came closer, rounding the couch to sit down next to him on the floor, “you seem a little —” you paused, unsure of whether to continue lest you come off insulting, yet decided to risk it, “ —stressed.”

The Cardinal sighed. “SÌ,” he breathed out, slipping his hand through his hair for what had to have been the dozenth time that evening. “I am to give the sermon at black mass tomorrow.”

Your lips curved into a proud smile. “Black mass? That’s…well, an honor, really.”

Terzo nodded. “SÌ… however, I have yet to finish it. I keep coming to a stop, like a eh—” he paused, his hand motioning in circles as if to demonstrate that he was searching for the correct word, “ —barrier, in my mind.”

Folding your legs underneath you (and being careful to adjust the skirt of your habit), you turned to face him. “You have writer’s block?”

“If I am to be completely honest, I have never delivered a sermon at Black Mass before.” He sighed again and you noted that there was a lot of weight in that sigh. He looked down, flipping the pen to and fro between his slender fingers. “A lot is riding on this performance and I fear I will be nothing but a disappointment.”

At this, your body stiffened. Terzo had always seemed so confident, so demure, and you were taken aback by his insecurity. “Cardinal,” you began, inching just a bit closer, “you are anything but a disappointment.”

At this, the painted man beside you laughed. “Ahh, yes, il stronzo, perhaps…”

You rolled your eyes at his self-deprecation. “Based on our conversations during our walks, I think you will do beautifully. You have quite the mind for theology, and you speak eloquently and with conviction.” You licked the curve of your lips, craning a bit to try to see his downtrodden eyes. “Maybe it’s yourself you should have some faith in?”

At your kind words, Terzo raised his head, his hair partially hiding the milky white eye that you had never quite become accustomed to. “I’m afraid I will just disappoint you, cara. As well as the congregation.” At this, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his fist clenching as he softly pounded the ground in frustration. “Figlio di puttana…”

The way he looked right now reminded you of the first moment you approached him: vulnerable, closed in on himself, raw, and before you knew it, you reached out your hand to gently touch his left arm, your own fingertips brazenly trailing up and down the wool-covered limb. Your touch surprised the Cardinal, and his eyes met yours once more — this time, the widened emerald one peering straight through you.

What you didn’t know was how touched Terzo was by your compassion at this moment. Of course, he knew how much you cared and sacrificed for others, but you never ceased to amaze him with your empathy and tenderness. His heart beamed in a way he hadn’t felt since childhood, and as he drank in your alluring stare, he couldn’t resist the urge to study your beauty in the firelight. He noted the way the flames etched against the contours of your cheeks and jaw, shadows drawn across bone.

Putting his gloved hand on your own, he found himself leaning towards you, his fingers squeezing yours as his breath stilled in his throat. Warm lips — one painted and one bare — pressed against your own and you felt at home again. Your kisses with Terzo had always felt this way, and although they were a bit of an unconstant, you relished in the moments you’d get to feel him like this.

Your eyes fluttered closed. Head tilting ever so slightly, your body mirrored his own as you melted into the touch. Faint wine and the bitter tang of paint touched your tongue while you moved your lips against his, the slower series of pecks diverging into something a little more heated, urgent, needy.

As you sat like this, all you could hear was the crackling of the fire in front of you, the light smacking of your lips moving in unison, and the intakes and exhales of shared breath. It felt much more intimate than you were used to with Terzo. But most of all, it felt right.

His hand trailed from yours and danced across the flesh of your neck to your jawline, cupping it gently as he tilted to deepen your connection, tongue tasting your lips (for self-gratification or permission, you weren’t sure). You also weren’t exactly sure how you ended up lateral on the thick rug, or how your hand had found purchase in his slicked back hair, or how his own had pushed the fabric of your skirt up around your bare thigh, or even how your bodies had been pulled so impossibly close. Nevertheless, you found yourself wrapped in air thickened with firewood and his cologne and the humid heat of your kisses and exhales, and Satan below the way his trouser covered leg had parted your own to tangle you both into one being had your mind swimming.

“Let me take you,” he had whispered to you, his breath warm against the corner of your lip and the curve of your cheek, “let me have you here, like I’ve always wanted to.”

That was all it took. The look in his eyes had been flooded with desire and it overcame your ability to do anything but completely submit to his request.

He moved over top of you, his arms lifting up criss-crossed to pull his jacket and button up off his slender, muscular frame. Flamed illumination danced across the ridges of the muscles of his chest, the smooth, lightly tanned skin that still seemed so deliciously pale for an Italian man, and your eyes took in stills to catalog in your memory while he slid his hands up and under your dress uniform.

Terzo mimicked the action with your dress, pulling it over your head quickly before tossing it casually to the side. His hand slipped underneath you and before you realized it, the tension of your bra loosened and the garment was quickly abandoned. As cool air pricked the skin of your breasts, the Cardinal’s eyes wandered down to stare at them in the dim light. He bit at the tips of his gloved fingers to loosen the silken material, pulling them off to reveal slender, strong hands that reached for your soft skin.

He must have noticed he look of insecurity that painted your face, of shyness, because he began to trace your curves with his fingertips, just barely, butterfly wings against the surface, and murmured out “Cosi bella…” as they shimmered across the peak of your nipples.

Far back in the recesses of your mind, you felt dips of worry. Was this something that he said to everyone he was with? Was this how he treated all the women he’d brought back to his quarters — the quarters that you’d cleaned and prepared? But each time your mind wandered there, you pulled it back with a yank of a leash to the present. You were here, this was now, and you were going to enjoy what was happening in this moment.

Your mouths connected again, this time more wantonly, and all you could taste was the uniqueness that was simply Terzo — the wine, the smokiness, the dark face paint. A groan escaped his lips into your own and he moved to box you in with his thighs on either side of your body. One hand found room just by your head against the ground and held him above you, while the other clutched to your left breast, kneading and squeezing at you with a mix of adoration and longing.

When he brought his hips down to press against your own, you let forth your own series of moans into his mouth, and he all but combusted as he ripped your lips apart, hands hurriedly unbuckling his pants to shimmy them down his legs. Your reaches crossed one another’s as you both grasped at each other’s undergarments and tandemly pulled them down over hips and skin, revealing your bare forms in communion.

From there you lie naked on the rug, Terzo on top of you, with sweat-slicked skin osculating as tongues and teeth gnashed passionately. Veil and shoes were long forgotten. You could feel his hard length pressing against the space between your sex and your thigh and it made a chill wash over the expanse of your body. As his hips rutted against your pelvis, he slid between your folds, slick coating him with delicious friction, and your arms wound under his own to curl around the strong muscles of his back and shoulders. You broke the kiss with a whimper and crooked your neck to the side.

“Cardinal,” you hummed out, a little more needy than you had intended to, “don’t make me wait any more.”

He lifted his head to look in your eyes, a chuckle reaching past his lips as his hair nearly dripped across your forehead.

“The virtue of patience isn’t something we celebrate in our faith, Dolcezza,” he purred as he brought his face close to yours, breath pricking across your lips and cheek as he moved his mouth to ghost your earlobe, “ —and I think you’ve waited long enough.”

With that, he pulled his hips back and you whined at the brief loss, your breath stilted as he pushed forward almost immediately, his cock pushing past your folds and into you firmly. You let out a choked groan and your eyes ripped open, watching the darkness of his pupils overtake his unmatched irises as he sank into you to the hilt.

Your leg came up to hook around his hip and thigh as he pistoned in and out of you. Your hand gripped the furry fibers of the rug below, the other still curved around his back to hang onto his shoulder like he’d disintegrate if you let go. With every thrust you found God, and every retreat you went searching for redemption.

Your Cardinal found solace in the arch of your neck, teeth nipping at skin and tendon as he grunted along with each forward movement.

“Così buono con me. Sei così buono con me.”

Tension built up inside of your core, tugging at the muscles of your abdomen, and you felt your grip tighten around Terzo. Despite the stricture, you could feel your core blooming, softening taking everything he had as he worked himself inside of you, hips rolling and grinding.

The smell of the sweat on his skin and the burning wood of the fire lit your own flames deep within you and you could feel your impending release begin to blossom. “More,” you cried, the noise so sweet in taste and sound to Terzo that he couldn’t help but obey.

He pressed his lips to your neck in a series of wet marks. Your hand abandoned the rug and came up to card through his air, fingertips winding around the strands with a needy tug as you felt your pussy begin to contract around his thick cock. He knew you were close because he kept going, never faltering in his pace or touch, moaning little praises into the skin of your clavicle until lightening rushed through your veins.

You came and it felt like everything and nothing all at once. You weren’t sure if you’d made any noise at all, but as your jaw hung open, eyes fluttering back into your skull, you were certain that within the Cardinal’s arms was the only place you were meant to be. Here, now, releasing yourself to him completely, with the firelight plaguing the walls as a reminder of your devotion to him, your Cardinal, and to the flames of hell and the one below.

Terzo was soon to follow with his own orgasm. You could sense him tensing, his length twitching as his hips began to jolt against your own unrhythmically, throaty growls punctuating his movements. And as he filled you, you trembled against him from the fiery char of your release, your own inner muscles twitching as you welcomed his spend as sacrament.

Breath stilted and waned as he lay collapsed against you, skin slick with the proof of your union, and your fingertips found purchase soothingly stroking against his scalp. A beat passed and you relaxed in the aftermath of just the two of you. Terzo was the first to speak.

“Was it worth it?” he hummed out, eyes peering up at you from his head that rested against your soft breasts.

You furrowed your brows with a small smile. “What do you mean?” you asked.

He tittered and brought his hand to trace along the line of your jaw. “The wait,” he clarified, thumb rubbing sweetly over your chin, “Was it worth it?”

You felt warmth course through your chest and leak into your limbs. It was different than before. It was new, yet oddly familiar — like remembrance, uncovering a dusted memory. Your hand came up to clasp over his own on your chin, and you brought it to your lips, pressing them slowly, repeatedly against his skin.

“You’re always worth it.”

🜏🜏🜏

Yet now, as you soak in the humidity that paints your skin while you move across the courtyard and to a lesser occupied area of the Ministry gardens, your mind replays your words from that night. “You’re always worth it.” Always. So finite, so absolute.

You continued to walk, searching for a prayer, a sign from the one below that everything will click into place and the grand plan will be revealed over time. And as you settled down onto an earthen stone bench overlooking an old statue of the Emeritus family, eyes cast towards the statue that partially formed the man you’d fallen from grace for, you realized that there was no hot rain.

Only tears.

Tag list: @copiasghoulfriend @copias-juicebox @the-lisechen @anamelessfool

Image Credit(s): Pinterest

#ghost bc #ghost band #the band ghost #terzo #fanfic #ghost band fanfic #cardinal terzo #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa iii x reader #papa terzo #terzo emeritus #ghost terzo #angst #terzo fanfiction #ghost fandom #ghost bandom #my writing

194 notes · View notes

cherryslyce · 2 years ago

Text

Second Son (IV) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Dumbledore's Army gears up in the Room of Requirements and Regulus reveals information that demonstrates the extent of his magical prowess.

Part III / Part V / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant, Tweaks to canon magic, Cursing

Harry made a fine teacher and if you weren't positive that he was leaning towards becoming an auror, you would have jumped at the chance to sing his praises to Dumbledore.

The meeting at Hog's Head started off rocky, but by the end of the trio's speech, everyone was convinced to sign the membership paper that carved their fates.

Of course, Umbridge somehow had ears and eyes everywhere and not even a week went by before she became suspicious of your group.

Thus, her proclamation for the dissolution of all student organizations went into effect.

Bloody ministry folks and their paranoia.

Regulus found her "Educational Decrees" to be the most ridiculous abuse of power and you had never seen him so fired up about something before.

He sure did take education seriously.

Despite Umbridge's warnings, everyone who was a part of the D.A showed their commitment by attending every meeting regardless. Soon, the tense air that uneased everyone dissipated as lively chatter and adrenaline dominated the space.

Your latest meeting in the Room of Requirements left you flabbergasted by the depth of skill and perseverance shown by a few individuals.

Currently, you were lazing on your bed, fawning over everyone's progress, "Hm, Reg, you should have seen it. Ginny's reducto was truly marvelous."

Your eyes glitter as you recall the moment Ginny managed to absolutely demolish the practice dummy, stunning her older brothers into silence.

Which reminded you that you would need to ask her about her acclaimed Bat-Bogey hex in the future.

"No need for me to see it. I heard it. Indeed, she is quite a formidable witch."

There was a weird edge to his tone, but you tried not to think much of it because you were having a strange gut feeling that he was off-put by your praise towards Ginny.

He was being quite strange today.

You still weren't quite sure how far you could push him for answers and the last thing you wanted was for your friendship to be strained.

Instead, you opted to gloss over your observation and continue rambling on. It was currently past curfew and you had warded your bed with silencing charms a couple of times, too paranoid to risk exposing Regulus.

There was a certain subject that you couldn't help but dwell on. Frankly, it was eating away at your patience and sanity.

After a few moments, you worked up the courage to bring it up, "Reg."

"Hm?"

You hesitated, peering down at him and meeting his attentive gaze, "This is going to sound crazy, but do you think there's any way for you to... not be a painting? I mean, I've just been wondering about it. Like, what if I could somehow bring you into the physical plane."

"Is that why your head has been up in the clouds so much, little bird?" He smiles teasingly at your offended look, having taken a liking to ruffling your feathers as of late.

(Fuck. Did you just accidentally make a pun out of that nickname?)

You gape at him before replying, more flusteredly than you appreciated, "Little bird? I know you said that to throw me off, Reg. So, don't try to change the topic!"

Regulus sighs quietly before looking at you steadily, "I just don't want you to be disappointed, Y/N. You shouldn't worry about me, I'll be just fine as your personal pocket portrait."

He pauses before continuing, posture growing rigid at his next words, "Besides, I don't need you experimenting with dangerous magic. In fact, that is the last thing I want you to do."

"But-"

He fixes you with a stern look, eyebrows raising in challenge.

You nod in defeat, deciding to file away your thoughts for another time. It wouldn't do any good to try and bring Regulus back while Voldemort was still running amuck, anyway.

Successfully placated, you conceded, "Okay. I just care a lot about you is all. Promise you'll tell me if you become dissatisfied with this arrangement."

He smiled faintly, shaking his head in fondness, "I know. I promise I will. But you don't have to worry your little head about it anytime soon."

His teasing was insufferable. But you‘d let him win the argument this time.

Your heart was racing in your chest and you flipped over onto your back, dazedly staring up at the canopy of curtains above your bed.

You were growing worried. At first you had assumed you were suffering from a minor medical condition, after all your heart had some pretty brutal scares from the twins over the summer. But as time passed, you concluded that you were suffering from a crush.

A minute, itty-bitty crush. On Regulus.

Who were you kidding. You were smitten for a bloody portrait. It was incredulous. Seriously, you were tempted to ask for a psych evaluation, but Madam Pomfrey would likely dose you into a coma and have Dumbledore ship you off to St. Mungo's.

But, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that Regulus wasn't just some dusty painting. He was vibrant and sarcastic. He could read you like an open book and he always looked out for you.

He was so alive.

Whoever had painted him captured his magical essence and personality so well, you were almost certain that he was exactly like his deceased, human counterpart.

Really, you couldn't decide if you were grateful towards the artist or if you wanted to hex them for making you feel the way you did.

You were like a bloody crup puppy tripping over your own tail for him.

How maddening.

Luckily, you didn't have much time to beat yourself up over it as Harry had approached you the very next morning with his own romantic dilemma.

"So...you guys kissed?"

"Yes."

You teetered with your thoughts for a few seconds, trying to make sense of Harry's grimace, "And it wasn't...ideal?"

"Well, she was crying so it was more wet and salty than anything."

"Bloody hell. Was that your first kiss, Harry?"

The boy gapes at the question and seems to come to a realization, lips furling down at whatever he was thinking about.

You couldn't stop the chuckle from leaving your lips, laying a comforting hand on your friend's shoulder, "It's okay, Harry. Besides, now you can move on from her. Plus, not everyone can say that their first kiss was with their first crush."

The boy shakes his head to rid of his thoughts, fixing his glasses (a habit you noticed he did whenever he was stressed).

Sighing, you tilt your head, "I'm assuming there's more to this story then?"

Harry looks like he's conflicted on whether or not to answer, but ultimately gives in, "She was crying over Cedric."

Ah, shit.

You eloquently mustered up a quiet, "Oh."

Harry nods along as if he was used to being the scapegoat of all of the universe's jokes. You couldn't help but feel terrible for your friend, it seemed that every school year was more traumatizing than the last.

"Don't worry, Harry. You're both going through your own issues, and you'll have plenty of chances at love in the future. Plus, you're going to look bloody cool today when you demonstrate that Patronus charm of yours."

Regulus had worn you down with his teaching, but you could perform most of the spells in the curriculum in your sleep now. The only spell you had never attempted before was the Patronus charm, always being daunted by the difficult spell.

Harry seems to perk up a little at your words and you could see the gears turning as he planned out his approach to the next lesson.

He really would make a fantastic professor.

A little bit later, after your classes, you figured that you could chat with Regulus for a bit before the D.A. meeting. As you tugged the curtains to cover your bed, casting a silencing spell, you quickly pulled Regulus out of your robe pocket.

You couldn't help the bright smile that overtook your face at the sight of him, "Hey there, Reg."

The boy smiles gently at your excitement before it's wiped away by a serious look. He was certainly much warmer with you than when you first met, but he was still quite guarded.

No matter. You were stubborn. You could wait for him to open up.

"Little bird. Did you want to discuss Harry's unfortunate love life or did you want to learn the Patronus charm ahead of time?"

You groan a little at the nickname, "I swear, I need to come up with a nickname for you now. But, wait, Reg, you can cast a patronus?"

The boy looks ready to retort, but you're quick to clarify your words, "I mean, not that I doubt your skills. It's just that I've always assumed that..."

Regulus, luckily, is not offended by your explanation and saves you from your fumbling, "That death eaters are incapable of casting it, right? Well, you're not wrong in the assumption. To my knowledge, many are unable to. I know the mechanisms of the spell, but I have only ever been able to cast it once."

Merlin, why did you even ask, he was literally capable of everything.

"Once? While you were still a student here, then?" Your defeated mumble of questions only slightly gave away your disappointment at his inability to be flawed.

Regulus looks as if he was expecting the question, a small smile tugging at his lips, "No. I was able to cast it after my death."

After his death?

Oh.

OH.

Your eyes were nearly bulging from your head, "Portraits have the capabilities to cast magic? No. No, that's just a you thing, right? Merlin, I was already in awe by how sentient you are, but this exceeds all my expectations."

Yes, Regulus was flawless. He was not merely blessed by Mother Magic, he was dearly loved by her.

Your nerves were buzzing and you were suddenly more awake than you were before. While you brung your finger to run along the frame of his portrait, Regulus seemed to finish gathering his thoughts.

It appeared that he was debating whether or not he should satiate your curiosity. Apparently, this topic was another one of his secrets.

Crossing his arms lightly across his chest, he answers quietly, "Yes, it is highly uncommon for any portrait to be as aware as I. Being able to cast magic was more of an experimentation of mine. Many wizards and witches do not delegate the necessary time frame to their portraits so it may be this nuanced. They usually only cover the basics: appearance, humor, and eccentricity. But, I just happened to spend many years before my death transferring all my knowledge and memories into this portrait."

"Years?" you echoed.

"Years." He nodded in confirmation, eyes unfocusing as he seemed to delve into past memories, "I always knew I'd take his mark growing up, so I commissioned for a portrait to be done beforehand. Luckily, I had it repainted over shortly before my death."

His explanation is a heavy, but not an unwelcome one.

So this was what Regulus looked like before he died. He was so young. You had always assumed that his portrait looked like him years before his passing.

The gears in your head were turning as you processed this new information, realizing that likely, very few people were privy to this knowledge on portraits.

For the sake of the wizarding world, you would keep this information from public ears.

It would be cataclysmic to have Voldemort live on and command his followers through a portrait.

"Thank you for telling me, Reg. I appreciate it."

The boy simply nods, a heavy weight seemingly easing off his shoulders. This was the first time he had divulged heavy information about his past, and despite how fleeting it was, you were appreciative nonetheless.

Suddenly a realization hit you and you perked up on the spot, "Wait, Reg. You said you can cast the patronus charm, right? Was it corporeal?"

Regulus doesn't grace you with an answer, but the twinkle in his eye and the smirk on his face already told you everything you needed to know, a youthful glow suddenly shrouding his face. Unbelievable. A bloody portrait casted a fully corporeal patronus before you.

Your awe only grows once the D.A. meeting starts.

Harry doesn't even begin the meeting by saying anything, he simply takes his wand out and casts his spell into the air with a firm Expecto Patronum.

A burst of bright, blue light whirls like a tide before manifesting into a large stag, the light of the patronus illuminating Harry's gleeful eyes.

Everyone in the room stares in wonder as his patronus galianty runs in circles above their heads before bursting into a sprint through the wall, disappearing, just as Harry tucks his wand away.

"Well that's one hell of an opening."

Your words are met with a few nods and chuckles as Harry grins in your direction. Harry then begins to break down the wand movements necessary to cast the charm and supplies everyone with tips on how to cast it quicker.

You were not going to let Regulus beat you out, you were going to cast a bloody patronus today if it's the last thing you'd do. So you continue to listen to (Professor) Harry attentively, fiddling with your wand in anticipation.

You remember what Harry had told you in third year, the year he learned to cast it. You needed to bring forth a strong, happy memory in your head.

Taking in a deep breath, you maneuver your wand in front of you and narrow your eyes into the air, almost as if willing your patronus to sprout from your wand just from desire alone.

A happy memory. Happy. First year. Meeting Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Running around Hogwarts and beating up the troll in the lavatory. —You wondered if Harry's memory had anything to do with your friend group.

The little blue light that peeked from your wand immediately evaporated as you lost concentration, causing you to silently curse yourself. Focus.

Happy. Third year. Sneaking around with your friends and watching Harry blast Snape across the Shrieking Shack. Happy. Fourth year. Laughing with Ron as Harry got flustered around Cho. Happy. Happy. Finding Regulus.

The small wisp of blue light that you conjured grows a little bigger and brighter.

Yes. Regulus.

Laughing with Regulus. Laughing at Regulus. Learning from Regulus.

Making Regulus smile for the first time in the disappearing room at Grimmauld Place.

Regulus giving you his ring. Feeling the cool silver against your skin for the first time. Watching Regulus‘ eyes unconsciously drift towards the ring whenever you waved your hands around.

Suddenly, you're pulled from your thoughts by a sudden burst of blue light in front of you. You are still rather overwhelmed by the thought of Regulus. Until you're not.

You don't exactly register the next few moments of time, being vaguely aware of Harry's shout of pride and everyone's murmurs of awe.

No, you're too distracted. Not because it was the thought of Regulus that allowed you to cast a fully corporeal patronus.

No, it's because as you're watching your patronus move around in the air, you realize that you're screwed.

A sparrow. A little bird.

Your patronus. Did it manifest from how much you secretly enjoyed the nickname? If so, you certainly did not like the implications of that.

The sparrow circles around your stunned body one last time before flying through the ceiling and disappearing. Your shock recedes as you see Ginny and Luna successfully cast their patronuses as well, just in time for a deep rumble to reverberate around the walls.

Turning to face the entrance of the room, dust clouds your vision as your ears begin to ring. Rubble lays astrew on the floor and you blurrily bring your hand to swat away the dust in front of you, feeling someone grasp at your shoulder to keep you upright.

As the dust settles and you're pushed back into the coherence of reality, you bring your gaze towards the perpetrator.

Standing proudly at the newly blasted hole in the wall were Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad, a shamefaced Cho held by Draco's side.

Merlin be damned. Harry's love life is a proper mess.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txoru @surelysherly

1K notes · View notes