if you ever want a french lesson

Little Bird // Sirius Black

A/N: so, this got longer than I wanted it to but also short as well ? i started this with completely different intentions of where it actually went and don’t know if i really like it? but again, oh well. i wrote regulus as exactly as i imagined him to be - a mysterious, quiet, attractive young boy who’s kind of a rich spoiled brat who’s always doing what mummy says, but also has a rebellious, sly, flirty side to him as well and is just really good, ya know? so, i might write some regulus stuff soon? like a dating regulus would include or something ? but, anyways. i don’t speak french and only know basic words that you should know from every language really - like hello and thank you and i love you and colors and stuff. so, i was relying on google translate and hope its not wrong :) hope you guys enjoy this possible trash. 

Originally posted by nellaey


“Oh, darling,” your mother wailed. “Oh, don’t you look lovely?” 

You painted on a fake lopsided grin and ran your fingers over fields of beads yet again. A silky soft, beaded dress in the creamy beige color that reminded you of antique pictures and coffee with far too much sugar hung from your shoulders. Exquisite dress robes fell to your beige Louboutin heels. Your hair was curled into a halo-like updo and your face was weighed down with makeup. You looked just like every other pureblood girl your age did - elegant, intelligent, and wealthy. Except unlike those other girls, you had a Black family heirloom sparkling on your ring finger. 

Unlike those other girls, you were engaged to the future your mother had built for you - Regulus Black, a mansion on a hilltop, and a life devoted to filthy prejudice. Today, you’d catch a three hour long glimpse of the life you were destined to live at your engagement party. You’d be surrounded by people that were better than everyone else, on Regulus’ arm smiling at his witch of a mother, and flashing everything you had in everyone else’s faces. All of which sounded tolerable a year ago. 

Keep reading

The Sweetest Melody

pairing: philip hamilton x reader
words: 2700
warnings: none i guess unless you count shY PHILIP and this one is just really crappy oh well
summary: reader takes piano lessons from eliza. philip is blown away by her music and the feeling is mutual. this summary explains nothing and i couldn’t find a good gif cri

It had been love at first sight.

From the moment you saw a piano at your church, you knew it was something you wanted to play, to learn, to master. You approached it in awe, your four-year-old eyes shining with childlike wonder. Looking around, you spotted your parents, who were deep in conversation with another couple towards the front door. No one else was around, or so you thought. Straining and reaching with all your might, you managed to get your little legs onto the bench. You looked around, quickly, and hesitantly tapped a key towards the center. A note sounded, abrupt, but it was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard, clear and unique. You pressed on the key again, longer, laughing quietly now.

You experimented with different keys, touching ones low down and high up, holding them for different lengths, even doing three at once, which was quite the task for your small little hands. Your parents’ attention had been attracted by now, and your mother came over quickly.

“(Y/N), dear, I don’t know if you should—”

“Mommy, did you hear? L​​​isten!” You tapped out a short melody that you had made up. Your father had come over at this time as well.

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” your father said. “Did you make that up yourself?” You nodded happily.

And that is why you started piano lessons two years later, as soon as your parents could afford to get you a piano and find you a teacher. It took them longer to do the latter, as you had specific standards that you delivered to them in a list. “She has to be kind and funny,” you said. “And she has to like me and want to help me get better.” Your parents could barely hide the twitching in the corners of their mouths as you gravely ticked off all the qualities your teacher needed to have. However, they looked around to see who was teaching locally, and they found you a perfect fit.

A Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton.

You were very excited for your first lesson. Your parents dropped you off at the door and you raced inside, Mrs. Hamilton greeting you. “(Y/N)! How are you, dear?” she cried, giving you a big hug. She smelled like cookies and the flowers in your front yard—peonies, weren’t they? As she led you into her living room, you stopped short in awe. A beautiful grand piano was sitting in the corner, glistening and sleek. It was huge, but you resolved not to let that get to you. She laughed, her bell-like voice sounding in your ears, and once you had recovered from your initial shock, she sat you down on the bench and pulled up a chair next to you.

“Now, (Y/N), this is what I do with everyone for their first lesson. We won’t be playing anything today, but we’re going to get to know each other.” Your face had dropped when you heard you wouldn’t be touching the beautiful keys, but you brightened when you heard the alternative. You loved Mrs. Hamilton already, and couldn’t wait to get to know her more.

She asked you things like how old you were (six), if you were excited to start lessons (yes!), what made you interested in piano (everything; she chuckled at that), and if you had any siblings (no, but your mother was pregnant and you hoped it was a girl). “Now it’s time for you to ask me things,” she said. Ask anything and I’ll most likely answer it.“ You thought hard for a second, then said,

"Do you have any kids?” She smiled.

“I have one right now. His name is Philip and he’s just your age.” You beamed.

“Is he here?”

Mrs. Hamilton frowned. “Yes, but he’s very shy. He’s most likely just in his room like he usually is during lessons. He only comes down when it’s time for him to practice, which is right after your lesson.” You responded with a rather disappointed oh and then asked her about her husband. He was a lawyer and worked for one of the most successful law firms in downtown New York City, which had a daily hour-and-a-half commute. Her father was an important politician as well. It seemed that your new piano teacher was not only sweet but successful.

Your parents heard glowing reviews of how your lesson went and how your teacher was. However, even through all your excitement, you still wanted to meet Philip Hamilton. Your childish desire to make friends your age burned brightly, and every time you went, you kept an eye on the doorway for a peek of him. However, he stayed hidden. The only trace of him you ever got was a small snatch of his voice. Humming. You were too young to question why he didn’t show up. You just figured that he was very shy and left it at that.

——

Nine years had passed, and you still went to Mrs. Hamilton every Monday, rain or shine. You were her favorite student, or so she said, and you had been going to her for lessons longer than anyone else she taught. Of course, having played for nearly your whole life, you were very advanced and were playing some of the most difficult classical pieces she had. This week, you were working on the third movement of the “Moonlight” Sonata by Beethoven. You were unbelievably excited because he was your favorite composer and you loved that particular work. It took some work, but you quickly caught on and could play it beautifully. You launched yourself into her house emphatically.

“Hi, Mrs. Hamilton!”

“Hi, Sunshine!” That quickly became her nickname for you as you were always happy and bright when you sat down at a piano. “You ready to go today?”

“Yes, ma'am!” you cried excitedly. “Wait ‘til you hear me play my Beethoven!”

“Warmups first,” she smiled, and you faked a sigh.

“If you insist.”

You stretched your fingers out, cracking your knuckles.

“Ready? Go!” she said, and the two of you began counting in French as you began to play scales. It was something unique that she did, that she’d always done. You thought it was incredibly cool and learned the numbers quickly.

“Sept, huit, neuf,” you finished, and Mrs. Hamilton applauded.

“Well done!” she cried. “Now, let’s see how your Beethoven is going.”

You smiled and picked up your sheet music. Taking a deep breath, you started playing, counting out the measures silently in your head.

She listened to you for a while, then stopped you. “Beautiful!” she said. “But go back to that measure. These notes are supposed to be legato.” She pointed to a group of notes and had you play it until you got it right. “Perfect! Keep going!” You played the rest with relatively small mistakes. But when you finished, Mrs. Hamilton wasn’t looking at you. She was looking at the doorway with a confused expression. She put her forefinger to her mouth and suddenly got up and tiptoed to the door.

“Aha!” she cried. “Found you!” You raised an eyebrow.

She came back into the room, this time with a boy in tow. “This,” she said, “is my oldest, Philip. Philip, say hello to (Y/N). It’s taken you long enough.”

Your eyes widened and you looked awkwardly down at your sheet music. Philip loosened himself from his mother’s grip, frowning slightly. “Hi, (Y/N),” he said to the floor, quietly. All you could see was a tall, strong frame and a face covered by chocolate ringlets.

“Hi, Philip.” He looked up at the sound of your voice and pushed his hair out of his face. You were awestruck for just a moment.

You had seen Mr. Hamilton before, and Philip seemed to have inherited the best traits of both his parents. He had big brown eyes, defined cheekbones, and, surprisingly, a face sprinkled with freckles. They reminded you of stars. And, of course, his hair framed his face in ringlets, a loose curl coming to a stop just above his left eyelid. He was the best-looking boy you’d ever seen.

“Philip, would you care to tell (Y/N) why you were listening to her every note?” His eyes widened as he looked at his mother and he bit his lip nervously.

“Um…well…” he seemed to be rendered speechless, and a bloom of red was spreading across his freckle-dusted cheeks. The reddish tint just served to define his already prominent cheekbones, and you had to breathe deeply to suppress yourself from blushing as well.

“You…uh…sounded really good. It was the best I’ve heard anyone play that song, actually. And Mom’s had a lot of people do it.” Now you really did blush.

“It wasn’t that good,” you said, then inwardly kicked yourself at the stupid response. Wow, I bet he hates me already, you thought. Your fingers began to tap out a scale on your leg, a nervous habit you had acquired.

“Yeah, it was,” he responded, with a shy grin. “You sounded better than I ever have.”

Mrs. Hamilton observed the exchange with a small grin on her face. “Well, dear, your lesson is over,” she told you. “Wonderful work!” She handed you the music for next time, and you went out into the foyer to put on your shoes. You intentionally spent a long time tying up your shoes. You wanted to hear Philip play.

He sang in French along with his mother, and your eyebrows shot up. His voice was—well, the only way you could describe it was pretty. It never wavered and was sure, confident. But if you were impressed by his voice, all thoughts of it were swept away when you heard him play. You recognized the song—Prelude No. 1 in C Major. A piece by Bach. Your jaw dropped and you were motionless for a moment. But you shook yourself a minute later. You couldn’t draw suspicion, and you reluctantly stepped onto the pretty, flowered porch, closing the door behind you.

Philip never hesitated to come in now. You had told him that you didn’t mind if he listened to you play. If it made him happy, he should do it.

When you came back a few weeks later, Philip was in the living room, engaged in a heated argument with his mother.

“But, Mom, that’s just creepy! Why would she do that? I don’t even know her!”

“Philip, you’ve been listening to her play for five years!”

You nearly dropped your music.

“Mom, that means nothing! I’ve just been listening to her because she’s the most talented person I’ve ever heard. Even if I tried not to listen, it wouldn’t work! Her playing just…draws me.”

You had to sit down at this point, your mind too numb to start untying your shoes.

“Then you shouldn’t have any problems with doing this. Just do it for me. Please? I might even have you two play at the next recital.”

A sigh. “Fine.”

You heard her coming and quickly ran to the door, pretending like you had just come in.

“Hi, Mrs. Hamilton!”

“Hello there! Have I got a surprise for you!” she exclaimed, excited.

“Really? What is it?”

“I was talking with Philip, and he’d be willing to play a duet with you for the next recital! Would that be okay?”

“Uh—sure! Yeah! That’d be great!”

“Oh, wonderful! Come in!”

You took off your shoes quickly and entered the living room. Philip was already sitting on the bench, looking worried. He looked up when he saw you, his face reddening again.

“Hey,” you said. He responded likewise. Mrs. Hamilton bustled around, gathering music and laying it in front of the two of you. After she was satisfied with the arrangement of everything, she clapped her hands.

“Go ahead!”

Philip looked at you and shrugged. You shrugged back and began to play.

The song was pretty, a piece by Strauss. It required yours and Philip’s hands to cross often, and you bit your lip in equal parts concentration and nervousness. Every time your wrists touched, sparks went up your arm and you had to work hard to keep yourself from falling behind. It seemed like forever, but you neared the end. Philip finished his part, and you played the last few chords. You looked up, breathless, and grinned at him. He smiled back, a crooked, laughing quirk that sent your heart racing and leaping into your throat, an expanding in your chest, a good hurt.

Mrs. Hamilton looked on. She saw the way Philip smiled at you, how he followed your every movement as you finished out the song. Something deep within her, something maternal, was grieving silently. Her son was growing up. He was already taller than his father and just as strong. She knew it would be a matter of time before he began to be interested in girls, and she was overjoyed that he seemed to have chosen you as the object of his affections, but that one part of her ached.

“That was beautiful,” she cried, blinking away a tear. “I’ll definitely have the two of you perform that at the next recital.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Hamilton,” you said.

“I have to find you some music,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” However, something in her eyes told you that she was leaving the two of you for a different reason. Her skirts disappeared from the doorway, and you and Philip were alone with your silence. You looked shyly up at him, but he was fiddling with his hands, weaving his fingers in and out of each other.

“You did really good,” you said, at the same time he blurted, “I have something to say.” You both were startled for a second, but then you laughed and he cracked a grin, which made your heart jump all over again.

“Go ahead,” you told him. He nodded and took a deep breath.

“All right. You’re probably going to think I’m strange, but please, just hear me out.” You watched him intently.

“I’ve always been shy. I’ve never liked meeting people because I’ve always thought they wouldn’t like me. But that changed when I first saw you come here for lessons, about five years ago. I was looking out the window of my bedroom and I saw a car pull up and you stepped out. I could see you well enough that I could form the opinion that you looked like such a friendly, approachable person. I just wanted to be your friend.

"Every week after that, I watched you come in and get picked up. You always had a huge grin on your face and greeted your parents with a wave and a lot of happiness. It wasn’t until five years ago that I realized I had fallen in love with your smile. That’s when I became interested in your music. When I heard you for the first time, I was blown away. It made sense that someone with such amazing energy and optimism could create equally wonderful music. I’d never talked to you; I was too shy, but just the same, I had the biggest crush on you.

"I knew you’d never even seen me, but I couldn’t help but fall in even more. I’m just grateful I got to meet you after all these years. You’re as wonderful a person as I’d imagined you’d be.” He fell quiet then, and you stared at him in shock.

“Oh my god.”

He looked devastated. “I’m so sorry! I just thought you would want to know. I’ve probably ruined everything now, haven’t I?” He put his head in his hands.

“Philip, no,” you told him, gently prying away his fingers. “It’s probably stupid since I haven’t known you for very long, but I feel the same way. Ever since I was six, I wanted to meet you. And you’re everything I thought you would be.” His eyes widened and he looked at you in disbelief.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Philip took your hand.

And outside the door, in the kitchen, Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton smiled through her tears. 

shippy plots that make me happy as a clam

  • preacher’s daughter falls for a bad boy
  • my big brother’s best friend is cuter than a button and he keeps ‘accidentally’ brushing his hand against mine and ‘accidentally’ stumbling into my room trying to look for the bathroom even though he’s been here a million times
  • i’m an up-and-coming model/actor/singer and paparazzi follow me everywhere but i really like you, even though the tabloids will talk about rumors about us all the time
  • since my parents can’t stand you, i have to sneak out my window to date you when they think i’m doing my french homework in my room
  • i’m the princess and you’re a wanted thief and we sneak into the woods every day for picnics
  • i asked you out as a joke but then i developed feelings for you
  • you want kissing lessons because you’re trying to impress someone experienced but you’re actually really good at this and you’re the sweetest person i’ve ever met and the person you’re trying to impress doesn’t deserve you

anonymous asked:

Hiya! Would you recommend italki? I think I've seen you mention it before. I've been self-studying Russian for awhile now, but I'd really like to find an instructor.

Hey nonnie! I go into more detail below, but tl;dr: I’ve been using italki* for about a year now and I’d 100% recommend it.

italki In General:

  • I really like how the tutors need to upload certifications/degrees, an introductory video, and give work experience.
  • I’ve only ever had one (very minor) issue but italki was quick and professional about handling it.
  • Signing up and using the site is completely free. The only time you have to pay for anything is when you pay your tutor.

Finding an Instructor:

  • Determine what you want to achieve and send a message to your top choices before taking a trial lesson. This gives them a better idea as to how they can best help you.
    • Example: for French, I told them my goals (prepare for the DELF), what kind of class I’d like (more structured with homework), and what my weaknesses were (speaking).
  • Taking a trial lesson is a great way to determine whether or not their teaching style suits you, and they’re usually discounted.
  • Building a working relationship with your tutor is important - if you want to speak more (or exclusively) in your target language, focus more on grammar, or if something is too easy/hard, tell them.

I hope this helps you a bit. And no, this is definitely not sponsored (but if italki wanted to I’d be down for that lol). I just genuinely like their service and have found excellent French, Chinese, and Russian instructors here. Good luck with your studying!

*This is a referral link. If you use it and take a class we both get $10 of credits. You don’t have to use this link if you don’t want to, I just figured I’d give the option.

Late Night Language Thoughts

So I was wondering why no one seems to be learning languages anymore. People on langblr are the only people I know of who really like languages. At school, everyone despises their language lessons; there isn’t a more hated subject. Partly because the teaching is shocking, but there’s a bigger underlying problem - they just don’t want to learn a language. It’s as hard for me to understand why they don’t want to learn as it is as hard for them to understand why I want to learn. I get weird looks when I say that I want to study languages, that I want to go in to a language related career. They wonder how languages could ever be useful, how they could ever be enjoyable, how I can be bothered - I mean, doesn’t language learning take forever if you’re not a child?They leave school with almost no knowledge of a language that they’ll never use again.

But here’s the thing. Especially here in England, there is such a negative attitude towards languages. People are shamed for not speaking English and the native English speakers don’t want to learn anyone else’s language. You mention languages to someone who isn’t passionate about them, and they always reply negatively. “When will that be useful?” “Isn’t learning X really hard?” “Doesn’t everyone who speaks language X also speak English?” That is what needs to be changed. The immediate negative connotation that comes with language learning.

What they don’t know is that no language is useful at first. They want to be fluent immediately - why do you think people fall for stuff like ‘fluent in 3 months’? They want fast results, without the effort. I was talking to some younger students at school about studying a language at GCSE a while ago, and one of them asked me: “but when will I ever use French?”

I thought the same thing when I was that age. After almost 6 years of French, and almost 3 years of German, I couldn’t speak either of them. At all. Even though I quite liked learning languages and was pretty good at it, I couldn’t imagine ever actually being able to speak one.

But when I was that age, something changed. I watched Eurovision, and fell in love with Conchita Wurst. I wanted to learn more about her, but there was a slight problem - half the stuff I watched was in German. I did not speak German. I watched regardless, looking everywhere for translations of her interviews. I got to know other fans, and the majority of them were German native speakers. We had a group chat, and when they spoke to each other, they spoke German. I wanted to know what they were saying. I spent my summer using German, and I didn’t even realise it.

I went back to school in September. I started German lessons again. We’re a few weeks in and we do our first mock. I get an A. Everyone else fails. I didn’t know why: I went to the same lessons as everyone else, I had about as much of an idea as everyone else did about what we were supposed to be doing. I was doing really well in class, I knew more obscure vocab and found that I knew a lot more grammar than I thought I did - I just didn’t know how to put it all together. It takes a few months for it to click, for me to realise why I knew all of this German: because I was using it. Because it was useful to me.

This takes me back to my point. People don’t learn languages because they don’t think that they are useful. They don’t think they’ll ever go to country X and use country X’s language. They think that everyone in country X can speak English anyway.

Using a language is more than just ordering a drink while on holiday. It’s connecting with others, understanding a different culture, being able to enjoy films and TV shows without needing subtitles. Being able to understand what your German friends are saying without them knowing.

Languages are useful when you learn them. Not just because it might get you a job, but because it’s fun. I have friends who I only speak to in German - their native language, not mine. If something makes you happy, if it’s enjoyable - it’s useful. You don’t have to benefit from something financially for it to be useful.

When you learn a language, whether you’re a beginner or a fluent speaker, you open the doors to a whole new world. New people to speak to, new music to listen to, new TV shows to watch. It doesn’t have to be hard. It doesn’t have to be spending hundreds of pounds on night school and textbooks. Language learning can be whatever you want it to be and whatever you make it.

When people in my year at school think of languages, they think of the exams we have in a few weeks, the lists and lists of vocab they have to learn for another vocab test, the textbooks that we use lesson after lesson that couldn’t be any more useless if they tried. When they leave, they will leave with a negative impression of language learning. Less of them than ever will continue with languages. I know no one, apart from me, who is taking A Level French. I know 5 people, including me, who are taking German, and 2 who will take Spanish. This is what we need to change.

We need to tell people that languages are fun. We need to teach kids that languages are more than a GCSE option they were told they should take (it’s compulsory at my school, but not in England overall). We need to help kids open the doors to discovering more languages, to expose them to a world that doesn’t just revolve around English. We need to tell kids that they can learn a language, if they want to. The grammar might be a pain in the backside, there may be false friends - but if they had the same attitude towards English they wouldn’t be able to speak that either. We need to teach non-native English speakers, especially those who live in countries where English is mainly spoken, like England, that their languages are worth something. That all languages are worth something.

It’s been almost two years since I started using German. I speak it at an intermediate level. I’m still learning French. Last year, I decided to learn Russian. After that, my list of languages that I want to learn grew and grew. Spanish, Mandarin Chinese, Italian, Dutch, Polish… I get told that I must have been a natural born linguist, that I must somehow be German - being able to speak more than the average person makes you fluent, apparently. That’s not true. I just chose to learn.

dhampir72  asked:

00Q and #15 for the mini fic thing :D

15. things you said with too many miles between us

“I could have–” Bond says, and.

“No.”  He doesn’t want to hear it, can’t hear it because.  Because.

“I could have, Q.  I want you to know that.”  And even as he says it Q can hear behind him: laughter, in German and Swiss and French.  “–la mariée–” and Q remembers enough of Mme Pauline’s lessons to feel hot, sticky, nauseated.

“You’re drunk, Bond.  You’re very drunk.”

“Yes,” Bond agrees.  He doesn’t even have the kindness in him to pretend he’d say these things sober, to pretend–and James Bond is the cruelest man Q has ever known.  “But I could have–”

“Go.  Back to your party, back to–” Q pushes through, even as Bond speaks over him.

“–loved you, and I know you think–”

“–Madeleine, back to your goddamned–”

“–that you’re not–not the loveliest man I’ve ever seen–”  Wine glasses clink in the background.

“–wife and your wedding reception–”

“–but you are, and I could have–”

It’s too much.  “How dare you do this to her?  Today?  To me?” Q demands.

Bond is silent a long moment, long enough for Q to wonder if he’s wandered off, if he’s fallen asleep in a whiskey-sodden puddle, if he’s.  If he’s given up.  Again.  If he’s given up on Q again.  When he speaks, Bond’s voice is small.  “I could have, and you’ve always thought it was your fault that I didn’t, when I’m just.”

“A coward,” Q finishes for him.  Bond doesn’t argue.  “Because you can only say this now, from three countries away, on a day you know I won’t do anything about it.  I can’t do anything about it.”  It feels like begging, how much he needs Bond to understand him.  He gives Bond a minute to answer, a solid minute counted off slow second by slow second.  When it’s done, so is he.

Bond takes a breath.  His mouth sounds wet.  Q wonders how drunk he really is.

“Bien faire.”  He says it before Bond can say something else tragic, because.  One of them has to make a decision.  Because he’s scared of the decision Bond might make.  Because he can hear Madeleine in the background on her wedding day.

“I could have–” Bond protests, and Q shakes his head, even though Bond can’t see him over the phone.

“I know.  But you didn’t.”

annielovestohelp:

shippy plots that make me happy as a clam

  • preacher’s daughter falls for a bad boy
  • my big brother’s best friend is cuter than a button and he keeps ‘accidentally’ brushing his hand against mine and ‘accidentally’ stumbling into my room trying to look for the bathroom even though he’s been here a million times
  • i’m an up-and-coming model/actor/singer and paparazzi follow me everywhere but i really like you, even though the tabloids will talk about rumors about us all the time
  • since my parents can’t stand you, i have to sneak out my window to date you when they think i’m doing my french homework in my room
  • i’m the princess and you’re a wanted thief and we sneak into the woods every day for picnics
  • i asked you out as a joke but then i developed feelings for you
  • you want kissing lessons because you’re trying to impress someone experienced but you’re actually really good at this and you’re the sweetest person i’ve ever met and the person you’re trying to impress doesn’t deserve you

anonymous asked:

omg could you write a lil drabble about kindergarten art teacher grantaire!! Please ah

Well, @just-french-me-up wrote all the headcanons you could ever want about kindergarten art teacher!R here. A few of mine include:

  • He has a guitar that he plays a “clean up” song on when it’s time to put supplies away
  • The kids call him Teach R
  • He makes each child feel supported and encourages their creativity
  • A few of the kids always cry when he leaves at the end of the lesson