#cursed pronunciation guides

[just-aake]

Whispered in Russian

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha teaches you how to speak some Russian during your time together on a mission.

A/n: this was inspired from a request. Not sure if it was what you expected but I hope you'll still enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive themes, cursing, Russian translations from google (because I unfortunately do not know the language)

Words: 3250

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.”

Natasha’s Russian accent flows effortlessly, her voice smooth and confident as she speaks to the front desk receptionist. Her tone carries the ease of someone completely at home in the language. 

It’s a voice you’ve grown intimately familiar with—not just as her teammate for years but also as her partner.

Which also makes it easier to pick up and piece together some of the words, though you’re still far from being fluent. 

Reservation for Natalia Romanova, you translate silently.

The receptionist offers a polite smile, tapping away at her computer until she finds the reservation. With a nod, she retrieves a key card and slides it across the counter to Natasha.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.”

You listen intently, trying to match the sounds to meaning, but the words come faster than you can process. Your grasp falters after the first few phrases. 

Welcome…Romanova…key

You almost have it, but the rest slips through your mental filter, lost in the quick flow of syllables. Before you can catch up, the receptionist continues in a kind but rapid tone.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.”

At that, Natasha’s lips quirk up in a small, amused smirk. The expression is subtle but unmistakable, and it draws your curiosity. 

You glance at her, silently asking what amused her, but she offers no explanation, only thanking the receptionist with a graceful nod as she takes the key card. 

“Spasibo,” Natasha says, her voice as composed as ever.

Thank you. 

That part you recognize immediately, the basic phrase standing out like a familiar face in a crowd.

Natasha’s hand finds your waist as she guides you away from the desk, her touch grounding and affectionate. 

Still, your mind lingers curiously on the exchange. 

Once inside the room, you dive into setting up your equipment for the mission, carefully pulling out the listening gear from your bag. 

Meanwhile, Natasha checks the room methodically, her eyes scanning for anything amiss. She ends her sweep at the window, drawing back the shutters slightly to observe the building across the street—the one where the targets work at.

“What did the receptionist say to you at the end?” you ask, your curiosity finally spilling over as you adjust the calibration on the gear. 

Natasha glances over her shoulder at you, a glint of amusement in her eyes. She takes her time responding, watching as you work with meticulous focus.

“She said if we needed anything, we could call the front desk,” Natasha replies casually, her tone almost too neutral.

You pause, narrowing your eyes as you turn to face her. 

“That’s it?” you ask, skepticism lacing your voice. “Then why did you react like that?”

The smirk you’d noticed earlier reappears, tugging at the corners of her lips. Natasha steps closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning in.

“Zhena,” she repeats slowly, enunciating the word with deliberate care. Her breath is warm against your skin as she presses a quick, affectionate kiss to your cheek. “It means ‘wife.’ She called you my wife.”

“Oh,” you reply, your heart fluttering at the thought. 

You fall silent for a moment, processing, before quietly repeating the word under your breath. 

“Zhena,” you murmur, practicing the pronunciation like a secret you want to keep safe. You say it again, slightly louder, trying to mimic Natasha’s intonation.

Natasha’s expression softens as she watches your reaction, her smirk giving way to a small, genuine smile.

Once satisfied with your attempt, you nod firmly, confidence growing. 

Your gaze shifts to the small table in the corner of the room, and something catches your eye. You gesture toward it, brow raised.

“Well,” you say, “that explains the bottle of champagne.”

Natasha follows your gaze, her chuckle warm and rich as she spots the chilled, unopened bottle perched beside two crystal glasses. 

“Hill said this was the only room available,” she replies, her fingers tracing soft patterns at your sides. Her voice drops slightly, the edge of a smirk returning to her lips. “Guess that means we’re playing newlyweds.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, leaning against her as you ponder the situation. 

“Alright,” you nod thoughtfully, “and it won’t look suspicious if we don’t leave our room much since, technically, we’re on our honeymoon.” 

Natasha’s smirk deepens, her eyes glinting with mischief. She tilts her head closer, her lips brushing lightly against yours. 

“Oh, that sounds fun,” she murmurs, her tone dropping into a suggestive lilt.

You roll your eyes, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays your amusement. 

“I meant it’s a good cover for our mission,” you say pointedly, pulling back just enough to regain your composure. You gesture toward the gear on the table before raising a brow at her. “Or did you already forget the reason why we’re here in the first place?”

Natasha doesn’t answer immediately. 

Instead, her smirk shifts into something a little more daring as she tightens her hold on your waist before pulling you flush against her. Her lips ghost over yours again as she leans in, just close enough for her voice to drop to a whisper.

“I’m multitasking,” she teases, the husky tone sending a shiver down your spine before she closes the small distance between you two.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Some time later, after you two manage to refocus on the mission, you settle in to monitor the listening equipment. 

The two of you wait patiently, earpieces in place, scanning for the key information you need.

But after a few hours of static-filled recordings, indistinct conversations, and absolutely nothing useful, Natasha notices your shoulders beginning to tense with exhaustion. 

She rests a hand on your arm. 

“Take a break,” she offers softly. “I’ll keep watch for now.”

You hesitate, but the encouraging smile on her lips convinces you. 

“Alright,” you relent, stretching out your stiff shoulders before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Once inside, the hot water works wonders, the steam easing the tension in your muscles. 

You feel the stress of the mission starts to melt away, but as you finish, you realize you’ve made a small mistake. 

You forgot to grab your change of clothes for the night. 

With a sigh, you wrap the towel around yourself, water still clinging to your skin, and step out of the bathroom.

The cool air sends a shiver through you as you pad quietly toward your bag.

Natasha’s back is to you as she speaks on the hotel phone. 

Her voice flows smoothly in Russian, soft but clear, and you catch a few familiar words—borscht, pelmeni, blini—dishes you’ve heard her name before.

As you rummage through your belongings, it hits you: she’s ordering dinner. You smile to yourself, amused by the domesticity of the moment, even in the middle of a mission. 

Not wanting to take any longer, you quickly grab what you need, tossing your bag back in its original position as you hear Natasha finish up.

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…”

The abrupt edge in Natasha’s voice pulls your attention, her sudden exclamation making you look up in curiosity.

Her words have stopped mid-sentence, her lips parted slightly as her eyes roam over you. Her gaze lingers on the droplets of water still glistening on your skin, the curve of your shoulders, and the towel that clings just a little too loosely to your body.

It takes her a moment to catch herself. Natasha clears her throat, her voice steadier as she quickly finishes her conversation. 

“Prostite,” she mutters into the phone. “Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.”

You pause where you stand as you attempt to piece together what she just said. Your limited Russian skills manage to translate fragments: leave…food…door. 

It’s enough to guess that she told them to leave your dinners outside the room so they won’t come in and see all your equipment set up.

But you also notice that there’s one word missing from the sentence—the one she exclaimed earlier.

It lingers in your mind, unaccounted for, and you try remembering how Natasha said it.

“Blyat…” you repeat, testing the word carefully, sounding it out until you nod in satisfaction, confident you’ve got it.

A low groan comes from Natasha, prompting you to look back at her. Her eyes are noticeably darker now.

“Bozhe moy…” Natasha mutters under her breath, shaking her head lightly in exasperation.

Your brow quirks in amusement at her tone, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a curse word—just something someone would say when they’re surprised or frustrated,” Natasha says stiffly, her voice a little strained, though she manages to seem mostly composed.

Her eyes eventually betray her, though, drifting back to the droplets of water sliding down your skin. 

“So what’s the translation?” you press, crossing your arms at her vague response. The motion inadvertently shifts the towel, loosening it further.

Natasha’s jaw tightens. Her gaze flickers to the towel, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her control clearly fraying. 

Even though she looks like she’s about to close the distance between you, it’s clear she won’t answer your question, which makes your expression fall lightly into a mock disappointed pout.

“You said you’d help me improve my Russian during this mission,” you remind her, your tone innocently light as you step closer to stand in front of her. 

The memory of her promise lingers in your mind—how she’d caught you practicing in secret and insisted you ask her for help whenever you needed it.

Her lips twist in hesitation, probably also remembering her promise, and for a moment, it seems like she might resist.

But then she relents with a sigh. 

“It’s basically like saying ‘fuck,’” Natasha explains, her voice low and even. She fixes you with a pointed look, her gaze burning as she adds, “As in, you surprised me, standing half-naked in the middle of the room like this.” 

A laugh escapes you, though your cheeks warm at the intensity of her gaze. You move to hover a hand above her chest, tracing a finger lightly against the edge of her tank top.

“Were you surprised…or frustrated?” you ask, your tone full of mischief. 

Natasha shoots you a warning look, one that says you already know the answer.

“I don’t think learning Russian curse words was part of your original goal here,” she counters, her voice tight.

“Who says I haven’t learned some phrases already?” you reply with a playful shrug.

Her eyebrows lift, intrigued. “Like what?”

You shake your head, refusing to elaborate. “I’m still practicing my pronunciation.”

Natasha smirks, leaning closer. “I can help.”

The listening equipment chooses that moment to beep suddenly, interrupting your conversation, as it signals incoming noises.

“Too bad we’re still on the clock,” you quip with a teasing smile.

Natasha’s attention flickers reluctantly to the gear, her expression briefly clouded with disappointment.

You take the opportunity to head back to the bathroom and finish up.

As you go, a smirk tugs at your lips, the Russian phrase you’ve been practicing simmering in your mind.

Just as you step through the doorway, you hum thoughtfully, your voice low and deliberate as you mutter under your breath—just loud enough for Natasha to hear.

“How did it go again...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…”

You don’t need to turn around to know the effect your words have. Natasha’s sharp intake of breath is unmistakable, and your smirk widens in satisfaction. 

Behind you, Natasha freezes, her lips parting slightly, her entire body going still as she processes what you just said. The weight of your casual tone and the boldness of your phrasing leave her momentarily stunned.

By the time she regains her composure, you’ve already disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click.

A low, disbelieving chuckle escapes her after a moment, followed by a quiet grumble as she mutters to herself, “Of all the times to be on a mission…” 

Natasha shakes her head and exhales, grabbing the earpiece with a resigned sigh.

Sliding it back on, she tries to focus on the task at hand, her eyes scanning the equipment as if sheer willpower could drown out her thoughts.

But her gaze betrays her, drifting back toward the bathroom door.

It lingers there, her resolve wavering as the temptation to follow you creeps in, tugging at her self-control.

Her mind conjures an image of you inside—water still clinging to your skin and your voice low and teasing as you repeat the Russian phrase for “fuck me” over and over again. 

The imagination is enough to make her swallow hard, her grip tightening on the table’s edge.

With a sharp, frustrated exhale, Natasha forces her attention back to the mission, her eyes narrowing as if determination alone could block the distractions. 

And she does succeed in regaining her composure eventually, though, every now and again, your voice echoes in her mind—soft, playful, and full of mischief.

Each syllable you murmured is as clear as if you were still standing there, taunting her with that dangerous smirk.

The corners of her lips twitch despite herself. 

You’ve always told her how much you love hearing her speak in Russian—how the sound of it stirs something in you. 

Natasha had always found your words amusing, but hearing you just now, with your hesitant yet deliberate tone, she’s beginning to understand exactly what you meant.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After dinner, Natasha takes it upon herself to continue monitoring the listening gear, insisting that you rest up first after the long trip here and the exhausting setup.

Her tone left little room for argument, so you relented, knowing how stubborn she could be about these things and the fact that she is more than capable of staying concentrated on the task for longer than you can.

Hours pass, the rhythmic static and indistinct chatter from the equipment blending into the quiet of the room.

Natasha barely notices how late it’s gotten until she feels your arms wrap gently around her shoulders from behind.

You lean in close, your warm breath brushing against the side of her head as you carefully remove her earpieces. 

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” you whisper softly.

Natasha’s lips curve into a small, pleased smile at your perfect pronunciation. Turning to face you, she raises a brow, her expression amused.

“Did you learn that specifically for moments like this?” she teases.

You smirk back at her. 

“With how often you lose yourself in work, I figured learning how to call you to bed should be one of the first things I perfect.” 

Natasha shakes her head fondly, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. 

“Of course you would,” she murmurs, but there’s no mistaking the affection in her voice.

Obliging you, she removes the rest of the gear and allows you to pull her gently from the chair toward the large bed.

As she moves, her gaze flickers to the nightstand, catching sight of your tablet screen. The familiar display of the language-learning app you’ve been using to practice Russian glows faintly in the dim light.

Settling in beside her, you lie back against the pillows while Natasha props herself up on one elbow, her head resting on her hand. Her green eyes glimmer with a soft light as she looks at you, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “I’m sure I can teach you Russian better than that app.” 

Her comment makes you laugh lightly. 

“I know, but our free time doesn’t always line up for me to get a lesson from Ms. Romanoff,” you tease, smirking.

“It’s Mrs.,” Natasha corrects, her playful smirk matching yours. “Don’t forget, we’re technically married right now.”

You smile, your gaze softening as you look at her. 

“Right. How could I forget that you’re my ‘zhena?’”

The word slips out in a playful, teasing tone, but it has an unexpected effect.

Natasha’s heart flutters so much at hearing you call her your wife in Russian that she has to look away for a moment to regain her composure. 

Her expression is tender when she looks back at you, her other arm moving around your midsection and pulling you closer. 

“I have time now,” she offers, her voice low. “Anything you want to learn?”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin as you consider. 

“Alright, how do you say…‘you look beautiful?’”

Natasha’s smile widens slightly. 

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” she replies smoothly.

You repeat the phrase under your breath, scrunching your face slightly in concentration as you practice. Once you’re confident enough, you turn to her with a gentle smile.

“Ty vy-glya-dish’ prekrasno,” you say, your pronunciation close but not perfect.

Natasha chuckles softly in amusement when she realizes you just wanted to say the phrase back to her. 

“Are you trying to make me fall for you even more by complimenting me in Russian?”  

You smirk playfully. “Depends. Is it working?”

Huffing lightly, Natasha rolls her eyes, though there’s a clear fondness in her exasperation. She looks away briefly, but you catch her cheek gently, turning her gaze back to yours.

“How do you say…‘I love you?’” you ask softly, your voice tinged with both curiosity and affection.

Natasha’s expression softens further, her features open and vulnerable as she answers. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she says, enunciating each syllable carefully for you. 

“Ya tebya lyu…blyu,” you repeat slowly, trying to mimic how her lips move, but the last syllable doesn’t quite land how it should.

Natasha chuckles lightly, her hand moving to cup your chin. 

“When you say ‘lyublyu,’” she explains gently, “you have to purse your lips more.”

You try again, adjusting your pronunciation, and then glance at her for confirmation. 

“Like that?” you ask innocently, unaware that you had said it perfectly, making Natasha’s heart beat a little faster at the sound of your voice saying those words to her in her native language. 

“Say it again,” Natasha murmurs, her voice soft. 

Focusing intently, you follow her previous instructions.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Just as you say the last sound, Natasha leans in suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

Your smile grows against her mouth as realization dawns that she made you repeat it for her benefit. 

“Mmm, you’re teasing me when you're supposed to be teaching me,” you murmur lightly in reprimand.

Natasha pulls back slightly, her green eyes glinting with playful mischief. 

“Maybe I just love the way you say it,” she counters, her tone low and warm. 

You huff lightly, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation before scooting closer.

Natasha relaxes fully into the bed, letting you rest your head on her shoulder and tuck your face into the curve of her neck. Her arms wrap around you, holding you in a soft embrace.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Natasha’s voice breaks through, gentle and curious. 

“What made you decide to learn Russian?”

There’s a brief pause as you consider her question, and then you tilt your head to look up at her, your eyes filled with affection. 

“Russian is a part of who you are, Natasha,” you say earnestly. “Where you came from. To learn another way to connect with you…” You trail off, your soft smile widening. “Who wouldn’t want to do that?”

Natasha’s heart swells at your words, and for a moment, all she can do is hold you closer, her fingers brushing lightly over your back.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but still filled with the depth of her feelings for you.

You settle back against her, smiling into her shoulder, your voice gentle as you reply.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, too.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: got distracted by a cute request and made another little fluff fic. thank you for reading! Now I'll get back to working on my series. 😅

Also here are the translations below:

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.” - Reservation for Natalia Romanova.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.” - Welcome, Mrs. Romanova. Here are your room keys.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.” - If you or your wife need assistance, please call the front desk and we will be happy to assist you.

“Spasibo,” - Thank you

“Zhena,” - Wife

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…” - Yes, just leave it—fuck...

“Prostite, Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.” - Sorry, leave the food at the door. Thank you.

“Blyat” - fuck

“Bozhe moy…” - My god...

“...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…” - ..fuck...me...fuck me...

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” - Come to bed with me

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” - You look beautiful

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” - I love you

[jadeshifting]

— A STUDENT’S GUIDE TO HOGWARTS CLASSES

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

FOR EVERY CLASS . always sit where you can see (or avoid) the professor’s mood swings. bring a spare quill, and for Merlin’s sake, read all instructions on the board

★⋆. ASTRONOMY

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR SINESTRA . she’s chill if you stay quiet. don’t interrupt her passionate stargazing rants, or she’ll assign extra homework on constellations literally no one’s ever heard of

HOMEWORK . star charts and essays on planetary motion. tedious but straightforward—accuracy is everything.

TIPS TO EXCEL . memorize constellations and learn how to cast Lumos just dim enough so that you don’t blind everyone during late-night pitch black lessons

EXTRA CREDIT . spot and track a rare celestial event, like a comet. (bonus points if you can pronounce its Latin name to Sinestra without choking)

AVOID MISHAPS . never mix up Mars and Mercury on your chart—you’ll be doomed in astronomy and divination

★⋆. CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR HAGRID . show genuine interest in his creatures, even if they look like they could eat you (because they definitely could)

HOMEWORK . research magical creature habits and write about their care. watch out—he loves long essays (he can basically make students write books about his favorite subject for him)

TIPS TO EXCEL . always wear dragonhide gloves and boots that cover your ankles. treat the creatures and Hagrid with respect—he’ll notice

EXTRA CREDIT . help feed or clean up after the creatures during your free periods or after class. it’s messy, but he appreciates it immeasurably

AVOID MISHAPS . never, ever call a Blast-Ended Skrewt “gross” within his earshot

★⋆. CHARMS

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR FLITWICK . he’s sweet but sharp. pay attention, or you’ll be called on mid-yawn to demonstrate something tricky.

HOMEWORK . practice spells at home. if your wandwork looks like you’re conducting a dance recital, you’re doing it wrong.

TIPS TO EXCEL . focus on precise wand movements and pronunciation—no “swish and flick” means no charm

EXTRA CREDIT . perform an original charm in class and explain how you invented it (hint: slap a name on something flashy, and ramble about how Flitwick’s class gave you the “tools to do it”)

AVOID MISHAPS . don’t use charms on your classmates (no matter how obnoxious they are) unless you want detention for “unsanctioned spellcasting”

★⋆. DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS

DEALING WITH THE PROFESSOR . varies wildly year to year. if they’re twitchy, don’t ask questions. if they’re confident, challenge them slightly—they love it

HOMEWORK . spell practice, theoretical essays on defensive strategies, and (sometimes) practical exams.

TIPS TO EXCEL . master shield charms early—Protego is your bread and butter. always watch your back in “surprise” practical tests (the surprise could be a curse aimed at your back)

EXTRA CREDIT . propose new defense tactics for obscure threats like Lethifolds or hinkypunks, it shows interest in the less ‘cool’ aspects of the dark arts

AVOID MISHAPS . don’t hex yourself in class while demonstrating a jinx. you won’t get in trouble. but it’s embarrassing.

★⋆. DIVINATION

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR TRELAWNEY . just nod and act fascinated. she’s happier when you look like you believe her

HOMEWORK . dream journals, tea-leaf sketches, and guesses at what the stars are “telling” you.

TIPS TO EXCEL . make up dramatic predictions that sound poetic. extra marks for impending doom towards a classmate

EXTRA CREDIT . spot a “true vision” (or just pretend you did). a fainting act doesn’t hurt

AVOID MISHAPS . never laugh at her predictions, even if they sound ridiculous—she’ll doom you for life (and you never know what fate holds)

★⋆. HERBOLOGY

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR SPROUT . show some love for plants, and she’ll adore you. don’t sass her or underestimate how dangerous some herbs are

HOMEWORK . care guides for magical plants, essays on uses for their parts, and detailed sketches

TIPS TO EXCEL . be gentle with the plants, even the ones with attitudes. also, if you’re prone to daydreaming, please keep a note of which vines bite

EXTRA CREDIT . cultivate a rare magical plant and present its uses in class (good luck)

AVOID MISHAPS . always wear gloves when handling anything spiky, slimy, or screaming

★⋆. HISTORY OF MAGIC

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR BINS . he doesn’t even care if you’re awake, but it helps if you look like you’re taking notes

HOMEWORK . endless essays on goblin rebellions, giant wars, and other events you’ll most definitely forget by next term

TIPS TO EXCEL . use mnemonic devices to remember key dates. start essays early—he grades on length

EXTRA CREDIT . find obscure historical details to add to essays. mentioning “primary sources” makes you look smart, and Binns doesn’t typically look into it further

AVOID MISHAPS . don’t doodle in your notes too obviously—he might drone on even more if he catches you

★⋆. POTIONS

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR SNAPE . know your ingredients and don’t speak unless spoken to. follow his instructions perfectly and try to look invisible. or he’ll eviscerate you

HOMEWORK . brewing practice and essays on potion theory. if you mess up the potion, he’ll expect twice the length in your essay

TIPS TO EXCEL . re-chop your ingredients before class, and try to do other prep work. Snape hates inefficiency

EXTRA CREDIT . create a new potion under his supervision. (warning: he will make you test it.)

AVOID MISHAPS . don’t ever blame Snape or his instructions if something explodes. just accept it and clean up quietly

★⋆. TRANSFIGURATION

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL . she’s strict but fair. do your work well, and she’ll respect you; slack off, and she’ll make you wish you hadn’t

HOMEWORK . spell diagrams, written explanations, and frequent wandwork practice

TIPS TO EXCEL . precision and focus are key. get creative, but don’t try anything too wild without permission

EXTRA CREDIT . demonstrate a flawless human-to-animal transfiguration (with her approval)

AVOID MISHAPS . never let your transfigured objects escape—chasing a hopping teacup through the halls is not fun, and you’ll never hear the end of it

★⋆. ARITHMANCY

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR VECTOR . she’s sharp and no-nonsense, but she’s got a soft spot for students who genuinely try. don’t show up without your charts; she’ll notice

HOMEWORK . endless numerical equations and analysis of magical patterns. expect to translate runes into numbers and vice versa

TIPS TO EXCEL . understand how numbers relate to magic—this isn’t just math, it’s magic theory in disguise. double-check your work; one wrong digit can tank your entire assignment

EXTRA CREDIT . present a new numerological correlation, like how the number “7” might affect potion brewing. bonus if it’s creative but realistic

AVOID MISHAPS . never guess at a solution—Professor Vector will spot laziness in seconds. keep your workspace neat, or the equations will haunt you

★⋆. ANCIENT RUNES

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR BABBLING . she’s patient and incredibly smart, but don’t come to class unprepared. misreading a rune will make her launch into a lecture about “respecting the symbols.”

HOMEWORK . translate ancient texts, decipher rune sequences, and write essays on magical etymology. sometimes includes carving your own runes for practice.

TIPS TO EXCEL . memorize the rune meanings and their magical properties—flashcards help. pay attention to detail; even a tiny line can change the meaning of a rune

EXTRA CREDIT . create your own rune sequence that produces a magical effect and explain its purpose. creative runework always gets top marks

AVOID MISHAPS . don’t mix up Nordic and Celtic runes—they have very different contexts, and Professor Babbling will lecture you for days

★⋆. MUGGLE STUDIES

DEALING WITH PROFESSOR BURBAGE . she’s enthusiastic and loves students who ask questions, even obvious ones. if you show respect for Muggle ingenuity, you’re golden

HOMEWORK . research papers on Muggle inventions and their impact, as well as practical exercises like identifying Muggle objects

TIPS TO EXCEL . don’t overthink it—Muggles live without magic, but they’re surprisingly clever. show curiosity and avoid using the word “primitive”

EXTRA CREDIT . present a Muggle artifact and explain how it works. bonus points if you demonstrate something functional, like a can opener or a bicycle pump

AVOID MISHAPS . don’t call electricity “the Muggle version of Lumos” unless you want a 10-minute tangent about how they’re completely different

★⋆. FLYING

DEALING WITH MADAM HOOCH . she’s strict but fair; listen to her instructions, and she’ll let you have some fun. mess around, and you’ll be grounded faster than you can say “Quidditch”

HOMEWORK . practicing broom control outside of class and writing essays about famous flyers or the mechanics of flight

TIPS TO EXCEL . focus on balance and broom grip—this isn’t about speed (yet). always stretch before class; cramps mid-air are embarrassing and painful

EXTRA CREDIT . show off advanced flying techniques, like tight turns or broom dives (but only if you’re really confident). bonus for clean landings

AVOID MISHAPS . never try to show off in front of the first-years—wobbling on a loop-the-loop is not a good look. keep your broom maintained; a splintered handle spells disaster.

[ there you have it—follow this guide, and you’ll not only pass these classes with flying colors, but you might even look like you know what you’re doing while you’re at it, and maybe you’ll avoid getting hexed by Snape. we’ll see ]

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[justasecretflower]

Okay like imagine you teaching Satoru Gojo! Learning how to swear in English and him just going crazy with it.

Thanks for the idea chiefclown🤍

____________________________________________

Tapping my pen on the desk I look down at my paper. We were tasked to write everything we knew about domain expansion in 3 minutes on our paper. In reality, I transferred here because there were no schools in America for jujutsu sorcerers. So when I had realized I kind of needed to learn Japanese quick I choppily got down writing, reading, and being able to translate when I hear Japanese, but I still can’t get the pronunciation.

I could still communicate with my peers, though. Satoru Gojo came up with the bright idea of writing down on a piece of paper. In fact, he sat right next to me. He was a solid 2 feet away but I could still smell his mint and laundry detergent, which wasn’t the worst smell admittedly. While Sensei Yaga stepped out for a moment, Gojo immediately slid his notebook on my desk. I mentally sigh and look at the note book, translating what he said in my head.

:)! Heyy..you should teach me swear words so I can curse out Sensei Yaga -Your best friend Satoru

I give Satoru a quick glance and see him absolutely giddy, squirming in his seat and a huge cheesy smile that had just a hint of mischief. Clicking my pen I look down for a second, remembering what to say in Japanese, no, I wasn’t perfect at writing but to my defense I didn’t have a lot of time to practice it.

Satoru, If you take me on a shopping spree with all of your “strongest sorcerer ever” money I’ll agree.

I slid the notebook back to him, watching his sunglasses slightly fall to the bridge of his nose. Instead of rolling his eyes dramatically and giving up his lips curl upwards. He writes back, this time not taking him as long.

Deal! The sky’s the limit. >:)

Okay well, not only did I make a deal to hangout with Satoru Gojo, I have to make him more of a menace than he already was.

___________________________________________

I had two bags on my arm and Satoru talking my ear off. He suddenly grabs my hand, dragging me over to the cold booth in the middle of the mall. “Okay now..first one, how do you say fuck?” I blink.

“For the F sound your teeth go over your bottom lip, then uh, then a hard Kay sound.” I speak in broken up Japanese but Gojo clearly got it, mimicking the sounds slowly, each time sounding more and more clear.

“Fuck!” He yells proudly, his arms flying above his head as he lets out a huge laugh. Some passerby’s turn their heads, one lady gently guiding her young son away with her hand on his lower back. “Satoru! Stop yelling!” I whisper yell.

He lets out a small akward laugh, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and leaning in more towards my face to whisper. Getting a whiff of his minty breath and soft smell of cleanliness “okay, now bitch.” Satoru demands in a slightly lower tone. I think for a second now I’ll break the word up in English then I start.

“Buh…the “I” is coming from the back of your throat like “eh” then the ch is when you put your teeth together and go like…ch ch” he nods intently, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so focused, or even this serious, like, ever.

“Buh-itch.” “Bitch!” He almost yelled again, slapping a hand over his mouth and giggling like a little kid.

This was gonna be a long “lesson”

____________________________________________

I’ve created an absolute monster. Not that Satoru wasn’t one before but now he’s saying English swear words left and right. Speaking of him, Yaga is lecturing his ear off and I have an inkling he’s gonna swear again.

“Satoru you never take anything seriously! You should’ve taken care of the curse first not change your background and swoon over mei mei like an idiotic-“

“Fucker!” Satoru yelled, smiling like he was thanking Yaga and nodding. He was acting like he got the message and was oh so thankful for the input. Nobody but him and I know what he’s actually saying, and Yaga nods like he did something, walking away leaving Satoru giggling behind his hand.

Yeah, Never teach Satoru Gojo how to swear in another language.

Tags

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part three

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you and Aemond get to know one another.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist:The Black Dread < < < previous part, part two: read here > > > next part, part four: read here

word count: 4k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: it's not much!!! cursing, ye ol’ flirting without chaperones, temptation / feelings are hard, romance, small angst, eavesdropping, men being gossipy little cunts who talk shit, broken family dynamics, we see a little more into big!sister!reader, depiction of medical phenomenons to a child.

Monday -

Eyme had been your lady's maid for years now, to the point the pair of you had formed an intimate relationship. Granted, Alora had been your closest companion since childhood, Eyme was close to an additional guardian; a kind and sweet soul that helped guide you through life. This mornings, she stood behind you, brushing your hair, watching you in the vanity mirror as you could not hide the deepening thoughts that melted your brain.

Even if not so obvious, she could read you like a book.

"You ready for today, dearie?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, as I'll ever be," you mused, finding her gaze over your shoulder.

"Who is it you'll see today?"

"Prince Aemond. It's strange, you know? Picking between two Princes of the Realm when I was run out and humiliated during courting seasons at the Red Keep. What a rush, finding a husband the old fashion way; by being a bargaining chip in war," you mocked with a roll of your eyes.

She chuckled, securing the long, golden-red tresses, "No, the Gods were saving you for this moment. You'll turn the tides, my darling, in this war, in history, in the Targaryen lineage - "

"What does that mean?"

Eyme sighed, "We both know the rumors, darling girl. About the Black Queen's sons?"

You waved her off, "Oh, that's petty business - not our own."

"I'm just saying, you will change a lot of fates with your choice between the Princes."

"That's pressure I never imagined."

"You will make a handsome match to either," she assured softly. Eyme tied off your hair, fixed minimal make-up over your skin, and helped you dress in something comfortable with sensible shoes. Just outside your door, your usual household guardsman, Bryer, escorted you to your father's old office chambers to go over accounts for the day with Maester Keiff Foral.

It was there Aemond found you.

"I do not mean to interrupt," the Prince stopped short in the doorway, "I was a bit turned around - I can leave, if you could direct me - "

"No need, my Prince, please, come in," Maester Foral insisted, taking up several tomes and scrolls. "I'm on my way out, please sit. Could I send some tea up?"

"That would be nice, thank you, Maester," you agreed, shuffling a few accounts on the grand desk you sat at. "My Prince, I must apologize, unfortunately, being Lady of the House does not come with days off."

He hummed, "I understand that. Is now a bad time, my Lady?"

"No, you are most welcomed," you gestured him forward. "I need but a few moments to clean this up - "

"Take your time," Aemond smirked gently. "I had an idea, in fact, that might be of interest? Since you're in this clerical mindset?"

"Oh? I would like to hear it."

"Would you say you are proficient in High Valyrian? Being a Dragon Rider and all?"

You chuckled dryly, nodding, "Uh, well, no, I only know but a few words, and even those, I murder the pronunciation."

"Would you like to learn?"

"I need to," you nodded, "but it is also a personal desire of mine, yes."

"Is it too forward to ask if I could interest you in but a few lessons?"

There was a knock at the door as you left paperweights on the few stacks of parchment you had been reviewing, calling, "Come in!"

"My Lady," Eyme spoke softly, entering with a tray of tea, "Maester Foral sent me."

"Thank you, Eyme. But I think we might take this in the library, yes?" You asked Aemond, standing from your seat.

"Yes, if that's acceptable," he nodded, following your lead.

"Oh?" Eyme asked, scurrying out the door when Aemond held it open for you both.

"The Prince is kind enough to offer me lessons in High Valyrian."

"How nice," Eyme complimented, leading the way down the corridors. "Gods know you could use the lessons, she sounds like a drowning cat, my Prince - "

"I do not!"

"You have the attention span of a passing squirrel! It'd be a miracle if you could focus!"

Aemond found your relationship with 'the help' strangely cozy, something he wasn't sure how to feel about. He did not comment and instead smiled politely, but mostly just listened to the two of you bicker lovingly and wondering what kind of Princess of the Realm would speak so candidly to the commoners. The One-Eyed Prince reminded himself that the Tyrells weren't prominent in court and still considered 'low born', trying to cut you some slack when he accounted for your lack of royal decorum.

In the library, Aemond's nose turned up ever so slightly at the - by comparison to that of the Red Keep - minuscule space and minimal literary options. You and Eyme set up the tea at a table as he browsed the limited selection, doing his best not to literally pet a finger over the wood and through the dust. He heard you dismiss your handmaiden and asked over his shoulder, "Are you sure about these lessons, my Lady?"

"Why would I not be, my Prince? I ride a Dragon of Old Valyria, do I not?" You quipped.

"Yes, but it would appear your selection is vastly... Limited," he frowned, gesturing at the shelf he inspected. "It would seem you do not have... Anything on the subject at all."

"I've already pulled the literature," you told him smugly, his hair fanning around his shoulders as he turned to look at you in what appeared to be surprise. He discovered your fists on the table, candles arrayed for ample lighting, and stacks of books spaced out around you, the teapot, and cups.

"I see," He smirked in return, making his way back towards the table. "Is there a reason you've already arranged them?"

"In truth, I might be one of the few who frequents the library anymore," you shrugged, gesturing him to a seat. "And with my new acquaintanceship with Balerion, I've been the only one with need to refresh their memory on the histories of Valyria."

Aemond hummed and gazed over the spines of the books, nodding before making a selection. "I'm familiar with this volume. It's a good introduction," he opened the book with a rickety spine.

"That's been read," you eased, pointing to the pile he chose from, "those have all been read, actually."

"Very good," he nodded, storing his selection and turning for the other pile. You realized how much you liked his praise. "Anything you wish to disclose before we dive in?" The Prince distracted your rampant thoughts.

"I'm familiar with the histories, it's the language and pronunciations that I struggle with."

"It's not a language for the faint of heart."

"So I've discovered. I've oft heard it said immersion is the best educator, yet none in these parts can speak enough for me to practice with."

Aemond nodded, "Well... Should you choose to return with me to King's Landing, there's plenty to practice with."

"Oh?" You chuckled.

"Well... At least there's me," he purred, making a new selection and pulling the book closer. "Here we are," Aemond opened it, careful of the fragile pages. "This is good for what you need to know with Balerion."

You leaned forward on the table, smiling gently and listening intently; following his finger over the inked words on parchment as he began his lesson. In the candlelight, shadows contoured his face in an eerily handsome cast.

Wednesday -

It was difficult to remain so unbiased when both Princes were bringing their A-game; and it seemed, Aemond honed in on your lack of Targaryen experience to romance you with your birthrights. On Monday, Aemond had spent hours with you in the library, pouring over old tomes; patient in his lesson, trying to ensure you knew basic and important commands for when riding Balerion. And now, he was ushering you off the Keep's grounds to where the dragons were planted outside the gates.

"I must confess, I'm a bit nervous. Where are we going?" You laughed gently, the ground still slippery from early morning dew.

"For a flying lesson."

"Oh, no, no - I've only rode once and I'm fairly certain I blacked out for most of it."

"I can see why," Aemond mused, approaching the great ebony beast resting in the valley, "you don't even have a saddle, what terrible discomfort."

"Oh, well, I've sent ravens to King's Landing, asking any saddlery of his left be sent."

"Good," he praised, petting over the hand you had curled around his bicep. "He's... Larger than I would've imagined."

"He's a sweetie - " And of course, in that moment, Balerion lifted his head and bared his teeth in warning. You yanked Aemond to a halt, "But also conversationally temperamental."

"I was merely curious to see him with my own eyes," Aemond admitted. "He's greatly impressive."

You smiled, "Gorgeous, no?"

"I'd say."

"Did we come all this way to gawk at him, or...?"

"No, no," Aemond cleared his throat, "I thought perhaps I could tempt you into a flight on Vhagar. She's the closest thing in size and speed to Balerion, thought it might be good practice."

"You mean...?"

"By yourself? No, no, I'll be there, but yes, you'll need to know how to fly."

"I'm sure I could figure it out. Right?"

"If you'd like to take the chance," he agreed.

"All right," you took a breath and exhaled deeply. "All right, yeah, sure, let's do it." Balerion growled again, his eyes ablaze like the fire brewing in his chest; snorting in warning. In High Valyrian, you called, "Be calm, my friend."

"He's very protective of you," Aemond noted.

"As he should be," you smirked. You told your dragon, "We're visiting with Vhagar, be still. We'll be back."

After The Black Dread grumbled and lowered his head, the Prince offered his arm, "Right this way, Lady Tyrell."

You chuckled and let Aemond lead you upward, Balerion's growl vibrating the ground you ascended to hike out of the crater. You made idle chitchat as you walked, learning about his family unit and his influence in this war - but he seemed to shut down around that subject, so, you steered away.

Vhagar was impressive in size, but in earnest, a fraction of your beast. She was a sleepy old lady, Aemond rousing her with words you now understood and repeated after him - per his direction. You laughed, "You're a thorough educator."

"You're a dedicated student."

Sharing a smile, you watched him encourage his dragon into consciousness; telling her they were going for a fly and to behave. Carefully, Aemond showed you how to climb the rope ladder to mount Vhagar's saddle, giving a small but genuine chuckle when you teetered for balance and he needed to stabilize you. Together, with Aemond sat close behind you, showed you the ways in which a Targaryen Dragon Rider could control and hold onto their mount. He latched you to the saddle for safety and then himself; pressed so close, it was surely indecent.

Before anything could be said, Aemond was encouraging Vhagar to her feet. "Gods be fucking good!" You yelped at the sensation, grabbing onto the arm Aemond anchored your waist with. "Oh, fuck, okay, yeah, all right, this is fine," you muttered, nodding as you forced yourself to get used to the fact that you were a Dragon Rider now - an elite group amongst those who even ruled the Realm.

"You're all right," Aemond muttered in your ear. "I've got'yah." You gulped a little when Vhagar shook out her sleepy hide. "Ready?" He asked, repeating himself in High Valyrian.

You agreed in the same Tongue, "Ready."

Within moments, Vhagar was taking off over the grounds and into the air. You gasped shrilly and held on where Aemond placed your hands, trying to remember what he taught you - but every rational thought was out of your head in that moment. "Open your eyes," Aemond chuckled, hot breath fanning your neck and cheek, "a Dragon Rider must be alert at all times, open your eyes, my Lady."

"Oh, this is fucking scary," you breathed, doing as he said and letting your eyes pop open.

"What a mouth on you," he teased.

"We're in the bloody air! There's no place for decency up here!" You squealed, calming down enough to pant lightly and take in the sights around you. "Oh, wow... Wow, would you look at this..."

"Gorgeous, no?" He teased your words from earlier.

"Just - wow," you could only answer, Vhagar leveling out to flap her wings lazily.

"Vhagar," he commanded in High Valyrian, "higher."

You held onto the saddle as the dragon soared into the clouds, making you giggle a little from the strange sensation of flying through them; Aemond smiling against the shell of your ear. When you broke the seam of clouds, the sun was rising at the perfect moment to give you a shining display of brilliant blues, pinks, oranges, and yellows all painted in the sky and clouds.

"Hold here," Aemond instructed through the flight. "Lean left." "Lean back." "The dragon and rider must bond, they'll take verbal command." "Use this reign when in a fight - this one for altitude - hold here for casual cruising."

You soaked up his words like a sponge.

"Remember to breathe," his words tickled your ear, large hand splayed on your waist. "Keep your heels down, planted - like a horse, good, good, that's good."

Your head turned to watch his other hand 'check' your legs, ensuring they were in the right position on the saddle. When his gaze lifted, it was almost too natural for your foreheads too meet and press together. "It's improper..." You whispered, "But I feel the innate desire to kiss you, I think."

"Perhaps it's only improper beneath the clouds. There's no place for decency up here, right?"

You chuckled, "Right, but it's still improper of me as an unmarried lady no matter if above or below the clouds. I will resist, I'm sorry for voicing such desires."

"Don't apologize," he whispered, both content to simply be for a moment, "it's something I want to do as well."

"Looks like we're both being tempted," you tisked, pulling back. "Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Of course."

"What does life look like if your side is victorious in this war?"

Aemond pondered for a moment, offering, "I cannot say. Though, my brother is but a puppet."

"And you the master?"

"Amongst others, I suppose," He admitted, though it stuck in your mind. "Though, I suppose, life would be simple enough with Aegon on the Throne - there'd be no further challenge to his seat. We would live as comfortably as possible."

You hummed and decided to test your new knowledge. Picking up the right rope-reign, you commanded in High Valyrian, "Back to the Keep, Vhagar."

"Very good," Aemond chuckled, then repeating your command - as his dragon didn't listen to anyone other than him. Once on the ground, Aemond walked you through proper landing skills and then the dismount by unhooking all belts and climbing off the rope ladder.

Once safely away from his dragon, you chuckled, "Is it like that every time?"

"Like what, my Lady?"

"The rush? The adrenaline?"

"I'll let you know if it ever wears off."

You were beginning to think you'd have to 'let him know' if your budding affection for him ever began to 'wear off'. The One-Eyed Prince escorted you back into the Keep.

Saturday -

The Tullys House words were, "Family, Duty, Honor," and while you were a Tyrell and Targaryen, you held these words dear to your chest. You would always place your family above your duty and honor; your duty above yourself.

The night prior, your little brother began showing signs that he was starting an "episode", the kind term to his "fits". It worried you, but there was little to be done for now; so you told the staff to alert you to any changes he might have. You had plans to see Aemond one last time, so you left them directions on where to find you.

You were exhausted by the week's events; where your duties didn't stop, you were entertaining the Princes, and playing mother to a child not yours - though, that, you wouldn't give up or exchange for the world.

Still, you made an effort to visit with the Princes after their effort to travel to Highgarden.

Family. Duty. Honor.

So, the pair of you met in the lush gardens of your home, showing the Prince the vast array of different vegetation your family could boast. You spoke of little things from your youth to aspirations later in life; from favorite foods to how war might affect your marriage. All good things, all proper logistics needed considered before committing to lifelong matrimony. The peace shattered when Eyme came sprinting through the gardens, "My Lady! My Lady!"

"We're here," You turned immediately, Aemond's brow furrowing. "What is it?" You demanded when the handmaiden was within sight.

"It's - It's Ryden, my Lady, it's your brother - "

"I have to go, I'm so sorry," you bid Aemond, patting his arm as you disentangled yours from his. "I'm so sorry, my Prince, but my brother needs me. Please, en-enjoy the gardens! The fruits are edible, you must try them! I'm so sorry, again!"

He didn't get to answer as you intercepted Eyme and started up the path she had come barreling down. Aemond stood there, dumbfounded, blinking in shock before scoffing gently. He didn't even remember hearing what the problem was, only that it was something with your brother - then you were leaving. Without a thought, no other information requested. Aemond found this response dramatic as he returned to his guest chambers.

Later that evening, when your brother was safe in bed and under the watchful eye of Maester Keiff Foral, you decided you owed Prince Aemond an apology and explanation. You decided to seek him out in his guest chambers, sending for a reserve of sweet Dornish wine; approaching the cracked door when voices spilled into the hall in an echo.

Unfamiliar booming laughter accused, "Perhaps the Tyrells have taken a page from the Targaryens! And they love one another deeply! Too deeply!"

"Oh, please," Aemond was heard, "it was more panic than anything. It begs the question why she is caring for a child not her own? Am I foolish to think the Lady's reaction was extreme? Dramatic?"

"No, it sounds as if it was," the voice of Aemond's household guardsman, Criston Cole, was heard - possibly indicating the two were alone. "But women usually are, my friend. Why would the Lady Tyrell be different?"

"Her beauty might give her a pass," Aemond mused, "though, little else. Should hear the way she speaks to the castle staff, Cole, it's as if they're friends."

"Once she's out of her element, she'll calm down and depend on you, my Prince, she'll come to follow the rules. Then, I suppose all that's left is to thank the Targaryen whores for such a pretty bride," Cole snickered.

"How's that?"

You were repulsed by what you were hearing yet could not walk away, intrigue rooting your feet.

"You heard your mother," Cole lamented in amusement, "the Vanished Princess was granddaughter of Old King Jaehaerys, sister of the Queen Who Never Was."

"Mhm," Aemond agreed.

"She broke off her engagement to a Northern Lord, married some Tyrell instead, and was overlooked in favor of Viserys. But before that, she was disinherited and became a whore, all promiscuous and rebellious. At least Lord Tyrell managed to wrangle her in, right? Saddle such a ridden filly?"

"Unless you believe the rumors that say the Vanished Princess was pregnant already and Lord Tyrell raised the bastard as his own out of the goodness of his heart. Or that he was infertile, a eunuch, the rumors are vast - "

Cole cut Aemond off, "It still gives Lady Tyrell Dragon Blood, and we need her dragon, my Prince. So, bastard or not, we need Balerion on our side, it's in the Realm's best interest you cast aside your prejudice and conclude romancing her."

"She makes her decision tomorrow."

"So go to her tonight."

Your face pulled in a look of disgust, stepping back a few steps and loudly approaching. You knocked heavily on the door, letting it swing open further to reveal yourself to the two scheming bastards. Your hand discreetly held up to halt Eyme before she was in view, intercepting the decanter of Dornish wine before it could be delivered.

"My Lady," Cole jumped to his feet.

"No, please, don't get up, I will not be long," You spoke diplomatically, waving the guardsman back to his seat. "I merely wished to offer my apologies to the Prince again, explain what caused me to leave in such a dramatic fashion."

The two didn't seem to pick up on your choice of words.

"As most of the Realm knows, my father has been sickly for quite sometime and as his firstborn, his responsibilities fall unto me. My father is now fully disabled and bound to a bed, but for years, he's been friendly with Death. He's not long for this world, and without our mother, I am all my brother has. He's just a boy of 10, named Ryden. When he was about 7, he fell from a tree and hit his head, where now, he suffers from some affliction that gives him what we call 'episodes' or 'fits'. Any could be his last and it takes a team to pull him out of them. I apologize for my abrupt departure earlier, my Prince, but Ryden began having symptoms last night and I knew today could get bad; so I wanted to be there - since he has nobody else."

Family. Duty. Honor.

"Oh," Aemond blinked, slowly standing from his seat, "no, no, my Lady, please, do not apologize. Is your brother all right?"

"I appreciate the concern - yes, he's all right now. I have assigned a trusted few to the nightshift in preparation for the morrow. I trust your company will be present?"

"Of course," Cole agreed, looking rightfully shellshocked.

"Right. Then, goodnight, I shall see you both tomorrow afternoon."

Aemond might've opened his mouth to stop you, but you were rushing from the room and shutting the chamber door with a loud, reverberating clang. It was your silent way of saying, 'That's how you close a fucking door!'

You seethed against the wood for a moment, feeling your lip authentically twitch in pure rage; movement catching in your peripheral and alerting you to another presence.

It was Eyme, still holding the wine.

Swiftly, you lifted a silencing finger to your lips and ushered her back several feet. She followed suit, hustling along your side when you changed direction to head for your chambers instead. You were huffing and puffing with exertion when you reached your private salvation, facing Eyme in anguish as tears filled your eyes.

"What did I miss?" She asked softly.

"Much I care not to repeat."

"If you do to me, you need not to anyone else."

You mulled over her words, nodding along. "You knew my mother, didn't you, Eyme?" You asked instead.

Your handmaiden set the wine to a table and sighed, "Aye, I did. I adored the woman, we knew one another in youth and she brought me here when she married your father."

"Would you pour a glass?"

She nodded and did as bid, handing you the chalice; pausing, then pouring her own. Eyme deflated into one of your armchairs, asking, "Why do you ask, poppet?"

You gulped about half the wine, swallowing bitterly. "I think I wish to address rumors of her... I know what I wish to say, would you help me write it out? Tell me what I missed?"

"What brought this on? What did you hear Prince Aemond say?"

"For that, we'll need more wine," you muttered, going to open your door to flag a passing maid as Eyme gathered parchment and a quill with ink.

It was a long, sleepless night.

< < < previous part, part two: read here

> > > next part, part four: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread series masterlist

[nightunite]

mhmmm forehead kisses between reader and konig

- half-asleep noona 🫶🏻

Hewwo Noona! This gave me the chance to write something I've been itching to add but haven't had the time to (curse needing a paycheck). Fair warning, my ass does NOT know how to play piano! @beloveds-embrace

Konig gently rolls his neck, looking at the clock ticking away on the far end of the music room, the crackling fire interrupting the sound of the steady movement of the clock's hands. Glancing out the window, he sees the snow coming down in fat flakes, covering up the signs of the servants' playful fights from yesterday and painting it all a serene white once more. A quarter after three, and a quarter after their lesson should have started. Ah, no matter, there's always tomorrow. He stands from the piano bench, turning to leave the room when he hears the sounds of socked feet drawing closer. Thumping over the hardwood, closer and closer, until his ricke appears in the doorway, out of breath and panicked. "Apologies sir! I didn't mean to oversleep, I-" Her hair is a mess, strands tossed to and fro, and he can't help the way his fingers twitch to card them back into place. "Nonsense, ricke. You are carrying a baby, you need your sleep." He walks over to her, trying to fight the blush he knows is desperate to make it's way across his cheeks as she looks at his bare face. His shroud had been cast aside shortly into their language lessons. After all, how was she to know how to shape her mouth for correct pronunciation if she couldn't see his example? That didn't make it any easier when she looked up at him like this, always so nervous for his approval. Clearing his throat, he holds out his arm for her, guiding her to the piano bench for the start of their lessons. She had come to him shortly after the others had taken her under their wing for language lessons, hands clasped in front of her. He had been sat here, gently playing the lullaby his mama would hum to him and that he was guilty of repeating when lost in thought... "You play beautifully, my lord. I wish I could play as well." "Would you like to learn?" "Of course!" And so, in much the same way as she was learning his native tongue, she now was his piano student. Of course, none of the other maids knew how to play, so he would be taking this task on by himself. If it made the spots of his heart that had chilled when their lessons had been overtaken thaw once more, that was no one's concern. He merely wishes to broaden her horizons and be a good employer. Besides, it allows him more opportunities to speak with another and keep his own language skills sharp. He helps her sit down, mindful of her and her bump. Ever since she had told him, he couldn't help but look after her. What if she fell, or tripped? As her boss (and perhaps her friend, though he hesitated to speak it aloud, the mere thought reddening his ears and highlighting them further), it was his responsibility to ensure the safety of his staff. "We will start with the warm ups, then move to the steps from yesterday, ja?" He tells her, watching her set her hands on the piano. Before she plays a single note though he's reaching from behind her, fingers sliding along the inside of her wrist to set her hands in a better position, one where they aren't curled like claws and causing cramps later. "Remember, loose." He murmurs, pulling back from her. "Thank you." She says back, taking a breath. She sets to work, playing a few notes slowly, careful not to make them overlap. They had only been at these lessons for little more than a week, so she knows not to expect to immediately be a maestro, but she can't help her disappointment when she makes mistakes. He watches over the top of her head, bent down at an angle that she's sure is bad for his back, but he assured her this is the best way for him to observe and correct her.

She makes her way through the scales, growing frustrated as she fails to move her fingers correctly. Chewing on her lip, she tries again, hitting the wrong notes in the process. She speeds up in an effort to force her hands to play better, but it just results in more errors, notes tumbling out of sequence. Before she grows too irritated though, Konig reaches for her hands again. "Too stiff. You have to move your hands like a dance." He gently sets his hands over hers, fingers moving across the keys. When it comes to the part where she struggles he gently tucks her thumb, so focused on teaching that he doesn't realize he is essentially holding her hand in his, his words whispered into her ear and making her fight a shiver. They're warm like they always are, so careful with how they move against hers, a cradle that keeps her hands safe from the harshness. It stokes something in her, the part of her that craves connection with another, craves closeness. "Step, step, step. All the way through." He guides her up and down the scale, showing her how to move her hands to produce a smooth transition. After a few more repetitions of it, he gently releases her hands, still hovering over the top in case she needs further guidance. "Go on ricke, you can do this." Slower than him, and with a bit of shakiness, she moves her hands, hoping not to embarrass herself after all of that. Each note comes out clear, and when she successfully makes it up and down the scale by herself she can't help but beam. She glances up at him, smile bright, to find him looking down at her with a similar expression. She's not expecting what follows. "Good job ricke!". Without thinking, he presses a soft kiss to her hairline as a reward. He pulls back, not processing what he's just done, while her expression changes to one of surprise, big doe eyes blinking up at him. When it finally hits him, he can feel the heat flood his entire face, blistering his ears and trailing down his neck and chest. His little student also flusters, and the two immediately look elsewhere, the chaste kiss still enough to set their hearts racing. Oh scheisse, how he wishes he still had on his mask. Clearing his throat, he regains his composure as best he can. "Apologies. That was crossing a boundary. I meant to say, you are learning well." If his voice is slightly higher pitched, it is only because he must be coming down with some illness. Same for the knot in his stomach, most likely the result of the cooks using bad potatoes for that day's lunch of stew. "Thank you sir." She murmurs shyly, fighting the urge to touch the spot his lips touched, the skin tingling. Just like his hands, his lips were warm, if a bit dry. The flutter she feels in her stomach must be from the baby, the racing of her heart causing them to get fussy. "Now, on to the next scale..." So they spent the afternoon, with the snow outside and the warmth inside, both the room and the people residing in it aglow as new paths were tread. TRANSLATIONS: Ricke - Doe Scheisse - Shit

[jeeseth]

I DON’T UNDERSTAND — bang jeemin x f!reader

you has to move to a new country due to your father's work. you face difficulties in school as you cannot understand the language and culture of the new place. however, everything changes when you met jeemin, who sincerely helps you adapt and feel comfortable in the new surroundings.

tags 💭 — fluff?, non-idol au, high school au, fast burn, foreigner!reader, sensitive!reader, slight cursing, bullying and etc, lowercase intended, mens dni, grammatical errors .

as you stared nervously out the window of your private car, your dad reached over and patted your shoulder gently.

"don’t worry, you’ll make friends in no time." he said with a reassuring smile. you forced a small smile in return, trying to hide your anxiety.

you were on your way to your new school — your fifth school in three years. ain’t that crazy? basically, your dad’s job means that you have to move around a lot. this time you were moving across the world, and it meant starting a whole new life in a completely different country.

thoughts swirled anxiously inside your head as the car pulled up to the front gate of the school. it was a large, intimidating building with an imposing facade. you felt small and vulnerable as you stepped out of the car and followed your dad towards the entrance.

as you and your dad walked through the school halls, you could feel the weight of curious stares following your every move. everyone was already in their groups, chatting and laughing. it felt like you’re an outsider, like you didn’t belong here.

you two finally made it to the office where you was immediately introduced to the principal and a few teachers. they all smiled warmly and said all the usual welcoming words, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place.

after the formalities were over, you was assigned a senior student tour guide to help you navigate the school. and that was how you met the bang jeemin.

when you first laid eyes on her, you was blown away. she was so beautiful and confident. she had long, glossy dark brown hair and piercing eyes. as she approached, she smiled warmly and extended her hand in greeting.

"i’m jeemin, i’ll be your little tour guide and help you settle in." jeemin smiled as she speaks in english to you. her voice was soft yet firm and she had a friendly manner that instantly made you feel at ease.

you introduced yourself in a shy voice and shook her hand, feeling your palm grow sweaty. jeemin didn’t seem to notice though (hopefully), or if she did, she didn’t show any signs of it. after that, jeemin gave you a quick tour of the school, showing the classrooms, cafeteria, and other important areas. one place you wouldn’t be able to get out of your mind was the library. the library is so huge and you feel like you can die happy right now.

as we made our way to the dormitory, you couldn’t help but notice that jeemin’s english was not as fluent as the other students. she would occasionally struggle to find the right words, and her pronunciation was a bit off. but you don’t mind it one bit. she’s fully korean after all.

as we reached the dorm building, jeemin turned to you with an embarrassed smile and apologized in a soft apologetic voice. "sorry, my english not very good," she said sheepishly. "i will try my best though."

you shook your head and smiled warmly at her, telling her that you indeed do not mind it all. instead, you find it to be quite cute that she’s trying her best to communicate and guide you despite the language barrier.

"it’s okay, i understand you." you smiled softly in which jeemin smiled back in return. jeemin’s face brightened at your words and she seemed to relax a little (a lot).

"okay so, you like the room?" she asked, gesturing towards the dorm room we had reached. you nodded and followed her into the room. the room was small but cozy, with two beds and a couple of desks. there was even a little window that let in some natural light. oh you love it already. perfectly matched your aesthetic.

jeemin continued showing you around the room and pointing out important things like the bathroom and the mini fridge. as she did, you couldn’t help but notice how naturally she moved around the space, as if she knew it well.

finally, we stopped in the middle of the room and she looked at you with a smile. "is comfortable for you?" she asked, gesturing to the space around us.

you giggled softly at her english cause you find it absolutely adorable. how could anyone be this cute while trying to communicate? you softly nodded again and smiles back, feeling a little bit more at ease in this new environment.

"yeah, it’s nice. thank you for showing me around."

jeemin’s face lit up at your response, and she beamed at you with a relieved smile. "you’re welcome." she replied softly. "i happy to help."

there was a moment of comfortable silence between us, and you suddenly felt a strange sense of connection with jeemin. maybe it was the fact that you were both ‘outsiders’ in a way — she with her imperfect english, and you as the new foreigner. finally, jeemin broke the silence and changed the subject.

"so, where you come from?" jeemin asked, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

you snapped out of your thoughts and look up at jeemin with a soft smile. why did you just realised how tall this girl actually is. "australia." you replied with a short and simple answer since you don’t want jeemin to get confused or anything.

when jeemin told you to tell her more, you were a little surprised at the fact that she’s genuinely is interested in what you’re saying. even though she might not understand. you smiled and told her more about your home country, how it was different from this one, and some of the things you liked about it. jeemin listened intently, asking simple and short questions and showing genuine interest in what you had to say. as we talked, you could feel your anxiety slowly melting away. jeemin had a way of making you feel comfortable and at ease. before you even knew it, we had been talking for a good half hour. it feels like a minute to you.

just then, jeemin’s phone buzzed with tons of messages. she glanced at it and then looked up at you with an apologetic expression.

"i must go now," she sighed. "have extra class to attend."

you pouted slightly and nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment. you had been enjoying your conversation, and you didn’t want it to end. but jeemin was already gathering her books and packing up her bag. good things always doesn’t last long after all.

you watched quietly as jeemin gathered her things. no matter how much you hate to admit it, you’d be lying if you said you’re not gonna miss jeemin’s presence. you’re not sure why but she has this thing that makes you feel comfortable around her immediately. even though she’s a lil awkward.

jeemin noticed your pout and disappointed expression and she smiles to herself. you’re being so adorable in her eyes. "i’ll come back later." she smiled, reassuring you that she won’t leave you that long. (jeemin could never)

you nodded and sighed quietly. "okay, see you later jee." jeemin was taken aback by the sudden nickname but eventually she chuckled afterwards. gosh. you’re too cute. jeemin feels like she could die from your cuteness.

a few hours later, jeemin finally returned back to the dorm room. forgot to mention to you guys but, jeemin is indeed your dorm mate. she was still in her school uniform and looked tired, but her face brightened when she saw you sitting on your bed, studying.

sensing a presence in front of you, so you glanced up and saw jeemin standing in front of you, holding out two small cartons of milk — one with chocolate and one with strawberry. it took you a moment to realize that she wanted you to pick one, but didn’t know how to ask you that in english.

you smiled at her and pointed to the strawberry milk, knowing it’s your favourite. jeemin grinned back and handed you the carton, then sat down on her own bed, resting her chin on her hands and watching you curiously.

slowly, you opened the carton of strawberry milk and took a sip, savouring the sweetness. jeemin watched you with a small smile, her head tilted slightly as if she were studying your reaction.

after a moment, she decided spoke up, her voice soft. "you like?” she asked, pointing to the carton in your hand. you giggles before nodding which make jeemin grins happily. not to mention but jeemin was contemplating her life decision when buying the milk. wondering which flavour would you like and what if you can’t drink any milk.

the next morning, you was woken up by the sound of birds chirping outside the window. groggily, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness of the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. as you stretched and yawned, images from the previous day started to flash through your mind. jeemin's friendly smile, her warm presence, the way she had tried to make you comfortable in a foreign environment.

suddenly, you realised that you hadn’t seen jeemin since she had left for her yet another extra class the day before. you looked around the room, but she was nowhere to be seen. her bed was made, and the room was empty. you frowned, feeling a pang of disappointment. you had hoped to see jeemin again this morning, to chat with her and maybe get to know her a bit more. but it looked like she had already left for class.

and that’s what you thought. and you were wrong. you flinched and your mouth dropped open in surprise as the door suddenly burst open and jeemin appeared, breathing heavily and holding a plastic bag full of food. you hadn’t expected to see her at all, let alone with breakfast in tow.

jeemin looked up at your expression and gave you a sheepish smile, gesturing towards the food in her hand. "um, breakfast." she said in her broken english.

it suddenly dawned on you what she had been doing. she had gone out early to get us food for breakfast. you felt a warm feeling in your chest, touched that she had thought of you and done something so kind. you smiled back at her and nodded. "thank you." you grinned, getting out of bed and stepping closer to her.

as you got closer, you could smell the aroma of freshly cooked food wafting out of the plastic bag. your stomach growled loudly, reminding yourself that you didn’t eat anything at all yesterday. jeemin laughed at the sound of your grumbling stomach and set the food down on the desk. she started to unpack the bag, revealing an array of different breakfast items — eggs, sausage, toast, and some fruit.

it all looked delicious and you couldn’t help but feel grateful that she had gone through the trouble of getting it all for us. jeemin gestured for you to sit down at the desk and she began to plate the food. you took a seat at the desk and watched as jeemin expertly prepared the food, carefully dividing everything into two portions. she moved with a grace and ease that was almost mesmerizing to watch. ugh. fine. everything she did is mesmerising.

finally, she placed a plate in front of you, piled high with food. she then sat down in the chair opposite you, looking at your expression expectantly.

"eat." she said, gesturing at the food. her tone more like demanding but whatever! you eagerly dug into the food, savouring each bite. it was delicious — the eggs cooked just right, the sausages perfectly seasoned. you realised that you had been so anxious and distracted the previous day that you hadn’t eaten anything at all.

as you ate, you occasionally glanced up at jeemin. she was watching you closely, a satisfied smile on her face, as if she was happy to see you enjoying the food she had gotten for us.

"you’re so damn cute gosh." jeemin mumbled in korean. you look up from your food and look at jeemin with a confused look as if silently waiting for her to translate that. jeemin saw your reaction and chuckles before brushing it off just like that. now you’re so damn intrigued. what was she saying.

we ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the clinking of silverware on plates. the sun streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow on the room and enhancing the feeling of contentment between us.

once we had finished eating, you put down the fork and looked up at jeemin. "thank you so much for the breakfast," you grinned, feeling a lump form in your throat. "it was really kind of you to get it for me."

on the other hand, jeemin who only understood the ‘thank you’ part smiles softly, telling you that it’s nothing and she’s willing to do it again and again for you. is she flirting now?

after breakfast, you and jeemin left the dorm room and made our way to class together. the sun was shining, and a gentle breeze cooled the air.

as we walked, jeemin chatted quietly to you, pointing out different landmarks around the school and sharing snippets of gossip about the other students. her English was much better today, and her pronunciation was slowly improving. and you couldn’t be more than proud. you listened intently, enjoying the sound of her voice and the way she would laugh softly at her own jokes. you couldn’t help but feel grateful for her presence by your side. in a place where you felt so out of place, she was a constant source of comfort and familiarity.

we eventually reached the classroom and jeemin led you inside. the teacher greeted us with a friendly smile and gestured towards the seats in the back of the room. you sat down, and jeemin took the seat next to you.

throughout the class, you found youtself stealing glances at jeemin. she was so focused on the lesson, her eyes fixed on the teacher and her notebook filled with neat, precise notes. you couldn’t help but admire her diligence and intelligence. and damn. she’s so pretty.

as the teacher droned on, you found your thoughts drifting away from the lesson. instead, your mind was filled with thoughts of jeemin — the way she always seemed to know what to say, the way her hair fell gently around her face, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. everything about her seems to make your heart skips a beat.

suddenly, you was jolted out of your thoughts by the sound of the bell signalling the end of the class. the teacher dismissed us and the sound of the other students getting up and packing up their bags filled the room. you looked over at jeemin, who was already packing up her things and getting ready to leave. you quickly packed up your own bag, eager to spend more time with her.

just as we were about to walk out of the classroom together, jeemin turned to you with an apologetic expression.

"i um dance practice," she said. "you go back to the dorm, okay?"

you felt a pang of disappointment at this news. you had been hoping to spend more time with her. but you nodded understandingly and mumbled a quiet, ‘okay’.

as jeemin walked off towards the dance studio, you turned and started making your way back to the dorm alone. the hallways felt eerily quiet and empty now that jeemin was no longer by your side. as you walked, your mind began to wander again. you found yourself thinking about jeemin — wondering how her dance practice was going, what she was doing, and if she was thinking about you too.

you snapped out of your thoughts by the sudden impact of being pushed against the locker. your back hit the metal surface with a thud, and you let out a cry of surprise. as you tried to regain your bearings, you looked up to see who had pushed you. standing in front of you was a tall, bigger boy with a mean expression on his face. shit. you’re fucked up.

"watch where you’re walking, foreigner." the boy sneered at you, his eyes narrowing in a menacing glare. his friends stood behind him, snickering and whispering. seriously? he’s the one who suddenly pushed you against the locker.

"wait, you’re cute though." the boy grinned.

you was taken aback by the sudden change in the boy’s tone. he had gone from being hostile to calling you cute in the span of seconds. you couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or if he was playing some kind of game. his friends snickered again, watching with amusement as their leader continued to talk to you.

"yeah, she got a pretty face." he said to his friends, his eyes never leaving you. the way he looked at you made you extremely uncomfortable, his gaze raking over your body appraisingly. you tried to push past him, but he stepped in front of you again, blocking your way.

"where you going, pretty?" he asked, a smirk on his face. "you’re not trying to leave already, are you?"

you felt a pang of fear and anxiety. this boy was clearly looking for a fight or at least some kind of reaction from you. you tried to remain calm as you replied to him softly, "i just want to go back to my dorm."

the boy leaned in closer to you, close enough that you could feel his (nasty) hot breath on your face.

"and why should I let you do that?" he said, his voice low and taunting. you swear you’re about to piss yourself right now. this is too scary for you.

suddenly, you heard a commotion behind you, and you turned around to see jeemin grabbing the boy by his collar and pulling him away from you. she looked angry, her eyes flashing fiercely. that’s really hot though. wait what.

"what do you think you’re doing?" she demanded, her voice sharp. you does not understand anything because they are speaking in korean.

the boy looked surprised at first, but then a sneer appeared on his face. "relax," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "i was just talking to this pretty girl."

jeemin scowled at him. "well, you’re done talking now." she snapped, her hold on his collar not loosening one bit. the boy opened his mouth to protest, but jeemin cut him off. "and if i ever see you bothering her again, you’ll regret it."

the boy’s expression darkened at jeemin’s threat, but he didn’t dare argue back. his friends shuffled nervously behind him, not wanting to get on jeemin’s bad side as well.

jeemin released her grip on the boy’s collar, giving him one last glare before turning to face you. her expression softened as soon as she saw the look on your face — fear mixed with relief — and she took your arm gently.

"come on." jeemin said, her voice calm and steady. "let’s go back." you nodded wordlessly, still reeling from the encounter. as we walked away, you couldn’t help but turn back to look at the boys one last time. they were still standing there, watching us go with expressions ranging from anger to grudging respect.

as we walked down the hall together, you felt a wave of gratitude towards jeemin. she had arrived just in the nick of time, saving you from who knows what kind of situation. you turned to her, feeling your throat tighten with emotion.

"thank you." you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. " i don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up."

jeemin only smiled softly before gently ruffling your hair. she might not understand what you said but she can tell that you’re thankful for her for saving you earlier.

we walked in silence for a moment, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the nearly empty hallway. you felt a sense of safety and comfort in jeemin’s presence, knowing that she would protect you from any danger. finally, we reached the dorm room, and jeemin pushed open the door for you to walk in first. the room was just as we had left it, quiet and cozy. jeemin shut the door behind us and locked it before sitting down on her bed.

you walked to your own bed and sat down, feeling a bit shaken up from the encounter. you started to unpack your bag, trying to focus on something other than the events of the hallway.

jeemin sat on her bed, watching you closely. she could tell that you was still shaken up by what had happened in the hallway, and she wanted to ask if you was alright. but she wasn’t sure how to ask, not sure if you would want to talk about it or not. after a few moments of silence, she spoke up, her voice soft.

"you okay?" jeemin asked, her concern evident in her voice. in which, you only nodded in response. doesn’t really want to talk about it.

jeemin frowned, not fully convinced by your nods. "are you sure?" she asked again, scrutinizing your face for any signs of discomfort. "tell me. i listen even if i don’t understand."

jeemin’s words had an immediate effect on you, making your heart skip a beat. it was both surprising and touching that she was willing to listen to you, even though she might not understand everything you said due to her limited english.

"i’m just a bit shaken up from that guy in the hallway, that’s all," you sighed, your voice a little shaky. "he was being really aggressive and it freaked me out a bit."

jeemin nodded, her expression serious. even though she might not have understood every word you said, she could still pick up on the tone and emotion in your voice.

"i see," she said, her voice soft. "it must’ve been really scary for you."

you continued talking to jeemin, sharing more details about the encounter with the boy in the hallway. despite her limited english, her expression and body language showed that she was genuinely interested and listening to you. you could tell that she was trying her best to understand, even though there were definitely words and phrases that she didn’t recognize. as you spoke, you found yourself feeling more and more relieved. it was cathartic to be able to share what had happened with someone, and even though jeemin couldn’t fully understand everything, just having her listen and respond was comforting.

while you was talking about the encounter in the hallway, you noticed that jeemin had a small, amused smile on her face. you raised an eyebrow at her, not understanding why she was smiling at a story about you being harassed.

"i don’t understand but i love you."

you stopped talking mid-sentence, dumbfounded by jeemin’s sudden declaration. had I heard her correctly? did she really say “I love you” in the midst of your story about being confronted in the hallway. you stared at her, your eyes wide and mouth open in surprise.

"wait, what did you say?" you asked, your voice cracking a little bit. you was sure you had heard her wrong. there was no way she had said “i love you” in the middle of your story, right?

jeemin’s smile widened, and she repeated herself clearly this time.

"i love you." she said again, her voice calm and steady. "i don’t understand everything you are saying, but i know i love you."

your heart skipped a beat again at her words. she had really said it, you hadn’t misheard her. she had confessed her love to you, despite not fully understanding the words you had been saying.

you didn’t know what to say in response. you was both shocked and flattered by her sudden declaration, and you knew that your face must be flushed with color. you stared at her for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts.

"but why?" you finally managed to ask, still reeling from the unexpected declaration. "you don’t even understand what I’m saying most of the time. how can you love me?"

"language barrier won’t stop me from loving you."

jeemin’s words hit you like a ton of bricks. she was right — despite our language barrier, her love for you was strong regardless.

"but… how?" you asked, still baffled by her confession. "how can you love someone who you can barely communicate with?"

jeemin shrugged, her smile never wavering. "it doesn’t matter," she said simply. "language isn’t everything. i can see how kind you are, how hardworking you are, how much you care about others. that’s why i love you."

"i’ll learn english for you. i’ll do my best to understand you." jeemin smiled, gently caressing your hand. she brings your hand to her lips and press a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

[ginnysgraffiti]

basketball player timothée.

TIMOTHÉE x yn.

new york.

your new home.

the wheels of the suitcase clattered on the sidewalk as you watched the taxis whizzing by, the drivers accompanying the guide with a few curses or slangs, the girls bouncing with twenty different bags of clothing and some tourists looking at the map from the wrong side.

you could breathe the new york air deeply.

a few groups of black break-dancers altered one choreography after another, their steps large, loose and flexible while the crowd filmed them cheering.

the hotel was still far away, but going on foot offered a coming and going of full and busy life that you enjoyed.

the blue glass skyscrapers were tall, dizzying, and you felt extremely small and helpless.

you passed a few more newsstands and a luxury shop along the avenue when shouts of encouragement and the screeching of sneakers caught your attention.

a group of boys were immersed in a lively game of basketball, their shoe soles burning on the playing field every time they ran.

a tall guy with a grey loose and wet sweat t-shirt and some blue shorts intrigued you.

his sweat-soaked brown curls fell across his forehead, glistening in the harsh sunlight.

his movements were impressively quick and his reflexes were excellent. his team had the lead and you were lucky enough to see him score four baskets in a row.

then everyone stopped, complimenting each other with pats on the back or friends-like hand gestures that you couldn't imitate.

the players sat down panting and out of breath, some had already drunk the entire bottle and some were wringing a wet cloth over their foreheads.

then, the intriguing guy spotted you behind the green chain-link fence of the playground, a smirk swinging on his lips.

you felt a knot in your stomach tighter than the towels tortured to wet their forehead.

he then got up, walking towards you and getting out of the playground.

"tourist?" the boy asked with nonchalant.

"yeah...actually, i was planning on moving here." you managed.

"cool. enjoyed the match?"

"yes, i...you were very good."

"training, that's all."

you were about to make up an excuse to say goodbye when he offered his hand for you to shake.

"timothée, timmy for friends."

"it sounds pretty french."

"i'm half french, but the pronunciation is up to you."

a small wink reached you.

you could tell your knees were pretty jelly.

"well...i don't want to bother you but...do you happen to know how to get to the fifth avenue? my hotel should be nearby."

"of course i do, and it's no bother, really. just give me a minute, don't move."

you watched him run back to get his package and phone, but the next moment you were already walking together, barely touching each other's arms.

anxiety was eating you alive and gastric juices burned inside your intestines. you wanted to thank timmy for his availability but the throat was sealed.

fifth avenue wasn't that far away, but with that tangle of alleys and crazy taxi drivers you were grateful to have a guide.

you looked at the hotel address and noticed that it was right in front of you. it was much nicer than the photo in the online booking, and the thought of fresh sheets tickled your back.

"well...i don't live far from here. if you need directions I'm always here." his laughter interrupted your thoughts.

"yes, thanks..."

he quickly offered you his number, maybe he even surprised you looking at his lower lip.

you would definitely have called him, but not for directions...

[de-sterren-nacht]

The Fae of the British Lostbelt

This is gonna be a long one, so strap in.

The fae and other creatures of the British Lostbelt take heavy inspiration from real-life legends; almost every major character is named after a type of fairy or mystical creature from British folklore. Many of these names are not English; I've added a pronunciation guide for these in brackets after the word. In this post, I'll go over the beings and concepts these characters are named for and compare the legend to the original. This won't include Morgan or Oberon; those figures are complex enough to deserve posts of their own.

Aesc [ASH]

Aesc is more accurately spelled Æsc. It's an Old English word for the ash tree, and also doubles as the word for the rune for the letter Æ. This is pretty much a direct translation into Old English of Aesc's Japanese name, Tonelico (トネリコ), a word meaning "ash tree".

Albion

Albion is a poetic name for the island of Britain, from Greek Albiōn (Ἀλβίων), the name used by classical geographers to describe an island believed to be Britain. The name probably means "white place", which is how it's connected to the Albion of Fate. The Albion of Fate is the White Dragon, a symbol of the Saxons from a Welsh legend. In the most well-known version of the legend, the King of the Britons at the time, Vortigern, was trying to build a castle on top of a hill in Wales to defend against the invading Saxons, but everything he tried to build collapsed. He was told by his court wizard to find a young boy with no father and sacrifice him atop the hill to alleviate the curse. He sent his soldiers out and found a boy being teased for being fatherless, but when he brought the boy to the hill, the boy, a young Merlin, told him that his court wizard was a fool and that the real reason for the collapsing castle was two dragons inside the hill, one red and one white, locked in battle. The red dragon represented the Britons, and the white dragon represented the Saxons. Merlin told Vortigern that nothing could be built on the hill until the red dragon killed the white one. A red dragon is the symbol of Wales to this day, and a white dragon is occasionally used in Welsh poetry to negatively represent England. This white dragon is Albion in Type/Moon lore.

Baobhan Sìth [bah-VAHN shee]

A baobhan sìth is a female fairy in Scottish folklore. The name literally means "fairy woman" in Scottish Gaelic. They appear as a beautiful woman and seduce hunters traveling late at night so that they can kill and eat them, or drink their blood depending on the story. They're unrelated to banshees except in terms of etymology (Banshee is from Old Irish "ben síde", meaning the same thing as baobhan sìth). They're often depicted with deer hooves instead of feet, which is probably what inspired Baobhan Sìth's love of shoes.

Barghest

In the folklore of Northern England, a barghest is a monstrous black dog with fiery eyes teeth and claws the size of a bear's. The name probably derives from "burh-ghest", or "town-ghost". It was often said to appear as an omen of death, and was followed by the sound of rattling chains. The rattling chains probably inspired Barghest's chains. Her fire powers are also obviously based on the fiery eyes of the barghest. Otherwise, she's not very connected to the folkloric barghest, which is never associated with hunger or eating humans.

Boggart

In English folklore, a boggart is either a malevolent household spirit or a malevolent creature inhabiting a field, a marsh, a hill, a forest clearing, etc. The term is related to the terms bugbear and bogeyman, all originally from Middle English bugge, or possibly Welsh bwg [BOOG] or bwca [BOO-cuh], all words for a goblin-like monster. It usually resembled a satyr. It's not really ever depicted with lion features, so it's anyone's guess why Boggart is a lion-man.

Cernunnos [ker-NOON-ahs]

Cernunnos, probably meaning "horned one", was an important pre-Roman Celtic god. His existence is only attested by fragmentary inscriptions and the repeated motif in Celtic religious art of a "horned god", a humanoid figure with deer antlers seated cross-legged. This fragmentary evidence is often led to assume that Cernunnos was a god of nature, wilderness, animals and fertility. There exists no evidence that Cernunnos was a chief deity of any kind, since we have barely any evidence he existed at all in the first place. Cernunnos might not even be his name; it's just the only name we have. Needless to say, the only thing the Cernunnos in the British Lostbelt has in common with the real figure is his large antlers.

Cnoc na Riabh [kuh-nock-nuh-REE-uh]

Cnoc na Riabh, Knocknarea in English, is a hill in Sligo in Ireland. The name means "hill of the stripes", referring to its striking limestone cliffs. It's said to be the location where Medb's tomb lies, so it's connected to Cnoc na Riabh through Fate's conflation of Medb with Queen Mab, a fairy mentioned in Romeo and Juliet; this etymology of Mab as derived from Medb was formerly accepted, but has lost favour with the advent of modern Celtic studies due to the lack of any concrete connection between the two figures.

Grímr (don't know how to say this one, apologies; Germanic myth is not my strong suit)

Odin (Wōden in Old English) was a god worshiped in many places, basically anywhere the Germanic peoples went, including the Anglo-Saxons that became today's English people. As such a widely worshiped god, he had a very large number of names, titles and epithets. Grímr is one such name, literally meaning "mask", referring to Odin's frequent usage of disguises in myths, which is fitting for how Cú disguised himself as a faerie in the British Lostbelt and hid that he possessed Odin's Divinity from Chaldea.

Habetrot

Habetrot is a figure from Northern England and the Scottish Lowlands, depicted as a disfigured elderly woman who sewed for a living and lived underground with other disfigured spinsters. She often spun wedding gowns for brides. Cloth spun by her was said to have curative and apotropaic properties. All the Habetrot of the British Lostbelt has in common with this figure is the association with brides and with spinning cloth. "Totorot" is not a real figure; the name is just an obvious tweak of Habetrot.

Mélusine

Mélusine is a figure that appears in folklore all across Europe. The name probably derives from Latin "melus", meaning "pleasant". She's a female spirit of water with the body of a beautiful woman from the waist up, and the body of a serpent or a fish from the waist down. In most stories, she falls in love with a human man and bears his children, using magic to conceal her inhuman nature. However, she tells her lover he must never look upon her when she is bathing or giving birth. Of course, he invariably does so, and when he does, he discovers her serpentine lower body, and she leaves, taking their children with her. Since Mélusine is just the name Aurora gave her, the Mélusine of the British Lostbelt has very little to do with this figure, but an analogy can be drawn between the Mélusine of folklore hiding her true form as a half-serpent to maintain her relationship with her lover, and Fate's Mélusine suppressing her true form as both a dragon and an undifferentiated mass of cells to ensure Aurora continues to love her.

Muryan [MUR-yan]

A muryan is a rather obscure Cornish fairy. The word is Cornish for "ant". Muryans are diminutive figures with shapechanging abilities, cursed to grow smaller every time they use those abilities until they eventually vanish altogether. Muryan, of course, is connected to muryans through her ability to shrink others.

Spriggan [SPRID-jan]

A spriggan is a type of creature in Cornish folklore. The word is derived from the Cornish word "spyryjyon" [same pronunciation], the plural of "spyrys", meaning "fairy". They're usually grotesque old men with incredible strength and incredibly malicious dispositions, and are often depicted guarding buried treasure. Spriggan is not himself a faerie, and the name is stolen from a faerie he killed, but it's still appropriate due to the greed and selfishness spriggans are usually depicted with.

Woodwose

Woodwose is a Middle English term for the wild man, a motif in European art comparable to the satyr or faun. The etymology is unclear. It has little to do with wolves or animals, despite its association with wildness, but there is at least a thematic connection with Woodwose's character, since the archetype of the wild man depicts a figure who cannot be civilised or well-mannered no matter how hard he tries, much like how Woodwose barely restrains his temper by being a vegetarian and dressing in a fine suit. Woodwose's predecessor, Wryneck, is named for a type of woodpecker with the ability to rotate its neck almost 180°.

[collabwithmyself]

I'm sorry if this has been stated before, but how is Cadell's name pronounced? I just now realized that I might be imagining it wrong

It's Cuh-DELL! I initially pronounced it CAY-dull myself before I learned how the name is actually pronounced (not the first time I've done that, check your OCs' name pronounciations!)

Some other OCs that might need a pronunciation guide:

Kirstynne: CURSE-tin

Ayaka: EYE-uh-ka

Akiko: AH-kee-ko

Aoi: Ah-OH-ee

Hitoshi: Hee-TOH-shee

Violeta: VEE-oh-LET-ah

Seraphina: Ser-uh-FEE-na

[galinneall-dearg]

Hmmm thinking about Rheneas' name, and the RWS "REN-e-as" vs the TVS "re-NAY-as" comparisons

Cuz the thing is, at the end of the day Sudric is a conlang that- while based in IRL Gaelic languages- is not those languages and is allowed to vary however it wants. So the pronunciation is mostly up in the air and we don't have a solid idea of how certain words should be said.

However! His name does contain the word 'eas' which is an actual word in all three Gaelic languages (Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Manx). It means 'waterfall' (...and also 'cataracts' but I'm trying not to sidetrack), and therefore has an actual, tangible way it should be spoken...

...And neither pronunciation gets it right

Irish: "ass"

Scottish Gaelic: "es" ( <- sourced from this dictionary)

Manx: "ass" (<- I could not find any audio that I could trust but this link has a written phonetic guide which includes 'eas' if you scroll to the bottom)

The word is not two syllables! Consistently across the languages it's only a single syllable word, meaning that 'Rheneas' technically should only be two syllables- and said as "ren-ass" or "ren-es"

In other words that second 'e'- which the pronunciation of is the main point of contention between the RWS and TVS versions... Should be silent.

Although- If you want me to be REALLY pedantic, in the syntax of all Gaelic languages, the adjective comes after the object that's being described. This how Dolgoch's name is also formatted, with 'Dol' meaning 'meadow' coming before 'goch' which means 'red.' Since 'Rheneas' is supposed to mean 'divided waterfall' this results in...

Easrhen ("ass-ren" or "es-ren")

Which I admit is.. A little cursed.

(Also I'm not fluent in Scottish Gaelic/Manx/Welsh and I only know limited Irish, so if anything here is incorrect *please* let me know!)

[xjulixred45x]

I had this idea thanks to 1- catching up with JJK and 2- my Tango classes.

~Context~

Did you know that in Japan Tango is popular among couples? Since it is a closed society that does not show much affection, Tango is the perfect excuse to be affectionate with your partner in a more public way there. It's very interesting.

and it made me think...

Geto and Gojo (more or less in their third year) with a S/o who just does Tango, bonus points if she is Latina (Uruguayan/Argentine/Brazilian, there is something to choose from) and they end up interested in this Western dance.

Gojo would obviously be the most conceited about it and is mainly interested in the sensual movements of the woman in the dance, I can already see him with the typical dance costume and with the rose in his mouth🤣, he learns quickly, from what he can easy reach his S/O's Level, it would still make it quite fun, his Spanish pronunciation is surprisingly good, but he gets confused with several words and movement (e.g., the Eights/Ochos and the Fives/Los cincos). Honestly, he would like to learn the woman's steps, since according to him "they are more fun than the man's" and Lowkey also wants to do pirouettes and have his S/o guide him.

Imagine him doing the Sit-In/La Sentada🥴🤩🤣Gojo doesn't mind dancing with people other than his S/o, he definitely prefers them, yes, but he's not shy at all.

Geto became more interested in the culture behind dance, plus it being something that his S/o enjoyed encouraged him to want to know more about it. Lowkey, a Tango nerd lol, turned out to be much darker than he thought, but he just wanted to know more until he finally asked his S/o to teach him the basics of the dance. I imagine his pronunciation is considerably worse than Gojo's😅, like, a 7 year old speaking Spanish, it's not bad perse, but sometimes you don't understand him(ex, he confused Bachata with Patata).

He dances very well, but only with his S/o, if someone suggests the idea of practicing with someone else to lose his shyness (something normal that is done in Tango) he will get nervous, trying to put his hands in any place that he considers respectful, but precisely thanks to that he does not mark the steps well and ends up causing problems with his partner or in the best of cases they try to get him to return to his S/o because they notice how difficult that type of physical contact can be for him. ...nearby.

Don't underestimate him, I think he preferred the faster songs because they are more entertaining to dance to (and preferably the ones that don't have lyrics because DAMN Tango songs are super sexist or misogynistic) and in a way he is quite good with the man's steps , but try to make it more equitable.

both consider women's clothing quite... disproportionate to man's clothing, I mean, their S/o has to wear 1-short dress, 2-cleavage, 3-HIGH heels, 4-Bare back (sometimes) head but they are covered in feet??? They know that it is more because of the historical context in which Tango emerged but they are still a little worried.

Even so, they both support this hobby a lot, A LOT, in itself it is useful to have some physical activity (even if your S/o is also in Jujutsu High, it is good to have a distraction from the horrors of the curses) and plus, have the opportunity to show public affection! 2x1!

I hope You like this Drabble!

[ginnyluvstimmy]

basketball match (timothée x f.reader)

New York.

Your new home.

The wheels of the suitcase clattered on the sidewalk as you watched the taxis whizzing by, the drivers accompanying the guide with a few curses, the girls bouncing with twenty different bags of clothing and some tourists looking at the map from the wrong side.

You could breathe the New York air deeply.

A few groups of black break-dancers altered one choreography after another, their steps large, loose and flexible while the crowd filmed them cheering.

The hotel was still far away, but going on foot offered a coming and going of full life that you enjoyed.

The blue glass skyscrapers were tall, dizzying, and you felt extremely small and helpless.

You passed a few more newsstands and a luxury shop along the avenue when shouts of encouragement and the screeching of sneakers caught your attention.

A group of boys were immersed in a lively game of basketball, their shoe soles burning on the playing field every time they ran.

A tall guy with a grey loose and wet sweat t-shirt and some blue shorts intrigued you.

His sweat-soaked brown curls fell across his forehead, glistening in the harsh sunlight.

His movements were impressively quick and his reflexes were excellent. His team had the lead and you were lucky enough to see him score four baskets in a row.

Then everyone stopped, complimenting each other with pats on the back or friends-like hand gestures that you couldn't imitate.

The players sat down panting and out of breath, some had already drunk the entire bottle and some were wringing a wet cloth over their foreheads.

Then, the intriguing guy spotted you behind the green iron fence network of the playground, a smirk swinging on his lips.

You felt a knot in your stomach tighter than the towels tortured to wet their forehead.

He then got up, walking towards you and getting out of the playground.

"Tourist?" The boy asked with nonchalant.

"Yeah...actually, I was planning on staying here." You managed.

"Cool. Enjoyed the match?"

"Yes, I...you were very good."

"Training, that's all."

You were about to make up an excuse to say goodbye when he offered his hand for you to shake.

"Timothée, Timmy for friends."

You smiled.

"It sounds pretty French."

"I'm half French, but the pronunciation is up to you."

A small wink reached you.

"Well...I don't want to bother you but...do you happen to know how to get to the Fifth Avenue? My hotel should be nearby."

"Of course I do, and it's no bother, really. Just give me a minute, don't move."

You watched him run back to get his package and phone, but the next moment you were already walking together, barely touching each other's arms.

Anxiety was eating you alive and gastric juices burned inside your intestines. You wanted to thank Timmy for his availability but the throat was sealed.

Fifth Avenue wasn't that far away, but with that tangle of alleys and crazy taxi drivers you were grateful to have a guide.

You looked at the hotel address and noticed that it was right in front of you. It was much nicer than the photo in the online booking, and the thought of fresh sheets tickled your back.

"Well...I don't live far from here. If you need directions I'm always here." His laughter interrupted your thoughts.

"Yes, thanks..."

He quickly offered you his number, maybe he even surprised you looking at his lower lip.

You would definitely have called him, but not for directions...

[jmdbjk]

Bangtan Weekly Report

Why did JK come back to Korea?? I seriously thought it was to send Yoongi off but we're still not there yet.

This trip for JK is supposedly associated with a fashion schedule. Seems like if he was on his way to the VMAs they'd be ramming his appearance down everyone's throat for clout.

Personally, I hope he does not appear on that farce of an award show but if he does he'll pomichidai or however you spell it.

Dazed and Jungfused. He let those nipples see daylight and hasn't looked back.

JK is single-handedly dragging us along in Chapter 2, force-feeding us some grown-ass man full bleed adult Bangtan with his cigarette-smoking, nipple-feuled photos.

You know Mr. OG with the nipples will need to step up his game now right?

Tae x Layover ... poor guy wondering why everyone was cursing him out during his listening party on Stationhead.

So I listened to Layover. Added it to my playlists. It's nice, jazzy, R&B. Those genres are not my usual vibe.

Of all the songs, I think Slow Dancing is the one I like best. They were right to choose that as the title track.

The MV is gorgeous, except for the weird images of Yeontan in the trees of the mountain. Those kinda creeped me out... a little hokey, lol.

I was surprised that the songs are heavy in English lyrics. I know Tae has memorized things in English for things like award shows and all, it never seemed like he was confident in speaking English so it surprises me there is so much English in these songs.

Perhaps this is why he had Jungkook record the guides so he could follow them to help with pronunciation.

I watched a few of his Layover promotion interviews. I've been waiting to see him let more of his personality out during this solo rollout.

Tae is very animated and expressive when he speaks. And this is where I say he would excel at acting. He mentioned wanting to play a villian and I WOULD LOVE TO SEE THAT!

The Weverse Magazine story and today's Suchwita episode were more enlightening to me than anything else so far and gave me more insight as to the differences between him and the others. He made me understand his personality better. He made me realize or remember how sentimental he is. They talked in-depth about several topics: 2018, Chapter 2, individual projects and best of all they talked about when they get back together as 7. It did make me tear up when he said when they get back together he would like them to go on a trip together.

Anyway...

Tae has been feeding us on Instagram daily along with Namjoon...

Happy 29th birthday Namjoon!

You are loved and admired. Thank you for normalizing fuzzy mole head Bangtan, but I'm still going to fall down in a weeping mess when I see Jimin's head like that.

RM just going about his business and showing Jimin some art. The Leeum Museum is within walking distance of their apartments at Nine One, not that I think they walked there, they probably went in Jimin's car since Joon still doesn't drive... just kidding... but who knows. I got behind a Porsche Panamera the other day and was thrilled. That's a much larger car than I originally thought it was.

[Pretty sure that's a drink Jimin's holding in his left hand. Maybe iced coffee.]

I want to think that some deep conversations happened while these two were contemplating art. How can deep conversations NOT happen when you are hanging around Joon?

And Hobi and Jin still making their presence known on Weverse and IG. We are on the downslide for Jin. I can't wait for him to be back.

I think, not 100% sure, but I think after Korean men are discharged from the military they are automatically put in reserves. I didn't know that until the other day. So we may think they are scott-free when they are discharged but not really. Phooey.

💜💜💜

Just a quick thing for insight: Miley Cyrus said touring is hard for her because she felt her "ego" gets "overused" and that "it's hard to turn it off." She said "I think when you're training your ego every single night to be active, that's the hardest switch, for me, to turn off." Having every day the relationship between her and other humans to be basically 'subject' and 'observer' isn't healthy for her because it erases her humanity and her connection.

Just food for thought...

[goforth-ladymidnight]

Heart's Blood by Juliet Marillier

For those of you who are looking for a good fairy tale retelling, @swiftsnowmane once recommended "Heart's Blood" by Juliet Marillier. Having stayed up until 3 o'clock in the morning to finish it, I am here to report that it is everything I wanted in a Beauty and the Beast retelling and then some.

It admittedly started off a little slow, and I wish there had been a pronunciation guide for the Irish names the way there was for the Romanian names in "Wildwood Dancing" (by the same author), but these are overall minor complaints. By the time Caitrin, our heroine, enters a certain private garden and the familiar elements of the fairy tale began falling into place, I was hooked. Part historical fiction, part fantasy, part romance, and part mystery, I had forgotten what it was like to stay up all night reading.

I think what made it such an especially compelling story was the nature of the curse, which Caitrin slowly becomes aware of and seeks to undo. Unlike "Beauty" by Robin McKinley (one of my favorite retellings) or "A Court of Thorns and Roses" by Sarah J. Maas (of which I have a love-hate relationship), the curse makes sense.

The novel "Beauty" was less concerned about the curse (which was vague at best and an afterthought at worst) and more about developing Beauty's character and her relationship with the Beast. Side note: Prior to the publication of Robin McKinley's novel, the character of Beauty had never been given much to do in the Beast's castle, but here she was given the chance to read. Sound familiar? I'm sure Disney took note, and the 1991 animated film seems to have inspired every rendition of Beauty ever since!

For example, Caitrin is a scribe in a time when most women weren't taught to read, much less write. Even in ACOTAR, SJM chose to make her Beauty (Feyre) illiterate, which made breaking the curse more difficult. Which leads me back to my original point about the believability of the curse in Beauty and the Beast retellings: ACOTAR is more concerned about making Feyre's life as difficult as possible so that Tamlin's (the Beast's) curse is almost impossible to break, even though it's already very complicated when it doesn't have to be.

By contrast, in "Heart's Blood", the curse feels more believable, though no less fantastical. To avoid spoilers, I won't say what exactly it entails, but, interestingly enough, it does not directly affect the "beast's" appearance. Granted, Anluan, the chieftain of Whispering Tor, still behaves like a beast in many ways (it wouldn't be a Beauty and the Beast retelling otherwise!), but the subtle ways in which he changes throughout the story more than make up for his lack of fangs and fur. And I grew to love him for it, just like Caitrin did.

This is one book I will be gladly adding to my collection. If only it had an illustrated cover as intricate and detailed as the one(s) made for Wildwood Dancing... I would be content.

Cover art by Kinuko Craft and Janaina Medeiros (@/janainaart)

Perhaps, one day it will.

[japanese-cryptic-beauty]

Phonetic composition for Wanikani

Remember how I mentioned the book "The Kanji Code" in my lengthy article about on'yomi ("Chinese") readings of kanji?

Turns out the benefits of the book can be had for Wanikani users through the magic of "userscript."

What's the benefit

So, phonetic composition is how a great many of the kanji you're (supposedly) trying to learn are made. These particular kanji are called 形声 or "keisei" - "form-voice" kanji.

For the "form," they contain a part (often referred to as "radical") that gives you the meaning/semantic category of the kanji, like what the concept is mentally filed under.

For the "voice," they contain another part that hints you at how they are pronounced. It is commonly believed that kanji are only pictorials linked to concepts, but for keisei kanji this is not the case. A big part may not pertain to the meaning at all. Spotting the "voice" part can help you recall the on'yomi sounds of kanji much easier and systematically.

Yes, this is specifically for the "Chinese" readings. The Japanese readings are words from a language that had nothing to do with the formation of the original hanzi script, after all.

(Examples are in the original article.)

How it works

Websites are rendered by your browser, but how your browser does this can be extended and changed by scripts that rely on the Javascript language. Nowadays browsers like Chrome or Firefox allow you to install "extensions" that do various jobs for you - blocking ads, returning the ability to copy/paste to pages that block it, etc.

Wanikani, the kanji-learning website, incorporated early on support for so-called userscripts, both a blessing and a curse. Curse because whenever they want to change something on the website, a very vocal userscript culture will complain about breaking their stuff. Blessing because it allows you to extend what WK can do.

How it's done

You can basically follow the guide here, but I must admit I failed to do so because I think something's missing.

What you do is this:

Install Tampermonkey (guide) - this is the basic engine.

Install WK Open Framework (guide) - this is Wanikani's own script support.

Install Keisei support (guide)

Now, if this worked, you should see something like this on various pages - for kanji readings and radicals:

This will tell you if a phonetic component is present in your kanji or if it is itself present in another kanji as a phonetic component. The readings printed in bold are readings still used for that kanji, others listed are merely present in phonetic components but not in the original kanji. Because history.

It also shows you cases where the link is weakened because the pronunciation changed - in the example you see this marked in red. Basically there is a grading system (so far I've seen "heaven", "above", "middle", and "below").

A Caveat

There's only one caveat. Tampermonkey is very powerful. You need to trust the scripts you install, because it could potentially alter what you see on websites or enter/submit stuff for you.

On Chrome there is a good solution for this. When you click on the "Extensions" icon in the top right, you can select "This can read and change site data" from the three dots behind Tampermonkey.

I recommend doing it like this:

Select "On all Sites" during the installing of the WK Open Framework and the "Keisei" support script. (Else the install links have a habit of not working on Chrome.)

Then change it back to "When you click the extension".

Now go back to a tab with Wanikani open. Go back to "Extensions -> This can read and change site data" and select "On wanikani.com".

Congrats! Now Tampermonkey is only enabled on Wanikani by default.

Alternatively, use it in a separate browser. I haven't found an easy way to restrict permissions on Firefox, for example. But if you use it in a separate browser that you only use for Wanikani, you should be good.

Kanpai to the people who made this possible!!

[all-was-not-well]

Coronabeth and Ianthe vs Cain and Abel

Alright I'm sure that someone else has already said this and they probably said it better but it's been a month since I read Harrow the Ninth and this theory is still rattling around in my head. Here we go.

The pronunciation guide in the back of GtN notes that Coronabeth and Ianthe were originally named Cainabeth and Abella, but Muir changed it because she felt like it was too simplistic and/or obvious. This bugged the hell out of me for two reasons. 1. Cainabeth is clearly where she got Coronabeth, which is weird because Ianthe does all the killing, and 2. The two of them are actually a pretty striking inversion of that story.

The most famous line from the myth of Cain and Abel comes when God asks Cain where Abel is, and Cain says "Am I my brother's keeper?" Now this is about thirty seconds after Cain committed the world's first ever murder, and he's trying to avoid telling God about it, implying that he knows what he did was wrong, even if he can't admit it to himself.

The moral of the story (at least the way I was taught), is that yes, you are responsible for your fellow man. You are meant to protect and cherish the people around you, not hurt them.

God punishes Cain by cursing him to be a wanderer, removing him completely from society and the ability to form any meaningful relationships with other people, because he rejected his responsibility to protect the person closest to him.

This is fucked up on a number of levels, but the point I'm trying to hit on here is that Ianthe is the inverse of Cain. She constantly rejects her responsibility towards other people with the sole exception of Corona.

Ianthe has been maintaining the work of two necromancers since she was six years old, to keep the two of them from being separated. She's the first person at Canaan House to figure out the true price of Lyctorhood, and though the exact moment of that discovery is never specified, I've always read it as being before the tabletop duel, where she establishes that she's the one who controls Naberius, not Corona. And she's going to need to be able to control him, because she needs to kill and devour him if she wants to avoid killing and devouring Corona. Not killing and devouring people doesn't seem to be on the table, but that's another post in its entirety

Her response to Harrow suggesting that Corona's dead is to mutilate Harrow's hand.

I wrote the main body of this essay while waiting for my copy of Nona the Ninth to come in, but if anything their reunion in that book just proves my point. Ianthe made herself her sister's keeper when she was six years old, and she's willing to do almost anything to continue that role.