#mising language

[gaelsjustwannahavefun]

Athbhliain faoi mhaise daoibh a chomhchairde!

[outstanding-quotes]

a new language

is a kind of scar

and heals after a while

into a passable imitation

of what went before.

Mise Éire, Eavan Boland

[theloveinc]

i can only write in bed now

[singlecrow]

Tha Gàidhlig beò cuidheachd! Bha mi a' bruidhinn mu dheidhinn sin nuair a phost mi sgeulachd agam ach seo an rud a-rithist: 's e ar cànan a th' innte, agus tha i beò. You can treat it as a living language, because that is exactly what it is.

also, "Gaelic" is Scottish Gaelic, and pronounced to rhyme with "phallic". It's the Celtic language spoken in Scotland, closely related to Irish, and it currently has in the region of 60,000 speakers within Scotland and many more outwith, including me. It is a language of media, literature, and public life, and every word spoken in it is a political act.

Saying this as an Irish person since the new Hozier album just came out and there are lyrics in Irish; it’s Irish or Gaeilge (pronounced “gwhale-ga” or “gale-ga” depending on region), not Gaelic or Celtic or any other name people come up with.

It’s just a normal language that people speak in their everyday life. We learn it in school in the republic. People like myself are bilingual in Irish and English. It’s not a “fairy aesthetic cottage core leprechaun” language.

Please respect it. Our language is a touchy subject seen as how England tried to erase it by forcing English on us and severely punishing those who spoke Irish.

At the same time that does NOT mean it is a dead language. Our (in the republic) road and safety signs are in both Irish and English, same with legal documents. Our politicians speak it, and we are trying to preserve the language!

Anyways enjoy the album!

[rollingonbusiness]

Week #3: Mise-en-Scene: Edward Scissorhands

[weird-things-to-think]

Mise-on-sceen is like when, um, you got stuff in a moovy, like the backround and the lights and wher peeple stand. It's all bout makin it look, um, how the direktor wants? So like, if you got a tree in a sene, the tree is part of the mise-sen. And, uh, the kolor of the lights too. Is all the stuff you see, ya know? Like, the direktur is paintin a piktur but with peepul and props and stuff. So, yeah, mise-on-seen is like... what you see onscren.

[jmenfoot]

c'est quand même dingue que les anglophones ait pas de mot pour dire "encadré"

[poptartcari]

Finished it last night (sorry it took so long, I was having some breaks while watching, and it was also late at night) and y’all weren’t wrong about it being peak media literacy.

Gonna listen to the King Candy video essay everyone’s talking about, I’ll update once I’m done 👍

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for inkwell; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh,” Lynn says, still frowning a little. Billy feels a brief flash of embarrassment, but mostly grief, and then pushes it aside for–later. For . . . some other time. 

He’s not–he’s– 

It’s been too long to feel the grief this sharp, he thinks, though probably it’s because of Lynn. Not, like–he doesn’t mean it’s Lynn’s fault, just . . . 

Well. He’s a dad now, and his kid is never gonna get to meet his dad, or his mom either, and Billy can’t ask them for advice or anything, or . . . 

He guesses having a kid of his own is just making him think about them a lot. That’s . . . normal, probably. Or he figures it would be, anyway. It makes sense, right? 

He tells himself that, but he still feels . . . 

He really wishes his parents could’ve met Lynn, is all. He thinks they’d have liked him too. And he hopes Lynn would’ve liked them. 

They’d have been . . . 

Billy doesn’t really know what kind of grandparents his parents would’ve been, obviously, but–but he thinks they’d have liked getting to do it. And Lynn could use more family and more people to, like, depend on and teach him stuff and all. 

They’re the only reason Billy hasn’t messed this up yet, he’s sure, so it doesn’t seem . . . fair, really, that they’re not gonna get to meet Lynn. That they’ll never . . . 

That they didn’t get to, he means. Because–past tense. Obviously. 

Maybe if he does a good enough job trying to take after them, though, it’ll almost count. 

. . . maybe. 

“Um–so, what’s first?” Billy asks, glancing back down at the food. 

“Mise en place,” Lynn says. 

“. . . huh?” Billy says, looking back to him to blink in confusion. Lynn–frowns, a little. 

“Uh,” he says. “You don’t . . . know what that is?” 

“I mean, it’s French,” Billy says. “But I don’t know why it’s French? Do you like French, because if you do I do understand, um, literally every human language so–” 

“It’s a cooking thing,” Lynn interrupts abruptly, and Billy realizes he may be overthinking things here. 

“Oh,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um–what are we ‘putting in place’, then?” 

“The ingredients,” Lynn says. “And what we need.” 

“Oh,” Billy says, a little puzzled. “But . . . we already did that?” 

“Uh–no,” Lynn says, looking uncomfortable. “You measure it all. And get the utensils and cookware ready. So it’s–more efficient. Less stopping and starting.” 

“Oh!” Billy says in surprise, then beams at him. “That’s really smart, Lynn!” 

Lynn looks embarrassed. 

“It’s just–normal,” he says stiffly, then turns away and takes a few pans off the rack of pots and pans on the wall. 

“Is it?” Billy says, peering at the cookbooks. “The recipes don’t say anything about it. And I don’t remember–um, my parents never did it, when they cooked.” Or any of his foster families either, but . . . 

He doesn’t really want to talk about them, if he doesn’t have to.

[an-spideog]

Tá vs Is

Something that a lot of learners struggle with in Irish is when to translate "is/am/are" as "tá" and when to use "is".

Tá is a form of the verb bí in the present tense so anything I say about it applies to all of its forms. Is is something called the "copula" and again what I say about it applies to its other forms.

So for example you would say "Tá mé go maith" for "I am good" but you would say "Is múinteoir mé" for "I am a teacher". This kind of gets across the most basic rule which is that you use is when you're linking together nouns or pronouns:

Is múinteoir é - He's a teacher

Is múinteoir maith é - He's a good teacher

Is múinteoir é an príomhoide - The principal is a teacher

Is mise an múinteoir - I am the teacher

Is é an múinteoir é - He is the teacher

You can probably see above that the syntax can be a little bit complex there, the words aren't always in the same order as english and the structure can change depending on things being definite ("the teacher") or indefinite ("a teacher"). But I won't go into the details of that in this post.

Whereas you can use tá for other things, but not for linking nouns or pronouns together.

Tá sé anseo - He is here (adverb)

Tá sé go maith - He is good (adverb, kind of adjective)

Tá sé ard - He is tall (adjective)

Tá sé ar an mbord - He is on the table (preposition)

Something to note is that you can use the copula 'is' to link nouns and adjectives and nouns/pronouns like you can with tá, but it's less common and is more used for emphasis these days.

Is mór an fear - The man is big

Is láidir na mná - The women are strong

Or in another but more common structure

Is mór an fear é - He is a big man

Is láidir an bhean í - She's a strong woman

Let me know if you have questions about any of this or if you want me to go more in depth with the structure of the copula since I do think it's quite a complex part of the language.

[nolita-fairytale]

comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter six: home

summary: takes place after 'make my heart surrender' ends (so if you haven't read the series, you can do so here). after surprising carmy at the restaurant, he has something really important to tell you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: time jump, fluff, 'i love you', smut (18+ mdni), no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language, not proofread -- will probably go back and make some edits

word count: 3.9k

listen to: no such thing - john mayer | you're the best - wet | pancakes for dinner - lizzy mcalpine | want want - maggie rogers

a/n: hi it's me! i'm tired of breaking my own heart are you tired of me breaking your hearts?!! if you're wondering what the heck happened between chapter 5 & 6, make sure to read 'make my heart surrender' or at least, this final chapter!

didn't think you were getting smut with this final chapter?! gotcha!! i had to take some DEEP breaths while writing this. thank you so much for all of the kind comments, external screaming, and dms about this series. i love you all sm. here's is thee much needed and well-deserved fluffy chapter where carmy finally says (redacted).

read: chapter five | masterlist

“God I fuckin’ love you.” 

Your words echo in Carmy’s head all shift, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t said it back yet. 

The restaurant has been slow for lunch, and in every single moment he’s had to think about it, the words felt like they were on the tip of his tongue:

I love you. 

I love you too. 

I love you and I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. 

But what was he supposed to do? Tell you in the middle of your mise en place? Follow you into the walk-in and tell you there? He almost regrets not just saying it back right then and there – the minute he realized that you and Richie were both pulling a prank on him. Carmy decides that telling you here, at the restaurant just won’t do – just wouldn’t be romantic enough – and he knows you deserve more than that. 

As you finish up your prep for dinner service, you eye Carmy carefully. He looks totally wrapped up in thought, and you can’t imagine what he must be thinking this hard about. You’re here. You can’t believe you’re here. And you could care less about anything else right now.

“How ya doin?” you ask him, pulling him from his thoughts. 

He doesn’t know if you can see it on his face – that he’s thinking way too hard about this. 

“Uh, I’m-. Just thinkin’ about strategy… for dinner service,” he lies, trying his best to throw you off his trail. 

“Okay,” you reply, unconvinced. 

But it’s clear that he’s not going to give you much more than that.  

“You should go home,” he blurts out. His response takes you by surprise, and as soon as he realizes it sounds like he doesn’t want you here, his face softens, quick to course correct. 

“I just mean-, you must be tired. From the drive. As much as I appreciate the help…” he trails off. “It’s been slow today anyways. You should take my key and head home. If you want. Get some rest.”

Home. 

You smile in response at the sound of it, knowing that, after today, Chicago is your home. 

“You sure?” you ask him. 

“Yeah,” he insists. “If it stays this slow, I may even be able to get home early.”

You’re sure you have the silliest grin on your face as you hear the word again. 

Because this is your home now. 

Because Carmy is your home now too. 

“Well, if you insist,” you say with a shrug. 

“I do,” he says back, a seriousness in his voice. 

“Okay,” you giggle in response, agreeing to his demand. 

Carmy’s always trying to take care of you. It’s one of the things you love the most about him. Whether he’s asking you if he can make you something or asking to walk you home, you’ve always known that this is how he shows his love. 

You and Carmy both wash your hands, and he follows you towards the locker area, watching you hang up your apron in the locker that will now be yours. He busies himself with finding his apartment keys while you gather your things. 

“I kinda missed this place,” you say, even though you’ve only been gone three weeks. 

“Yeah?” he asks, a light in his eyes as he watches you. 

It feels surreal: seeing you here, knowing that you’ll be at his place when he gets back, that he gets to keep you. 

“Yeah. And maybe even some of the people too,” you smirk, cheekily. 

Carmy blushes, taking a few steps towards you with his keys in hand. 

“Need the address?” he asks. 

“I remember how to get back there,” you reassure him, playfully. 

It hadn’t been that long since you walked home with Carmy the night that changed it all: the night he’d made you his carbonara, the night that feelings were revealed, the night you made love. You’d followed him back to his apartment two nights in a row after that, letting yourself surrender to this thing between you that you’d both spent over two years fighting. And you’d let him take you to bed each night, getting lost in the way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way his skin felt against yours. 

You’re still in shock over how much has changed in your life in the last month alone.

It felt like heaven. 

It feels like heaven. 

And you wonder what took you both so fucking long.

At the same time, you know it happened exactly when it was supposed to happen – that anything before this wouldn’t have worked. 

As Carmy hands you his keys, you give him a goodbye kiss, the tension between the two of you palpable. It’s the kind of ‘I can’t wait to get you alone’ tension and you can’t wait till he gets off his shift – your thoughts filled with all the things you want to do with him when you finally do. 

It takes a while to leave the restaurant – everyone wanting to get in their hello or goodbye in – before you’re on your way home to Carmy’s apartment. On the drive there, you laugh to yourself about how the staff of The Bear have been betting on how long it’d take for you to come back. It fills you with a sense of warmth, confirming that this was exactly the move you needed to make. Since it’s close by, and you still have your stupid fucking U-HAUL, it doesn’t take long to get back to Carmy’s apartment. You make a mental note to find a good storage container to rent out so you don’t have to lug this thing around while you look for a place. 

By the time you get into his apartment, suitcase in hand, it’s clear to you that Carmy wasn’t expecting you. His home is messier than you remember it being when you left three weeks ago, but it’s not so intolerable that it’s maddening. 

You put something on the TV in the background, while you unwind, taking a shower then tidying up a little bit around the apartment. You let yourself enjoy the simplest of pleasures: your favorite pair of sweatpants that you can’t believe he’s kept, and a comfy bralette you’ve packed at the top of your suitcase. 

But it all starts to hit you as you start slowing down: after spending the night in Cleveland, you’d driven all morning to Chicago, jumped in on the line for dinner prep. You’ve barely had a moment to slow down and holy shit, are you exhausted. It doesn’t take more than a few episodes of Pasta Grannies for you to pass out on the couch. Carmy’s YouTube playback is set to autoplay, and as your eyelids become progressively heavier, you promise yourself you’re just going to close your eyes for a few moments… 

“Hi sweetheart,” you hear a voice say, causing you to slowly blink your eyes open. 

“Carm?” you mumble, only half awake. “Is it you? You’re really here?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Did I wake you?” he whispers, letting out a small laugh. 

You giggle as Carmy comes into your line of sight. He’s perched on the edge of the couch as you reach for one of his hands so that you can touch him. 

“Yeah, but I’m glad you did. What time is it?” you ask, becoming more and more awake by the minute. 

“Ten-thirty. Business picked up a ton for dinner.”

“Damn.”

“So much for getting off early.” 

You hum in response, sitting up momentarily to grab his hands, pulling him towards. Carmy smiles, laying his body over yours, before leaning in for the softest, gentlest kiss. 

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he smiles back at you, the words just on the tip of his tongue. 

I love you too.

You pull him back in for another kiss, this time deepening it. You laugh again, as Carmy breaks the kiss, an inquisitive look plastered to his face. 

“What?” he questions. 

“Nothing. You smell like hot giardiniera,” you giggle as your lips twist into a smile against his. 

He laughs, “Yeah?’

“Uh huh,” you say. 

“I’ll shower,” he suggests, playfully. 

“No, no it’s okay. I’m kinda into it,” you reply, earning another chuckle from him. 

“It’s okay,” Carmy replies, shaking his head. He places a peck on your lips before sitting up properly, earning a groan from you as he pulls away. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. Maybe we can move this to uh… my bedroom?”

“Are you putting the moves on me, Berzatto?” you tease him, shooting him a playful look.

“No! I just meant-, since I know you must be tired-,” he stammers, a blush running across your cheeks. 

You shake your head, sitting up to reassure him with another kiss. 

“I’m kidding,” you say with a chuckle. “And I’m also starving. 

“Yeah?” he sounds. 

“How about this? Why don’t you jump in the shower and I’ll order us a pizza. I’m sure we can find something to do while we wait for it to get here,” you say suggestively. 

Oh. 

“Sounds great,” he agrees with a quick raise of his eyebrows. 

You watch as Carmy disappears into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling your ears, you scroll around a little for a good pizza spot nearby. You settle on something New York style out of habit, ordering a few things for delivery. 

By the time Carmy gets out of the shower, you’ve curled up with yourself in his bed, scrolling around on your favorite social media app. You let out a whistle as soon as Carmy enters the room with only a towel tied around his waist. You can tell he’s tried his best to dry his hair, running the towel through his perfect curls a few times. You’ve got all this pent up sexual energy, and seeing Carmy like this, all hot, nearly-naked, and wet is really doing it for you. 

Hell, he could be in a full hazmat suit and the man would do it for you. 

You watch as he rummages through his dresser, searching for a t-shirt and a pair of briefs, but there’s no fucking way you’re letting him get dressed. You toss your phone to the side, standing up from where you are on the bed.

As you approach, you snake your arms around his waist, stopping him in his tracks. He cannot believe this is real: that you’re here, in his bed, in the sweatpants that he knows you love. That you’re here to stay. That you’re here and you’re his. 

“Hey,” he says, his lips twisting into a smile as you begin to leave soft kisses across the back of his shoulders. 

“Hey, yourself,” you reply, nipping at the skin you’ve just kissed. 

Carmy hisses at the feel of your teeth, letting out a laugh that seems to rumble in his throat. 

“Can I help you with something?” he teases you. 

He feels your lips curl into a smile against his skin, smirking in response. 

I fucking love you too. 

But before he can say anything, your hands are pushing his towel down past his hips, desperately envious of the way the material clings to him. 

“Mhm,” you hum. “I think you know.”

He lets the towel fall to the floor, and Carmy groans as you wrap your hand around his hard on, hissing as he feels you pump him a few times. 

“Seems like you’ve been thinkin the same thing,” you say again, feeling how hard he already is. 

He bites into his lower lip, his eyes rolling towards the back of his head as he enjoys the way you touch him. 

“Been thinkin’ about this all day, sweetheart.”

“Well…” you trail off. “I’d love to hear more about what’s been on your mind.”

“Yeah?” he croaks out, the pleasure you’re bringing him causing him to short circuit. 

“Yes,” you sigh out, wound up with desire. 

Finally, Carmy turns around, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you in for a passionate, lust-filled kiss. His lips are on yours like he’s been starving, as if nothing would satiate him the way tasting you will. You open your mouth, deepening the kiss, as you feel his tongue slide against yours. Carmy begins backing you up towards the bed, guiding you down to his mattress. 

“Had this on my mind since you left Chicago,” he mumbles, his pupils wide, fully blown out in lust. 

“Me too,” you manage to get out. 

He leans in once more, pressing his lips to yours once more. You drag your teeth against his bottom lip, before he breaks the kiss, his mouth and hands searching for real estate lower. Carmy leaves hot, open mouthed kisses along your breasts, your torso, and you’re practically pulling off your bralette like it’s burning your skin. 

“Been thinkin’ about this. You…” he admits, his voice hoarse. 

You gasp in pleasure as Carmy drags the sweatpants, along with your panties, down over your hips, tossing them who knows where behind him. 

“... tasting you.” 

You moan as he positions himself between your legs, kneeling on the floor, his chest pressed to the bed. Your legs quake with anticipation as you feel his hot breath fan over your core. Every moment he spends making you wait is killing you. 

“Carmy, please,” you beg, as he begins leaving soft kisses along your inner thighs. You can tell he’s making himself wait too, building the anticipation so that when he lets himself have you… 

“Carmen!” you moan. 

He practically groans against you as he uses the tip of his tongue to trace your clit.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he muses, before burying himself between your thighs again. 

His mouth is on you, tracing little shapes with his tongue, licking up and down your progressively wet core, while his hands keep your legs spread wide. 

All for him. 

He continues to eat you out, completely enraptured with the way you taste, the way your moans and gasps sound, the way you say his name, calling out for him and only him. As he slips a finger inside of you, you bury your hands in his hair, your hips thrusting up into his hand and against his mouth. 

“Holy fuck, Carmy,” you gasp, your mind completely taken over with the pleasure he’s giving you. 

He can tell that you’re close, adding another finger, taking note that you seem to like it even more. It’s as if he’s memorized every single thing you loved, everything that seemed to make you tick, and applied it to this time. 

“Carmy, I’m gonna-,” you cry out, your legs shaking as he brings you over the edge. 

You’re gasping, writhing against the bed, your legs still pushed wide by tatted hands as you begin to come down. You look down, tugging Carmy’s hair to bring him back up to you. When he finally looks back up at you, he’s grinning, completely satisfied with the pleasure he’s brought you. He makes his way back up, laying his very naked body over top of yours, leaning in for another kiss. 

You can taste yourself on his lips, and he doesn’t know if it’s possible to get harder than he is. 

“That’s what you were thinking about?” you whispered against his lips, spreading your legs to make room for him. You can feel his hard, aching cock against your wet center, and if you think you’ll die if he’s not inside of you as soon as possible. 

“All day.” 

He kisses you, nipping at your top lip momentarily, before continuing with:

“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about it, actually.” 

That and something else. 

Three words he can’t seem to get out. 

Even though they’re begging to be said. 

You reach down, wrapping a hand around him, sliding his thick tip against you so that he can feel how wet and needy you are for him. 

“I can think of a few other things I want,” you beg him, feeling him shudder against you as you drag the tip of his cock over you again and again. 

“And what’s that?” Carmy asks you cheekily. 

Instead of answering, you guide him into you, earning a gasp from the both of you as he splits you open. Carmy takes his time pushing into you, making sure to pause when he’s fully seated inside of you. 

Your eyes are locked with his, allowing yourself to get totally lost inside of the pools of blue. You’re sighing out in pleasure, squeezing around him, your lips so fucking close to touching it’s near-painful. Carmy begins to slide out of you at a dangerously slow pace, thrusting into you, deeper each time. You’re pulling him down to you, and it’s as if you can’t get enough – enough of his mouth on yours, enough of him to hold onto – even though you have all of him. 

You’d let him consume all of you if he wanted to, you think to yourself, as he swallows your moans in his mouth.

It’s tangled legs, and tangled tongues, and whispered pleas. 

“God, you feel so good,” he grunts, burying his head in your neck as he speeds up. You can tell the both of you are close – that all the pent up sexual energy means that neither of you will last long. 

But you don’t care. 

You’ve got all the time in the world now. 

“Carmy,” you whine, desperate for him to let you cum.

You know you have his attention, as he raises his head, locking eyes with you again. 

“I want you to fuck me from behind,” you whisper, desperately. 

“Fuck. That’s so hot,” he groans, his eyes wide.

Unwillingly, he peels his body off of yours, letting you sit up straight. He thinks he may have died and gone to heaven as he watches you turn around, kneeling on all fours over his bed. His hands immediately go to your ass, dragging calloused palms over the curve of it as he kneels behind you. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he gasps, guiding himself back into you. 

He thinks the sight alone may send him to an early grave as you bow your back, your ass still high as you press your chest against the bed. 

“Your ass is fucking incredible,” Carmy says, pulling out slowly, before thrusting back into you with a force that makes you cry out. 

“Carmen,” you whimper, your legs shaking beneath you. 

This feels too good. 

“Hmm?” he asks, his hands smoothing over your low back, following the way your back seems to arch in pleasure. 

“Fuck me. Please.” 

He knows he won’t last much longer. His hands hold onto your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into your skin as he begins to speed up. It feels unreal, incredible, being this deep inside of you. And he gets to watch: watch the way you arch your back, watch your body respond to every single thrust, watch you grasp at the sheets and pillows, searching for something to hold onto. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna last long, baby,” he stutters out, his thrusts becoming more erratic as you beg him to keep going. 

“Please, Carmen. That feels so goddamn good,” you plead with him, face down into his sheets. 

“Shit. Fuck,” he howls, his voice booming against all corners of the room. 

Carmy places the gentlest hand against your low back, as if it to ask you to lay down, laying his body over yours from behind. He pauses, because it just feels too damn good, and he wants to revel in this moment before this ends. Ever so slowly, he begins to drag his cock in and out of you at the most torturously slow pace. His mouth leaves small kisses against your shoulders, nipping at your soft skin as he continues to make love to you. 

“Faster, Carmy. Please. I’m gonna cum,” you pant. 

You’re not sure just how much more patient you can get here. You feel him begin to speed up, and you’re moaning into his mattress against, begging for him to make you cum. He can feel you squeezing around him, and the sight of himself fucking into you really isn’t helping either. 

“Fuck,” he manages to get out, his hips beginning to stutter against your ass. 

“Yes. Whatever you want. I’ll give you whatever you want,” he repeats, earning the most blissful ‘Carmy’ from your lips he’s ever heard. 

“Baby, I’m so close,” you whine. 

“Yes, me too. Yes. Fuck, I love you,” he calls out, shutting his eyes as he cums. 

He can feel you shuddering around him, as he fucks you through your orgasm too, completely unaware of the words that have flown out of his mouth. 

You’re both panting, breathless from what you’ve just done, as you begin to come down. 

“Holy shit,” he finally says, leaning his forehead against the back of your shoulder. 

“You can say that again,” you chuckle, trying to catch your breath. 

“Can we do this tomorrow? And the day after that?” you ask, playfully, turning your head to kiss him. “And the day after that?”

Carmy smiles, “Absolutely.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get cleaned up and back into comfy clothes. Carmy knows there’s no point in fighting you for your favorite pair of his sweatpants as he picks out another pair, remaining shirtless for your viewing pleasure. The pizza arrives shortly after, and you find yourself in bed, with the man you’ve loved for so long, getting a much-needed refuel break. 

“You know I hate eating in bed,” Carmy points out, watching you get crumbs all over his sheets. 

“Yeah, well I’m getting my own place so… that’s a future problem for you and me,” you answer, without a single care in the world. 

“For when we move in together?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

It’s almost as if he’s testing the waters – seeing if that’s something that’s still on your mind. 

“Right,” you confirm, confidently. 

But you’re in. 

You’re all in. 

It seems like you’ve passed whatever test he’s given you as the corners of his lips curl into the softest smile. 

“You know… you live in Chicago now,” he teases, in reference to your choice of pizza. 

You scoff in response, throwing in a playful eye roll for dramatic effect. 

“Oh fuck you.” 

He laughs. 

You eat quietly, enjoying your first night in Chicago as a resident. You watch as Carmy’s face changes, as if he’s trying to find the right words to say what’s on his mind. Instead of asking, you wait, knowing that he’ll bring it up when he finds them. 

“Hey uh…” he starts, hesitantly. “I just want you to know… that I… I meant what I said earlier.”

The more serious tone he uses piques your curiosity as you stare back at him blankly, unsure of what he's referring to.

“What do you mean?” you ask back.

Carmy takes another beat, pausing as he musters up the courage to clarify with:

“That I love you. I didn’t want you to think I just said it because… well you know.”

Because you were naked.

Because he got caught up in the moment.

Because he was inside of you.

He licks his lips, before opening his mouth to say it again: 

“I love you.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, his eyes are on you, watching your face for any kind of reaction.

But you’re beaming as you hear them and it all begins to make sense. It was something you’d said earlier, but the fact that he hadn’t said it back hadn’t been on your mind. Is this what he’d been thinking about all day? You just figured he'd say it back when he was ready.

You shake your head, a grin plastered to your face as you reply,

“I know, silly. I love you too.”

Fin. 

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery@strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn @hlkwrites

[mothmothm0th]

if a moth offers you tea, don't

cw: mild squick, allusion to cannibalism Oh, dreary dearie. Did mother not tell you? Were you not taught? Ah, but who minds. Certainly not me. Come on in. I shall prepare a pot for you.

Tea? You enjoy tea, yes? Oh, no dear. I did not ask whether you do or not. Ah, this tongue of yours is quite tricky. Nevertheless, I shall open you up. Like a jar of honey. Yes, a little twist and… Hm? Oh, no no. I have no honey. Why would I? I've not been on good terms with bees since Melliphila IV. Such a busy… bee, that one was. Queens, you understand. Ah, but please sit down, please sit down. Ah, but may I ask for your name?

Whatfor is that look? Taught never to…? How peculiar! I've never heard of such skibidi. And this you believe, with heart? Peculiar, peculiar. Yet you've no cause for alarm. For every being a name, every name a being, heh heh. Such was I taught and I have the best teachers. The best. So no need to worry. No need at all.

Ah, but what is that whistle? Tee, you say? What is… Well I certainly have never heard of a shirt which whistles! Hm? Oh, you mean tea! Strange language, strange indeed. Yes, of course. I shall place the kettle on the stove and we shall have ourselves some delicious tee in no time at all. Ah, the sweet taste of wool and pomegranate dye… Hm? Oh, of course I'm simply joking. Of course. Let me fetch the pot.

Daniel be damned! Here is a pot of fresh, hot water. Why, the kettle must have developed a soul and learned to treat its mistress properly! How else could it have placed itself upon the stove and… Memory loss? Me? Dear, I do not suffer from such a thing. I would remember if I did, and I do not.

Now, what shall we have? Earl Grey? Pomegranate wool? I have a small sample of saffron linen if you'd like. Yes, wool and linen. Such distinguished tastes, are they not? Polyester simply cannot compete, heh heh. No? You would prefer the Earl Grey? Wondrous! Expensive, that was. Dried and ground up prime minister is simply not easy to source. Of course, the Victorians had the bright idea to go for the really aged stuff. Tasty, yes. Cursed, very much so. Perhaps best we leave the poor kings alone.

Lost your appetite? Oh, my. But one simply must! Tis bad manners to deny a host's request. Furthermore, I urge you to consider that I am simply a little guy. Look at my antennae! They're little guy antennae. You would not deny a little guy, would you? Furthermore, it is my birthday! I am a little birthday moth! Please don't do this to me. I... I simply wish to be a good host. N-no, the clothes are there for... for... A-and the dust merely adds atmosphere!

H-how would you know it's the kitchen sink were it not filled with dirty dishes? Mi-*mise-en-scène*! It's mise-en-scène! Please don't go. I'm so lonely... No one ever visits. I don't even have a doll to keep me company. I don't deserve this big hat if I cannot even host a guest... But you humans are so... particular.

Ah, but there is a solution! If you were not human, if you were not a guest, we would not be in this mess! Oh, moth, you're a genius. If I must live up to this hat of mine, then what better means of doing this but by crafting my own doll! Yes, yes. Yes! That would work. I'm a rizzler!

And hey, we have raw material, right here. Oh, don't you worry. The doors are locked. Nowhere to go. Did you know that moth dust contains a powerful paralytic component? To protect ourselves against predators, y'see. I'm covered in the stuff!

Now, breathe in deep. We'll be oomfies before you know it. Night night!

[visorforavisor]

as an Irish (we don’t call it “Gaelic”, ever) speaker and a Sunny fan, I thought it would be fun to do a bit of a post about the Irish-language scene in The Gang’s Still in Ireland, because it’s not a scene I see widely discussed but I adore it.

some background. I am not a native Gaeilgeoir (Irish speaker) — my first language is English — but I started learning it age five and have always had very high grades in it and a huge love for it. I was hugely excited about Charlie Kelly being able to read Irish in the previous episode, and even more so when he turned out to be able to speak it.

Colm Meaney, the actor who plays Shelley Kelly, grew up in Ireland and as such would have learned Irish throughout his time in school. (this has been required by law more or less since Irish independence, and it was already quite common before that. nowadays, you can get exemptions for things like dyslexia but otherwise you have to do it.) this is clear in his ease with the language. (I will do a post about where in Ireland Shelley lives at some point, because there aren’t many areas where Irish is the principal language, but that is for another day!) both the actor and the character have easy and good Irish.

Charlie Day, as an Italian-American, obviously does not actually speak the language and presumably learned the lines as a bunch of gibberish sounds. (nonetheless, some of his pronunciations do suggest he had the words written down non-phonetically too.) his delivery of the lines is god damn amazing. Charlie Kelly’s Irish is not remotely American-accented. if I heard someone speaking Irish like that, I’d assume they sounded Irish when speaking English. he doesn’t even sound neutral in Irish; he does actively have an accent (the word choices are more non-regional, not pointing to any of the three distinct dialects, but this makes sense as the same is true of Shelley’s Irish). his pronunciation is so on point and his accent is seriously just a delight to listen to. that’s serious effort to have been put in by an American in a show that routinely makes fun of Irish-Americans! I cannot stress enough how cool it is to see my national language like this and how good a job he does.

as a side note, Charlie Kelly finding Irish much easier to read than English makes total sense! he clearly has dyslexia, as well as intellectual disabilities and autism, so literacy being tricky is totally fair, but is probably being made worse in English by how much of a god damn ridiculous illogical irregular mess the language is. English has around two hundred irregular verbs, and that’s before we even begin to consider the irregularity of its spelling. Irish has eleven irregular verbs, multiple of which are only irregular in one tense. its spelling is entirely consistent and, once the rules are known, any word (pretty much) can be flawlessly pronounced from reading it or flawlessly spelled from hearing it. (I promise Irish names make sense. just not if you try to use English rules on them. the languages are very different!) Irish is one of the most regular languages out there.

so, I thought I’d go through the actual scene. I’m going to put each line, the direct translation, the subtitle provided, and a comment. hopefully this will be interesting to someone other than me!

·—·

“is mise do pheannchara, a Charlie.” (Shelley)

direct translation: “I’m your pen pal, Charlie.”

subtitle provided: “I’m your pen pal, Charlie.”

okay, so they translate “pen pal” two different ways in this scene. the first, used here, is “peannchara”. this is a compound word, much like all those long words you get in German. it’s a perfectly good choice given there is no one standard choice for translating that concept.

“tá brón orm, ach ní thuigim cad atá ráite agat. is féidir liom gibberish a léamh, ach ní féidir liom í a labhairt.” (Charlie)

direct translation: “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’ve said. I’m able to read gibberish, but I’m not able to speak it.”

subtitle provided: “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you just said. I read gibberish, but I don’t speak it.”

I would slightly disagree with the subtitles here. the “just” bit isn’t expressed at all. in fact, there is no Irish equivalent to that word, and we often just use the English one in the middle of an Irish sentence because of this. however, I expect that RCG (Rob McElhenney, Charlie Day, Glenn Howerton) wrote the subtitles and then handed them to an Irish translator, in which case the translator did a perfectly good job. a couple of notes about the use of “gibberish” here. I love it. firstly, we totally do drop English words into sentences like that. secondly, I really like the choice to use the feminine form of “it” here (that is, to make “gibberish” a feminine noun). all languages except English are feminine nouns in Irish as a rule, so it’s just a lovely detail calling back to the fact that Charlie thinks of it as the gibberish language. also, Charlie Day really does absolutely nail that voiceless velar fricative (the consonant sound in “ach”, as in Scottish “loch” or any number of German words), a sound even many natively English-speaking Irish people are lazy about. good on him.

“níl aon ciall le sin. sé á labhairt anois!” (Shelley)

direct translation: “there’s no sense to that. it’s being spoken now!”

subtitle provided: “that doesn’t make any sense. you’re speaking it now!”

I adore the phrasing of the first sentence here. thoroughly authentic. there are much more obvious ways to phrase it, but this is absolutely what a native speaker might go with. same goes for the second, actually. Colm Meaney says the second line in a sort of shortened way (same idea as how we might turn “do not” into “don’t”) so I’ve struggled slightly with how to directly translate it. interestingly, Shelley categorises “gibberish” as a masculine noun here, but this isn’t really wrong since it doesn’t have an official grammatical gender due to not being an actual Irish word. just a little odd. also, to fit better to the subtitle of the second sentence, I personally would’ve gone with “tá sé á labhairt agat anois” rather than “tá sé á labhairt anois” (the full version of what Shelley says), as this includes the information of by whom it is being spoken.

“’s é mo dheartháir mo chara pinn.” (Charlie)

direct translation: “it’s my brother that’s my pen pal.”

subtitle provided: “but my pen pal is my brother.”

firstly, to be clear, the nuance of the sentence structure here is not captured in either of the above translations because there simply is not an English equivalent to it. secondly, Charlie uses a contraction here by shortening “is é mo dheartháir mo chara pinn”. super cool. also, there’s that other translation of “pen pal”! this one is “cara pinn”, which uses the Irish genitive case (the word mutates instead of using an equivalent of the English word “of”; this case also exists in other languages including Swedish, German, Latin, and Greek). I like this translation very much too. both work! Charlie Day again delivers this line really nicely, even stressing the word for “brother” (and pronouncing its initial consonant mutation absolutely gorgeously)! I am truly very impressed.

“níl aon fhírinne le sin, a mhic. ’s é do chara pinn… d’athair.” (Shelley)

direct translation: “there’s no truth to that, son. it’s your pen pal who is… your father.”

subtitle given: “no son. your pen pal is your… father.”

so, I really disagree with the first sentence of the subtitles here. it works, but also misses a lot of the beautiful nuance that could have been got. I would have gone with “that’s not true, son” or, more likely, “that’s not right, son”. I also disagree with the placement of the ellipsis in the second sentence, as you see (and my frustrations in translating this sentence structure to English continue, as well). however I like the use of “a mhic” (“son”) here, very much. this is a mutated form of “mac”, meaning “son” (yes, as in all of those Irish surnames; they all just basically say who the person is the son of). it carries both meanings that exist in English: an actual son, but also the use of the word as an affectionate way to refer to any man younger than the (usually male) speaker. this is a really nice choice.

·—·

so, yeah! those are my thoughts. feel free to ask any questions you like. I love this scene so much. as well as the reasons above about how good the translation and delivery is, I also love two other main things about this.

firstly, the level of dignity given to the language. Sunny makes fun of Irish-Americans all the time, but doesn’t really do the same to Irish people from Ireland, which I like (I do also wanna talk about Mac and Charlie as members of the Irish diaspora because it is so so interesting, but that is for another day). Irish as a language is not often given dignity, especially in American or English media, so I really love that it isn’t the butt of the joke here.

secondly, that such a significant scene is delivered through this language. just wonderful. after fourteen and a half series, we finally discover the biological father, and the scene cannot be separated from this beautiful language. it just is so perfect.

RCG, and of course Charlie Day in particular, we Gaeilgeoirí (Irish speakers) thank you! our little language made it to the screens of so many people around the world.

I hope this was interesting haha.

·—·

edits: fixed some things I mistyped.

[officalroyalsofpierreland]

Wedding of HRH Prince Oliver of the Scots, Duke of Rothsey & HIH Madame Hortense of Francesim Part 4

Pope Gregorious: Dearly beloved, you have come together here, so that in the presence of the Church’s minister and the community affirm your intention to enter into Marriage. And so, in the presence of the Church, I ask you to state your intentions.

Pope Gregorious: Oliver and Hortense, have you come here to enter into Marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly? Hortense: I have. Oliver: I have. Pope Gregorious: Are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live? Hortense: I am. Oliver: I am. Pope Gregorious: Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church? Hortense: I am. Oliver: I am.

Cardinal MacMillian: Since it is your intention to enter marriage, join your hands and declare your consent before the God and his Church. Your Royal Highness, you will go first.

Oliver: Moi, Oliver David Alexander James, souhaite prendre Hortense Rose, Pour épouse, À partir de ce jour et pour toujours, Pour le meilleur ou pour le pire, Dans la richesse ou la pauvreté, Dans la santé et dans la maladie, De l’aimer et de la chérir, Jusqu’à ce que la mort nous sépare. (I, Oliver David Alexander James, take you, Hortense Rose, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; till death separates us.) Stéphane: A beautiful touch by the Duke to say his vows in French. Travis: Indeed. Especially since it is their shared language, as well as the language of love and one that HRH famously struggles with.

Archbishop McCellan: Your Imperial Highness, I now ask that you say your statement of consent.

Hortense: Tha mise, Ròs Horn- tach, gabh thusa, Oil-bheir Daibhidh Alasdair Sheumais, gu bhi 'm fhear-pòsda dhomh, gu bhi agam, agus gu cumail, o'n là so air aghaidh, air son na's fearr, an ni 's miosa, an saoibhreas, am bochd, an tinnis agus an slàinte, a ghràdhachadh agus a ghràdhachadh gus am bàs an dean sinn dealachadh. (I, Hortense Rose, take thee, Oliver David Alexander James, to be my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do us part.) Travis: Wonderful pronunciation by Madame Hortense. It is such a touching show to the Scottish that she is willing to learn our very difficult language. Stéphane: It has a very melodic quality to it. A strong showing by HIH

Pope Gregorious: May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, the God who joined together our first parents in paradise,

Pope Gregorious: strengthen and bless in Christ the consent you have declared before the Church, so that what God joins together, no one may put asunder.

Oliver: With this ring I thee wed; with my body, I thee worship; and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti.

Hortense: With this ring I thee wed; with my body, I thee worship; and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti.

Stéphane: With the vows and exchanging of rings, they are married. Travis: Yes. We still have the nuptial blessing, and the signing of the register left. These will be done by Cardinal McGregor. But I think I can safely say, we are now looking at TRH Prince Oliver & Princess Hortense of the Scots, Duke and Duchess of Rothsey.

Travis: And after this brief moment of private prayer, they will be blessed under the coronation canopy, as is tradition for all rulers and heirs to the throne. The Canopy is being supported by HIH Princess Amelie of Francesim, HIH Princess Maria Aisha of Pierreland, HRH Prince Magnus of Argyll & Lord Callen MacDonald. Stéphane: It is moving that the canopy will be supported by those who share a bond with the couple, Princess Amelie and Lord Callen as their main witnesses and clearly the closest to the couple but also Prince Magnus as not just the oldest cousin to the groom but Prince Oliver's oldest friend and Princess Maria Aisha as not only cousin to the groom but goddaughter of the once more Princess Hortense.

Cardinal McGregor: Look now with favor on these your servants, joined together in Marriage, who ask to be strengthened by your blessing. Pour your love into their hearts, that they may remain faithful in the Marriage covenant.

Cardinal McGregor: May the grace of love and peace abide in your daughter Hortense and let her always follow the example of those holy women whose praises are sung in the Scriptures. May her husband entrust his heart to her, acknowledging her as his equal and his joint heir to the life of grace, he may show her due honor and cherish her always.

Cardinal McGregor: May they be blessed with children, and prove themselves virtuous parents, who live to see their children’s children. And when they together reach the fullness of years, come into the life of Heaven. Amen.

Travis: And now as tradition at the end of all royal events, the National Anthem.

All: God save our gracious King, Long live our noble King, God save the King! Send him victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us, God save the King!

Stéphane: And now, they are going to sign the register, alongside their witnesses, the King & Queen, the Emperor and Madame Mere. Travis: Traditionally, all family over 18 will also sign, but they will do it after the ceremony. This will include Empress Charlotte, the Emperor and Empress of Pierreland and the Queen and King of the Ionian Union. Quite the royal filled register.

@empiredesimparte @royalhouseofcarrington @bridgeportbritt @nexility-sims @simsroyallegacy @trentonsimblr @covingtons

[urween]

"Un temps neigeux"

Wolverine x FTMreader

note : Logan a une place bien particulière dans mon coeur, alors comme avec toutes ces choses-là, j'aime écrire dessus ;)

résumé : lors d'une soirée d'hiver, deux hommes se rencontrent et étonnament, s'entendent plutôt bien.

! warnings : language vulgaire/cru, violence, alcool, cigare

bannière par @/saradika-graphics

2 404 mots

Description à la troisième personne

Ses yeux admiraient les reflets que projetait la lune sur le lac, il aimait profondément la nuit, plus que le jour, c'était sûr et certain. Quelque chose était réconfortant dans cette pâle lumière, tout comme mystérieux, et il aimait ça.

Deux hommes passèrent devant, assez jeunes, charmants. Il les avait déjà vu il y a environ trois minutes, rentrant dans le bar derrière lui, mais apparemment ils n’y avaient pas trouvé leur bonheur.

Le jeune homme se leva, passant rapidement ses mains contre ses cuisses pour retirer le peu de terre qui pourrait s’y trouver. Il admira encore une fois le beau spectacle qui s’offrait à lui, avant de se retourner. Sans problème, il rentra dans le bar, pas des plus remplis pour un vendredi soir. Quelques personnes s'étaient mises dans un coin, d’autres jouaient au billard et trois étaient au comptoir. Il se rapprocha de ce dernier, faisant un signe de tête au barman en guise de bonsoir. Il prit la première place qu’il vit, à un siège d'un homme sûrement bourré au vu de sa position courbée.

« Qu'est ce que je vous serre ? »

Ses yeux noisettes sourirent au barman, il commanda un mojito, pour se rappeler de la fraîcheur du dehors. L’homme à sa droite bougea, il le regarda sans vraiment prêter attention, mais remarqua tout de même qu’il n'était peut-être pas si bourré qu’il l’aurait imaginé. Son verre, de ce qu’il supposait être du whisky, était déjà vide mais son visage ne semblait pas endormi, bien au contraire.

« Et voilà pour vous »

Le verre glacé arriva dans ses mains, il remercia le barman et prit une gorgée. Le goût sucré et mentholé lui fit presque oublier l’alcool présent dans la boisson.

Une fumée grise obscurcit sa vision pendant quelques secondes, il fronça les sourcils et trouva le coupable à sa droite. L’homme fumait un gros cigare. Le jeune brun ne put s'empêcher de souffler, amusé, ce genre de “cigarettes” n'était plus très courant. Il reprit une gorgée de sa boisson, ne voyant pas l’homme le regarder du coin de l’œil.

Logan fronça les sourcils, c'était rare qu’il ne le fasse pas en fait, mais cette fois-ci était pour une raison valable. Le garçon à sa gauche n’arrêtait pas de le regarder, croyant être discret, voire même invisible. Et il n’aimait pas être fixé, surtout par un inconnu. Il tira de nouveau sur son cigare, expirant toute la fumée à sa gauche, juste pour voir le nez du garçon se froncer comme un petit chat mécontent. D’un vague geste il indiqua au barman de lui resservir un verre, chose qu’il fit dans la minute.

Des voix s’élevèrent dans la pièce, le jeune brun tourna sa tête vers la table de billard à sa gauche et y vit deux hommes se chamailler. Il roula des yeux, se retenant de penser une phrase bateau du genre “ah les hommes, tous les mêmes”. 

Logan prit une grande gorgée, fermant les yeux une micro seconde pour apprécier la brûlure de l'alcool. Les deux hommes continuèrent de monter le ton, se bousculant mollement, ils étaient complètement bourrés.

Le barman jeta quelques coups d’œil vers eux, se demandant si la situation pouvait dégénérer ou non, espérant que la deuxième réponse soit la bonne car apprivoiser ces deux costauds ne serait pas agréable pour lui.

Un verre se brisa, le barman grinça des dents. Le jeune brun reprit plusieurs gorgées de son mojito, ne lâchant pas des yeux la situation. À côté, Logan ne regardait même plus, préférant alterner entre son cigare et son verre. Un deuxième bruit de verre retentit, plusieurs têtes se retournèrent vers les concernés. Un des deux hommes poussa l’autre plus fort et le fit tomber lourdement contre une table. Un groupe de jeunes femmes se regarda et, dans un accord commun, préféra partir avant que la situation ne s’aggrave. Un autre homme se leva, sentant un courage grandir dans ses veines, il alla vers les deux perturbateurs pour les séparer. Malheureusement pour lui, ils faisaient deux fois son poids, et l’alcool n’arrangeait pas les choses.

Le jeune au mojito but encore quelques gorgées, profitant du spectacle ridicule du client voulant répandre sa testostérone un peu partout en séparant les deux gros gaillards. Il lâcha du regard la scène lorsqu’un des deux hommes prit une bouteille de bière dans la main. Le petit brun se baissa, passant son verre derrière le comptoir pour deux secondes, juste le temps que la bouteille vole au-dessus de sa tête et se fracasse contre le mur à sa droite.

Le barman monta à son tour la voix, et bientôt tout le monde semblait crier, exceptés les deux hommes accoudés au comptoir.

Logan passa un main contre son épaule, retirant les morceaux de verre qui s'étaient posés sur sa veste en cuir. Il finit son whisky et déposa le verre vide contre le bois sombre du comptoir. Malheureusement, le barman était parti essayer de faire sortir les deux perturbateurs, alors pas moyen de se faire resservir. Par conséquent, il le fit tout seul. Logan passa son buste au-dessus du comptoir et attrapa la bouteille ambrée juste en dessous.

« J’espère au moins que vous allez le payer ce verre »

Une voix douce, dans le sens basse et calme, le fit lever un sourcil. Un vague rire traversa ses lèvres, plus ironique d’autre chose.

« Sinon quoi, tu vas me dénoncer ? »

Le jeune haussa les épaules, finissant à son tour son verre pour essayer d'ignorer le timbre de voix plaisant de l’homme à sa droite.

« Non »

Logan souffla d’agacement, comme il le faisait toujours si bien. Il prit une plus grande gorgée que la normale, faisant une légère grimace en avalant. Autour d’eux, les cris ne s'arrêtaient toujours pas, et ça aussi ça commençait à l'agacer. Une autre bouteille atterrit près de lui, manquant de peu de le toucher. Sa main se resserra sur son verre alors qu'il tira sur son cigare. À côté, le jeune se retenait de sourire, appréciant malgré lui ce petit spectacle que lui offrait cet homme avec son air aigris et sa voix rocailleuse. Sans le vouloir, il observa la main de cet homme, et fut surpris de voir des veines aussi apparentes, ça lui plaisait aussi.

De lourds pas le fit stopper son observation, il regarda à sa gauche et tomba nez à nez avec un des deux hommes. Vu de près il aurait pû faire flipper, avec sa bouille ronde transpirante et ses dents jaunes. Le brun haussa un sourcil, demandant subliminalement ce qu’il voulait. L'homme ne fit que rire, bêtement. Le barman arriva derrière lui et essaya de lui parler, sûrement de lui demander de partir. Mais il attrapa le verre vide du brun et l'analysa du regard comme un imbécile. Dans un soupir, le jeune homme se décala simplement d’un siège, ignorant l’homme et sa nouvelle passion pour ce verre.

Logan eut un réflexe de recul, très léger, très subtil, mais le brun le vit, parce qu’il avait pris l’habitude de tout voir. Alors, tout aussi légèrement, subtilement, il décala son siège haut de quelques centimètres, faisant passer ça dans un mouvement banal. Logan fronça les sourcils, encore, et serra la mâchoire en reprenant son verre déjà vide. Un sourire passa sur les lèvres du brun à sa gauche, il aimait bien cet homme, en fait, il le trouvait très sexy.

Le barman parvint à faire sortir un des deux hommes, avec l’aide d'un client. Le deuxième voyant ça, devint un peu plus virulent et lança une bouteille, encore, sur un mur. Cette fois-ci, Logan se prit un éclat de verre, sur la tempe. Son poing se referma sec et il se leva. Un sourire, peut-être un peu trop grand, apparut sur les lèvres du brun à côté.

« Si tu comptes te battre, saches que ce mec à un couteau dans son froc »

Lui dit la même voix calme. Logan regarda le brun, juste un instant, peut-être pour voir si quelque chose dans ses yeux noisettes alertait son instinct, mais rien, bien au contraire, il eut envie de le croire.

« Je pense avoir la gamme au dessus »

Le brun ne comprit pas le sous-entendu, regardant simplement l’homme sexy se rapprocher de l’autre, beaucoup moins sexy. Et rapidement, un coup de poing partit, suivi d’un deuxième et, wow. L’homme soûl tomba raide au sol. Le brun se pencha pour essayer de voir si le mec sexy avait sorti une arme ou quelque chose dans le genre, mais rien, seulement son poing serré.

Logan souleva l'homme, le prenant par dessous les bras pour le jeter dehors.

Lorsque les portes se rouvrirent sur lui, le barman bégaya des remerciements, mi-rassuré mi-inquiet. Logan se laissa tomber sur son siège, tirant encore une fois sur son cigare avant de l'éteindre.

« T’es champion UFC ou un truc dans le genre ? »

Logan sortit un billet de sa poche, le déposant contre le comptoir, juste sous son verre.

« Rien d’aussi prestigieux »

Sur ces mots, il se leva et sortit. Le brun resta quelques instants muet, avant de se lever à son tour, glissant un billet sous son verre. Il salua le barman d’un geste de main, envoya un petit sourire qu’il contrôlait si bien à un homme le fixant, et il sortit.

La lune était toujours aussi brillante, l’air toujours aussi froid. Il passa ses mains dans ses poches puis sourit en soufflant de la fumée blanchâtre dans l’air. Il aimait l'hiver, plus que n’importe quelle saison. En hiver tout le monde changeait, on découvrait le vrai visage des gens. Parce qu’en hiver on est soit obligé de se cacher sous des couches de vêtements soit on court dans la neige, et peu de personnes aiment courir dans la neige, il l'a remarqué. Les gens qui en été sont tout sourire, deviennent irritables en hiver, permettant aux personnes introverties d'avoir plus de place. Et puis, il y a aussi quelque chose de magique avec cette saison. La terre devient blanche, les lacs gèlent, les animaux s’endorment. C’est comme si la Terre devenait mutante pour quelques mois, ses paysages changent et deviennent précieux, rares, beaux. Tout le monde peut en profiter, ça aussi c’est beau. Lui il adore en profiter, pour être honnête, il aurait voulu naître mutant, parce qu’il se sent mis à l'écart pourtant sans en être un. Sa manière de penser effraie les gens, ils ne le comprennent pas vraiment, ils pensent d’ailleurs souvent qu’il est mutant. Mais en hiver, il fait de la vapeur en expirant, et il se sent comme à la maison en le faisant, parce qu’en été la Terre n’est plus mutante et d’une certaine manière, lui non plus.

Son regard traversa le paysage, admirant encore une fois l’eau et ses reflets. Une silhouette apparut dans son champ de vision, grande, musclée et, oh, sexy. Il ne put retenir son sourire, à vrai dire il espérait voir cet homme et pouvoir lui parler. Alors il trottina jusqu’à lui.

« Hey ! »

La silhouette se retourna de trois-quarts. Logan leva un sourcil puis continua son chemin.

« Eh non attends ! »

Le brun était assez petit, ses jambes l'étaient donc aussi et il dut presque atteindre le stade de course pour rattraper l’homme, mais il réussit. Dans un pas rapide, il marcha aux côtés de monsieur sexy.

« C’était vraiment impressionnant tout à l’heure, je veux dire..ouais c'était vachement cool »

Logan s'arrêta net, un soupir quitta son corps et il regarda le petit homme à côté de lui.

« Qu’est-ce que tu veux »

Prit au dépourvu, il ne sortit aucun mot, seulement de la vapeur.

« Comment tu as su pour le couteau, tu vois à travers les vêtements c’est ça ? »

Si seulement, répondit le brun dans sa tête, et seulement dans sa tête.

« Non non du tout, je l’ai juste remarqué, face au regard insistant de l’homme, il poursuivit, il gardait toujours sa main près de sa bite et les mecs comme lui s'ils veulent se toucher ils n’hésitent pas donc il avait forcément un trucs caché par-là »

« Ça aurait pû être un flingue »

« Mh en fait non, un sourire passa sur ses lèvres, parce que vu sa corpulence importante un pistolet aurait pas tenu à ce niveau, son ventre l’aurait fait tomber au bout d’un moment, surtout avec les grands mouvements qu'il faisait »

Un petit silence s’installa entre les deux hommes, le plus petit ne put s'empêcher de sourire, assez fier de lui. En fait, il n’avait jamais vraiment l’occasion de parler à quelqu'un de cette manière, les gens ne l’écoutaient pas où le trouvaient pervers la plupart du temps. Logan fronça les sourcils.

« C’est quoi ta mutation »

« L’intelligence, tu connais ? »

Malgré lui, un sourire se dessina au coin de la lèvre de Logan, ce mec n'était peut-être pas si stupide qu’il le pensait.

« Non sérieusement, je suis pas un mutant, seulement un gars qui aime observer les réactions des gens »

« Un pervers quoi »

Le brun roula des yeux, ce n'était peut-être pas une si bonne idée finalement. Il préférait arrêter, cet homme était très certainement comme les autres.

« Attends, Logan se retourna vers le garçon en train de s’en aller, j’ai rencontré beaucoup de pervers dans ma vie et t’en ai sûrement pas un, ou alors un très évolué »

Les compliments étaient devenus rares pour lui, il prenait tout ce qui s’en rapprochait, alors il regarda l’homme derrière lui.

« Merci je suppose, ses yeux passèrent sur le cou musclé de l’homme, et toi ? T’es aussi une forme évoluée d’un truc stupide, genre l’humain, ou t’es un mutant ? »

Pour la première fois depuis le début de la soirée, un rire, bien que léger, ronronna dans la gorge de Logan.

« Je sais pas, à toi de le deviner »

« Autour d’un verre ça t’irait ? »

Le jeune brun se mordit l’intérieur de la joue en attendant une réponse. Logan eut un air amusé au visage, il hocha la tête.

« Dans un bar moins pourri si possible »

Une femme passa à côté d’eux, le brun prit une grande inspiration et proposa quelque chose d’autre.

« Ou dans la neige ? »

Logan encra ses yeux dans ceux noisettes, il sourit faiblement et commença à marcher.

« J’ai des bières dans ma voiture, viens »

Partie deux disponible !

° x-men masterlist

bannières faites par @/saradika-graphics

[lady-phasma]

Heir for a Day scene analysis

Heir for a Day and following scene House of the Dragon - Season 1, Episode 1 [Scene 1 - 51:30 - 53:29, approx. 25 cuts] [Scene 2 - 53:29 - 56:39, approx. 44 cuts]

A brief discussion of what a shot by shot scene analysis is in case it’s unfamiliar:

This type of analysis is not based in theory or opinion, but is the foundation of film studies. If this type of groundwork cannot be laid, then any theory or assessments applied to the media won’t have the evidence needed to support it. Scene analysis provides this evidence. The elements of film are discussed when analyzing a scene and after they have been identified the interpretation of the scene is possible. I have written a post about the school of thought in which I was trained if that is of interest. The elements of film: mise en scene, cinematography, editing, performance, and sound. Rarely can these be discussed in isolation but must be understood as a whole.

The goal of a scene analysis is evidence gathering. Technically, this portion of episode one is two scenes. The first is the action and the second is the consequences. They happen back to back. I won’t go in depth into mise en scene as it only illustrates a few important points relevant to this analysis. Scene 1 is split between two settings: a brothel and the King’s Small Council meeting. This offers an interesting juxtaposition that will become important through later editing and is reinforced with dialogue throughout this scene.

This scene opens with a medium close up on Daemon seated at a table. His expression is fairly blank. The sound is mostly diegetic (background character’s sounds and music from a string instrument). The next few cuts are between various medium and wide shots of brothel patrons and workers in various sexual positions.

Then a cut back to Daemon at the table shows his bland expression. This sequence of editing repeats once more with only a minor change in Daemon’s body language. The action then begins in a wide shot as Mysaria walks through the crowd of people in the mid-ground toward Daemon. She pours wine for Daemon and the action is continued in a cut back to a medium shot of Daemon who tosses something onto the table in what appears to be boredom. He utters an unenthusiastic “thank you” with the next cut back to Mysaria. This is the first dialogue in the scene.

The next few cuts follow her instigation of a toast to “our future.” A man from the City Watch calls for silence and the chatter and diegetic music stops. Cut back to Daemon and he shows a slightly different expression for the first time. He is amused and slight dismayed. He opens his mouth as if to speak. The only words Daemon speaks in this scene before Otto’s voiceover begins are “thank you.”

At 52:30 Otto’s voiceover interrupts the scene and the cut to the first shot of the Small Council meeting is of a close-up of Otto in profile. He begins his monologue as the scene cuts to a wide shot of the entire room from a slightly high angle. There is no score during this part of the scene. As he speaks, there is a cut to Rhaenyra standing next to Lyonel Strong. She is pouring wine, reflecting the composition and action of Mysaria pouring Daemon’s wine (medium shot, wine pouring on right of frame). A cut to Viserys and his reaction quickly cuts back to Daemon speaking the first words of his speech, “King and Council,” mirroring and emphasizing the interspersed shots from the Small Council chambers.

When Daemon stands it is within a wide shot of the room, his back to the camera. His expression in the next shot is still quite neutral as he continues his speech. He is “interrupted” by Otto’s voiceover again at 53:14. The sound editing is so close that the dialogue almost overlaps. Otto uses the deceased prince’s name while Daemon states “to the King’s Son.” This line is followed by a cut to a medium close up of Viserys.

Otto’s voiceover continues as he states the epitaph that Daemon is supposed to have given to Prince Baelon. Daemon does not speak the words “Heir for a Day.” Then the focus is pulled from Otto to Rhaenyra immediately after Otto says the words. Her expression is grave or possibly thoughtful. She turns her head as the music swells and the sound of a door is overlaid. This sound is not diegetic even though she turns her head. The sound is from the doors opening onto the throne room and Daemon’s entrance.

Note on Scene 2 - since there are approximately 44 cuts I will not describe each one.

The two scenes are bridged by the final lines of Otto’s voiceover. He claims to have corroboration of the toast as Daemon enters a wide shot from the left. Viserys is centered in the background of the shot, between the open doors. Immediately following Otto’s words “the evening was, by all accounts, a celebration” there is a cut to a wide shot of Viserys on the Iron Throne holding Blackfyre. It appears, at first, to be a low angle shot; however, the camera is level, Viserys is elevated by the throne’s dais. The score is tense as Daemon’s words are overlaid on this image of Viserys: “You cut the image of the conqueror, brother.”

Viserys then asks Daemon outright if he spoke the words before a cut to Daemon walking into the frame. The camera continues to remain static. Interestingly, the first low angle shot is used in these scenes. All of the other shots have been at “eye level” or a slightly higher angle. Daemon is in a medium close up shot as he begins to speak, but with this low angle he is elevated for the viewer. The next cut is disorienting as it is the direct opposite: a high angle, extreme wide shot of the entire throne room. Neither Daemon nor Viserys are centered in the shot. The scale as well as the inclusion of at least six King’s Guard is intimidating. The shot emphasizes this is Viserys’s territory.

Viserys’s voice is heard off screen when the next shot appears of the same low angle, medium close up of Daemon. He speaks of the King’s Guard, thus reinforcing the previous shot. There is no score at this point in the scene and the periods of silence between dialogue are filled only with the diegetic sound of torches flickering. Cutting back and forth between the brothers as Viserys accuses and questions Daemon again, the camera is positioned again on Daemon but no longer from a low angle. He looks to his right, presumably at a member of the King’s Guard, then looks down shaking his head. “We must all mourn in our own way, your Grace,” he states flatly as he looks up at Viserys. After 3 or 4 more cuts between the characters the scene offers a moment of contrition for Daemon.

In this slightly wider shot of Daemon he looks down and away from Viserys as he is scolded. He glances back to a King’s Guard then up at Viserys while Viserys states he has only ever defended Daemon. The next cut is to a shot of Viserys in profile, followed by a cut to Daemon in a mirroring profile, setting them in opposition to each other as the argument escalates. A quick cut follows Daemon’s forward movement toward the throne, framing him between two King’s guard in a wide shot. The next shot is again at the low angle. A reaction shot is shown of Viserys as Dameon states “because I am your brother.” The next succession of shots places the dialogue of the speaker over the image of the listener, until a new shot is introduced.

The wide shot of the brothers flanked by Targaryen banners and King’s Guard with Daemon placed lower in the frame than Viserys immediately precedes 8 or 9 cuts between the characters as they argue. A wide shot of Viserys (medium close up of Daemon in the left foreground) is particularly interesting. He states that he is naming a new heir. The center of focus in this shot is Blackfyre, not Viserys.

After multiple medium close ups of the characters, tracking with the dialogue, Daemon steps forward. A jarring, fast cut moves the camera to another low angle, at Daemon’s waist, focusing on a King’s Guard as Daemon steps closer to the dais. The next shot is of the King’s Guard blocking him and unsheathing swords as Daemon halts his approach. This is when the score resumes. The reaction shot of Viserys is, again, a wide shot focused on Blackfyre.

A new medium shot is introduced, almost a wide shot, of Daemon in profile as he is flanked by two King’s Guard. He turns his head to look at one on his right and looks at the floor. There is no dialogue but he appears to have conceded. Daemon is still looking downward when the low angle shot returns and he addresses Viserys by the honorific “Your Grace.” Daemon does not look at his brother until after he has spoken the words. This is the last of the dialogue in the scene and punctuates Daemon’s defeat.

The following extreme high angle wide shot places the camera in a new position above and behind the Iron Throne. Daemon bows his head slightly, turns with a glance over his shoulder, and walks down the hall toward the doors. There is a reaction shot of Viserys followed by a medium close up of Daemon, his back toward the camera, as he approaches the stairs. The next reaction shot to Viserys shows dismay or regret as he reclines on the throne. The final two shots of the scene are a wide shot of Viserys as he touches his face and notices blood on his hand. The cut to a medium close up centers on his pinky finger in focus in front of his face. As he examines it, the score swells and the camera moves, tracking his hand as it comes to rest on the blood stained arm of the throne. The scene ends with this extreme close up of Viserys’s hand.

So what is the point? With any analysis you have to have evidence. The above process is how we gather evidence in film studies. Unfortunately, with enough practice, this starts to happen subconsciously while you watch media. I tell people who love film to never learn film studies because you will never love it again! Jokingly. When we consume film/television we “suspend disbelief” in order to become submersed in the plot and the characters and really feel, for that brief time, that we are part of the story (if the media is successful). Film studies is learning the tools to stop this process. Disbelief is no longer suspended. It doesn’t make movies any more enjoyable. For those of us who do film studies it is often motivated by why and how. Why did they make these choices and how did they manipulate me into suspending my disbelief?

That wasn’t a tangent, it was a sidebar.

All of the evidence in those 5 minutes and 30 seconds of footage teaches viewers so much more than they realize. In that small window of time we are taught more about Daemon than we learn in any other point of his screen time in the first episode. This is where interpretation and theory comes into play. I apply contextual formalism. I could just as easily apply another relevant theory. Meaning, cyborg theory wouldn’t work here, but I could use feminist theory if I wanted. I choose contextual formalism because that’s what I do best and enjoy the most.

The two most important dialogue choices and editing in these scenes are the voiceover in the first scene and the camera angles in the second scene. The audience never hears Daemon say the words “The Heir for a Day.” Otto says it over the image of Daemon at the supposed celebration. The actor’s performance never suggests that Daemon is celebratory, quite the opposite, in fact. When Daemon is on screen he is not drinking, participating in any of the activities, and he doesn’t volunteer to give the speech. He consented to please those around him. Until that point, he even appears to be miserable or, at least, bored. His sister-in-law just died in childbirth and “the King’s Son” has died shortly thereafter. Within a two minute timespan the viewer is told that Daemon cares about his family, cares about his reputation, and that Otto intends to disparage him regardless if Daemon spoke the words or not.

When Daemon arrives in the throne room Otto is still speaking. This is an interesting choice in editing because it is not a traditional narration but it ties the two scenes together. As the doors open on the brothers’ meeting, the audience is persuaded to believe Otto when he says that it was a celebration because no more evidence from the brothel is presented. The viewer has to trust the “narrator.” Additionally, this portion was already spoken to Viserys in the Small Counsel meeting. These scenes are very interesting because they aren’t precisely non-linear but they feel as if the story is told out of order. Viserys has had time to let the idea of a celebration marinate and grow in his mind and we only hear it seconds before his outburst at his brother.

Admittedly, the second scene is one of my favorites of the series. The camera is static for most of the scene but the camera angles are beautiful and the composition of a few of the shots are so subtle that they masterfully manipulate the viewer to choose sides. The low angle medium close ups of Daemon are a curious choice. Typically that angle adds power to the object, making it seem larger than other subjects in the scene. In this scene, however, it doesn’t make Daemon bigger than Viserys. Viserys has the Iron Throne and the viewer is not allowed to forget that. The low angle shots of Daemon remind us that he is submissive in those moments. He is looking down and, if the camera were straight on, his eyes wouldn’t be visible. When he looks at Viserys we are shown a straight on angle. Interestingly, in the only moment Daemon moves forward to confront his brother, the camera is very low and close to Daemon. The camera moves very slightly as he steps forward in this brief shot. This emphasizes the King’s Guard not Daemon.

Placing this scene in context of the entire series, it becomes incredibly important to Daemon’s character development. Not only does he show contrition for the first and last time in 10 episodes, he is finally broken by his brother. He realizes his brother does not (may never) respect him. He can’t bring himself to look at Viserys as he calls him “Your Grace.” Nearly every interaction between the brothers from this point forward is filtered through the lens of this defeat. They seem to repair parts of their relationship in later episodes, but this moment never leaves Daemon. He was stripped of authority, power, respect, and not by just anyone. His brother was manipulated and Daemon knows it, but Daemon doesn’t love Otto. He loves Viserys and is deeply wounded by this choice. Although Viserys asks him outright whether or not he said “the Heir for a Day,” Daemon doesn’t deny it, but he never admits it. His statement is vague, purposefully obtuse: We must all mourn in our own way, your Grace.

Footnote: I am only discussing Daemon’s character development here but this same scene can provide insight into the characters of Viserys, Otto, and even Rhaenyra to a lesser degree.