#it's poetic cinema or whatever

[manderleyfire]

– What's keeping us apart ain't even real, your daddy, his religion, it's got nothing to do with us. – It's not just his, it's mine too. I've got the same spirit in me, why don't you see that?

Alice Englert and Walton Goggins in Them That Follow (2019), dir. Dan Madison Savage & Brittany Poulton

[attila-werther]

yeah

yeah

[primordialruin]

The units speak for themselves

[cowboykissing]

so the women sam has sex with end up killed whereas the men who fall in love with dean oh. fate worse than death in most cases

[gaytommykinard]

i know the fandom has latched onto tommy's house (the fixer-upper with the car lift and the muay thai set up and what not) and people have bought into whatever insider info was being given out about “a new set being built” alluding to it being tommy's house that we'll get to see soon (i dont personally believe it)

and although i don't hate the loft and what it means for buck's character development throughout the show, i am 100% on board with buck moving out of the loft because it's served its purpose and it's time for him to move on - and moving out of the loft to move in with tommy? his person? poetic cinema.

but i would love for buck and tommy to find a place to live together. same as maddie and chimney and their haunted house, same as hen and karen and the house they bought together before they even got denny, same as bobby and athena deciding to build a new house for the two of them. please, give bucktommy this storyline, too. it would be so beautiful.

and as always

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

i despise Ben Hope as much as the next person but I was literally sobbing at his arc, every time he was on screen, I couldn’t help but feel my heart break a little because this is a 16 year old boy who’s living with homophobic parents, who has a friend group filled of arrogant, asshole-ish jerks and has spent years cultivating his ‘bad boy’ image because men are raised to be like that. If you’re not a bad boy, your masculinity is questioned. And in between all this hatred, this boy is coming to terms with his sexuality and hating it—he hates himself and who he is. Which turns him into a bitter and hateful and a horrible person altogether and it doesn’t excuse how he treated Charlie and the assault or any of the horrible thing he’s done ofc, but I hate how this kid was turned into this shitty scumbag of a person because of circumstances and whatever. And the last scene, kudos to Charlie for saying fuck off to him, but also wishing him to change, because I feel the same, I wish Ben works on himself and stops hurting others and himself and that last shot of the rainbow making it’s move towards him and him stepping back—poetic cinema honestly.

I wish that Ben and boys like him find the courage and strength to take that step and jump into that rainbow.

[nolongerapileofashprobably]

Okay so my genuine thoughts on the final scenes of Totk

So having Link go through the final ‘dungeon’ and wind up exactly where we started the game, with those rocks we ACHED to break bc it was instinct, only to get that satisfaction after EVERYTHING and to see that Zelda’s fate was foretold millennia ago. Turning into a dragon WAS her only choice. And for good reason.

Ganondorf’s fight. WOW. That was genuinely so beautifully done. He ALSO dodges how Link does. To have Ganondorf dodge something, the entire action moving in slow motion, only to then have LINK do the same the next move?? Poetic cinema people. And the champions arriving 🥹 only to then have them all fucking thrown to the side when he takes in his doubles to regain his own strength? Absolutely insane and hands down my favorite boss fight in the entirety of the Zelda series. Yeah. That’s how much I enjoyed it as a player.

Can we also just talk about how concerned everyone got and how they yelled his name when he was taken from the underground??

And THEN the final fight with Ganondorf swallowing a secret stone and becoming a dragon. It brings Zelda’s sacrifice to light. She did it out of selflessness and love. He did it out of selfishness and hatred. GOD do I love characters that juxtapose each other. Zelda is a girl who was given the responsibility of a power she never wanted while Ganondorf is a megalomaniac who sought the destruction of peace because of his own selfish desires. Seeing the difference between them in that final fight as two dragons… it was EVERYTHING.

Zelda’s dragon form was tiny compared to Ganondorf’s dragon form. She protects. He attacks.

It’s so beautiful to see how Zelda, who isn’t mentally awake, first instinct are to save Link. She quickly maneuvers so she can not only juke out Ganondorf, but also then save Link who was flung into the air in the process. Link clutching onto her dragon fur? Or whatever?? And understanding that while the sages are all still underground, he is not alone in the sky. She’s going to be by his side this entire time.

For someone who was alone the majority of the last game… this was so fucking emotional and beautiful to see.

Them lowkey explaining calamity Ganon by also using dragons this game was a really nice consistency touch btw I was digging how focal dragons were to the entire game this time around.

And then the final bit. That SCENE. Rauru and Sonia channeling their power through Link, who was incredibly confused before he realized what they must be doing, and got SO determined. Turning Zelda back and even getting his own hand back in the process??? Insane to see. Zelda was so so loved by Rauru and Sonia despite only spending a short amount of time with them. And that just makes my heart hurt when we consider what actually happened.

And when Link falls unconscious, which is completely logical when you think about the fight he just went through, the altitude he was at, and channeling enough magic that it reversed the effects of an all powerful secret stone???? Yo he went through a LOT!

And he wakes up, already on the alert bc man is freefallin only to then realize that Zelda is back and she’s also falling. And she’ll hit the ground a lot sooner than he would at the rate they’re going.

Link couldn’t reach Zelda in the beginning of this entire thing. But this time? This time he not only reaches her hand, but he pulls her in close, shields her head as best as he can, and prepares them to hit the water. Once they do, he carries her out of the water. Gentle, oh so gently, laying her down and kneels over her as she begins to wake up.

And one of the first thing Zelda does as she wakes up is to take him in and looks him over to see if HE’S hurt. Just like she did in the beginning of the game. And everything click. They won. He defeated Ganondorf and she was granted the impossible by Rauru and Sonia to turn back into a human.

And Zelda IMMEDIATELY rambles on about everything. About how much has happened. How much she has to tell him.

And finally. Finally. She looks at him and smiles so fucking gently that it drives me INSANE with how much she obviously adores him, and says, “I’m home, Link. I’m home.”

Because home is right there. Right by his side. In this Hyrule that they’ve been rebuilding together. The one they lived the past half decade ish together in a house Link bought and traveled across Hyrule no matter what the issue was. In the Hyrule where she is so beloved by everyone.

Zelda is home.

[heart4buddie]

But what’s so funny is that no matter whether Buck calls Eddie to come over or Eddie just shows up, it’s going to be fucking magic! Like Buck waking up with a boil or whatever and calling Eddie? Brilliant. Amazing. Showstopper. Eddie just showing up to Buck’s loft on his own? Amazing. Brilliant. Poetic cinema. I love every possible way that this situation might have happened!

[duncanor]

I genuinely think I 'need to finish trimax a second time before I even consider trying to post about them bc there's so much to these two duo!

It hurt my brain as much as it hurts my heart.

I can tell when the time comes, it will probably be my longest analyse. ever. heh'

Thinking about the evil & twisted parallels and contrasts between Vashwood and Millionsummers hmm...

[gabriella0807]

Spoilers for the JJK finale

I love the finale.

And if you don't, I'm glad if you give me a chance to show you my point of view. No hate in the comments/tags, please. Thank you.

So.

I love seeing the trio on their last mission - well, last for us readers, but for them it's a new beginning. - I love their casual banter and their funny interactions, showing that even though they'd been through so much trauma, they still have their youthful and upbeat spirit. We don't see them mourning anyone? Well, unfortunately or fortunately it's left to our imagination. These kids probably went through the stages of grief, they may still take their time to remember and let go the ones they lost. It might have been good to give them this chance in another chapter before this one? Maybe. But instead of showing their grief and mourning, Gege decides to show us that they are fine. Life goes on, and they are still the trio we got to know and love. I love that we also see them in action and that they are badass and clumsy at the same time. (It was cool to see Megumi's Divine Dog again.) They made me chuckle for one last time.

I love that when Yuuji sees that guy being gloomy, he remembers his last talk with Gojo-sensei.

And this chat made me emotional, made me tear up. It was beautiful. I accept that Gege chose not to show Gojo's grave or funeral or whatever, rather he shows Gojo as still alive and smiling. Isn't it a nice way to see him off in the last chapter? Rather than "Do you remember Gojo's funeral in the last chapter? It was so sad and devastating. Like, I had to face the fact again that he's dead. It opened up the wounds on my heart that haven't healed yet." etc. etc... So rather than that, we get this encouraging, inspiring and meaningful conversation. And excuse me? With only a handful of panels, new layers are added to Gojo's character? And if it's not enough Satoru's last line and manga panel is him telling Yuuji that he's expecting great things from the boy, while smiling? Then we go back to the present in which Yuuji repeats those exact words his sensei encouraged him with, so that Yuuji could lift the guy's spirit? And Yuuji is beaming. Truly beautiful. It shows how Satoru is not really gone, how his way of thinking and teachings live on in his students, who surely won't forget him.

Even though my heart still aches for Satoru, and I miss him so much, i'm glad to know that he can be finally at peace.

Sukuna's send-off? I didn't see that coming and it's amazing. Mahito is probably there to serve as a contrast to Sukuna. It seems like Mahito will rot alone in a space in between because he won't change. But Sukuna accepts his defeat and the fact that he, the King of Curses lost to a "brat" like Yuuji who also showed compassion towards him makes him go soft? Like, in the end Yuuji really succeeded to teach him about Love? Because this is how it feels like for me. Sukuna here is tender and comforting, he takes the crying Uraume by the hand, and they leave together? I'm moved.

The second to last page is showing only Gojo's students. His legacy. They are all alive. Yuuta, Panda and Kirara are smiling, Yuuji is laughing. After how much I worried for their well-being, the kids are alright which makes me relieved, happy and gives me a hopeful conclusion.

The last page? A mad genius move. Poetic cinema.

[dramadramallama]

Love Supremacy - brain rot part 2

As Myung-ha rejects the idea of a predetermined fate, he sets off to change it for Yeo-woon, who’s mirroring him in every way. When we first meet our Myung-ha, we also meet the most mysterious character of the show. Is it Death? A guardian angel? God? Whatever it is, he knows more than Myung-ha, and has some wisdom to share. Thus, a sunbae. 

The fact that he is represented as some sort of Author is not lost on me, but I do appreciate that his identity is vague enough to be interpreted many different ways. No religious connotations, no punishment, no judgment, we cheered.

In theory, Myung-ha finds the idea that some people just don't live happy lives unfair. He doesn’t like the story’s ending (he doesn’t like his own ending either, as he regretted it in the last moments) so he sets off to change it through this new opportunity (the Game). When asked, "would you do things differently, if it were you, then?" he unequivocally answers that he would, that he would make it happen differently. Looking back, it’s clear his sunbae is not asking hypothetically. The underlying conversation is obviously about his own life being re-written, not (just) Yeo-woon’s. 

1. Mirrors/Symmetry ▶️2. Fate, Free Will, and Happiness 3. Game/Reality

So in theory, he’s all for doing things differently, but in practice, though, it's not that easy. He’s struggling not to make the same mistakes, which is represented with the in-game instability. When Myung-ha makes progress, when he both shows love and accepts it in return, the game (life) is able to go on in spite of the glitches.

Golden moments keep us going, literally.

After experiencing some system errors, some setbacks, his sunbae comes back to the rescue with some more not-so-hypothetical questions.

Through the lens of a loving relationship, he hopes to show Myung-ha that the choices we make out of despair are still our own (free will). It’s a direct parallel to Myung-ha deciding to cut his life short (break up, no pain, no hard feelings), instead of living longer (delaying it, enduring the hurt, getting scars, coping with regrets). 

Myung-ha is not quite ready, and has trouble understanding what is being implied. Because he hasn’t reached a state of self-love, he unknowingly doubles down on the fate he’s assigned himself once, and chooses to repeat it. 

He chooses to give up (again), he chooses to avoid the suffering (again), which he associates with unhappiness. It takes just as much courage to live as it does to die, and happiness doesn't exempt you of pain, but Myung-ha doesn’t know it just yet. He falls back into his old habits, and symbolically gives up staying longer in the game (of life), worried about Yeo-woo’s happiness more than his own. 

After working tirelessly to get Yeo-woon to happiness, and becoming the reliable person Yeo-woon can lean on, he hits the wall of his own contradictions. The relationship is uneven, the choice too biased. The gap widens, the fragility of the whole thing is apparent: the game is bugging, as Myung-ha doesn’t align his needs/desires with his actions/reactions. 

Not only does he refuse Kyung-hoon’s and Yeo-woon’s offer to lean on them (he hurt his leg following a system error), he also struggles accepting his own feelings. In spite of the time running out, he fails to tell Yeo-woon he loves him properly, retains important info about himself, and breaks up with him in the exact same location where they share their first kiss (loud wailing sounds of poetic cinema)

Myung-ha’s core issues are bursting out in the open (increasingly alarming error messages appear): because he doesn’t let himself be loved, he can’t love properly. Because he can’t lean on others when he needs it, he fails to be there when it matters. 

Myung-ha misguidedly keeps choosing a sad ending for himself when the whole game, his whole life, is fighting to give him a happy one.

That’s not to say his entire journey until now was in vain. In fact, Myung-ha is incredibly resilient (child...❤️), and opens himself to change at the end. He’s just missing a piece of the puzzle for it all to fit into place. It is, in fact, quite a big pill to swallow that happiness doesn’t happen to you passively like destiny, but instead is something that you actively choose. Hell, I struggle to even comprehend or believe it, tbh.

The game being littered with questions, answers, and possible choices/options is a visual representation of our everyday pondering, and choice making. What goals are we setting for ourselves? Myung-ha's sunbae is there to remind Myung-ha that if we refuse the existence of fate, then we should make use of your all-powerful free-will. 

At first, he blindly runs towards the game’s main goal--happiness--and doesn’t realize you can’t find it at the finish line. If he only wants happiness for someone else and not himself, why would he get a different ending? By the end, he learns that happiness can, possibly, be found on the way there, though.

The hand, the love he extends to Yeo-woon one-sidedly in episode 1, he accepts it when it is returned in episode 8.

The story comes full circle, but doesn't repeat itself; he gets a different ending through a new start.

From a pure stylistic standpoint, I'm obsessed with repeated lines/motifs in media because they give a lot of rhythm to a story. Like a poem or a song.

The story reaches its final stanza, he listens to himself, and resolves the error, his own contradictions. He found the will to fight for happiness, a way to love himself, chooses to stay longer, chooses Yeo-woon, chooses to maybe suffer along the way a little, but he chooses life. 

Notice how the question does not have Myung-ha's answer this time. Now, we choose.

Life is not an express lane, and if you're short 5,000 won to take the bus, or if the bus breaks down on the highway, you might have to fight and make a run for it. It'll suck. But it's not in vain; you might just get rewarded with the happy moments you created for yourself. Myung-ha does.

It is such a hopeful, kind, gentle message.

I am alive too.

[spellofwinter]

poetic cinema or whatever

[themousefromfantasyland]

Why haven't I watched Hamilton before?

The musical is amazing. It definitely deserves the hype. F@#* up haters, Lin-Manuel Miranda is a musical genius.

That's what I said. His lyrics and his songwriting are the best parts of whatever production.

But what I really want to talk here is not the music, but it's the anachronism of the story and how it's the main point of the whole thing: The past told through the present; the children of immigrants and slaves appropriate the founding narrative of America for themselves, pointing out the importance of the values and the impact of the hypocrisies and faults of the founding fathers.

Anachronism is the basis of everything, and this is the type of anachronism that can only work on stage. That's why Disney opted for a recording of the stage show instead of adapting into the screen.

Theater is allowed to be, well, theatrical, and surreal, and ANACHRONISTIC.

For some reason we are stuck with a cinema that's obsessed with being realistic and naturalistic.

But sometimes being surreal, poetic and anachronistic with a story is the thing that helps drive the main point home.

[adamsvanrhijn]

this really drives me insane.... Aurora Fane with her concerned realization face on .... Charles Fane perturbed and seemingly desperate to end whatever is happening here and make this look like a more heterosexual interaction .... john adams shamelessly flirting with oscar wilde in front of basically everybody he knows and then trying to look Oscar van rhijn his ex that HE dumped directly in the eye about it but Oscar quickly looks away..... this is what people mean when they say poetic cinema i think

[superoscars]

I think On Cinema and TimGregg is fundamentally about two codependent people who are so self-obsessed that they can’t acknowledge how much they need and desire one another. I still think that the series should end with Tim and Gregg losing everything except for their relationship with each other.

the extended ongoing tragedy that they both need each other really badly, but to tim being with gregg is like settling for the life hes spent the last decade running away from. his relationship with gregg does not fit into the idealized (and unattainable) fantasy of being a cool action movie star or having a family or being a politician or whatever other identity hes cooked up that season

season 13 would have been a good ending to the show, though i like everything thats happened since then and i kind of just want them to make it forever. the end of the latest oscar special felt sort of poetic to me, if they die together at the end of the series i think at this point that would also feel right

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

lies are only as good as the person who tells them (and you've never claimed to be)

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: sarah black | the bishop/john hartley | also the bishop, pining from our dear nolan here

Word Count: 3086

The first rule about running a con is that if you ever find yourself believing your own lies, it’s time to get out. 

Did he believe that he really cared about Agent Built-Like-A-Brick-Shit-House Hartley? At first, no, because he was just an angry wall of meat that was always conveniently placed between him and anything he wanted—namely, the eggs—and it was not hard to hate angry walls of meat. Then it became yes, he did actually care about this massive lug hauling himself alongside because hey, more people equals more variables equals more things he has to prepare for when everything goes tits up. 

Then…yeah, okay, maybe then. 

Maybe. 

Like, gun to his testicles he probably wouldn’t say anything but if Hartley was throwing a party, he’d turn up. Maybe. Just to snatch the most expensive bottle of booze, crack a joke, and leave. 

No, you know what? This is a dumb place to start. Try again. 

He wishes he would’ve just left with the fucking egg. 

He wishes he would’ve jumped off the car and onto the other car and rode away on it. 

He wishes he would’ve let the Bishop shoot Hartley in his fucking chest. 

He wishes he wouldn’t have included him in that prison escape plan. He wishes he’d never told him the long story about his dad. He wishes he’d’ve let that fucking train rip him in half.

He—

Nope. This sucks too. Starting over. 

The oldest rule to a con is that it’s got three parts. Hook, line, sinker. 

Hook, get your target to admit you’ve got a point. Get them interested. A foot in the door, no matter how gnarled, gross, disfigured, or warty it is. Even if it’s just a single toe. Get it in the door. 

Line, feed them something they’ll want to eat. Hint at what you want them to be paying attention to. Get them talking, get them on your side. 

Sinker. Ride the gullible sap all the way to the bottom of the ocean. Like dead weight. Reel them in. Make them eat your bait until their little fish mouths are so full they’re gasping before they’re even out of the water. 

…yeah, that metaphor fucking sucks. Start over. 

Any minute now. He’ll think of something. Don’t you worry. 

…it’s really fucking hot out here. 

Didn’t even give him any sunblock or sunscreen or sun tan lotion or whatever the hell else people call it. You know how hard it is to be inconspicuous with tan lines? Maybe he should be grateful that he’s getting his vitamin D now since wherever Das is gonna stick him now likely won’t have panoramic views. 

Also the cuffs. Hurting like hell, thanks. 

He wasn’t lying, not really, when he says he’s got no hard feelings for them. They’re good. Holy shit, they’re good. They fooled him, that’s saying something. And the whole thing with the dramatic build-up and the kiss? Poetic cinema at its finest. Sure, he also wasn’t lying when he said he had notes for Hartley’s performance. A little less of the posturing, yeah, maybe a little less heavy-handed with the I became a cop to get back at my old man who despised the law and everything it stood for bullshit, and maybe a little less of the I’m-going-to-pretend-to-be-asleep-after-you’ve-just-confessed-your-tragic-backstory-since-that-time-with-your-third-therapist, that was a dick move. 

But everything else…yeah. Really great. Top notch. 

Great performance. 

Nolan sniffs and tries to adjust his arms so he’s resting a little more comfortably against the tree. Which is hard, considering he’s standing in the middle of a fucking jungle with his hands cuffed around a branch and his chest is currently doing its very best to fucking explode. 

You have to get really good at listening to your body when you do what he does for a living. You have to know when you’re in pain and understand where your limits are. Extends to other things too, knowing when you’re hungry, when you’re tired, any of that stuff. Sure, once you know your limits you can start to push them, can start telling your body to fuck off and all that good stuff, but you’ve got to learn them first. 

Nolan Booth is not a fucking rookie. He’s been around the block. Over it, under it, through it, he’s practically circumcised it. He knows what he’s doing. 

Which means that it’s probably a good thing he’s handcuffed to the tree right now so he has an excuse for not knowing what the fuck he’s doing. 

Is he mad that they got the drop on him? You bet your sweet ass he is, he’s supposed to be the one victorious at the end of all of this, he’s supposed to have his walk-off into the sunset moment. Sure, it’s tempered a little bit by the fact that yeah, okay, game can recognize game and that was good. 

Is he mad that he doesn’t get to keep any of the eggs? Again, you bet your fucking ass he is. He did so much of the work to get those eggs, he fucking unearthed deep-seated childhood trauma for this shit, and no payoff? Rude. 

Is he mad that the stupidest, easiest lie in the fucking world is the one he fell for? 

Does he even need to say it this time?

Nolan clenches his jaw and tries to ignore the press of his forehead against the bark of the tree. It rasps against too-sensitive skin and doesn’t do anything to alleviate the sting of the cool metal cuffs. 

He tries to tell himself that this is fine, that the lie isn’t as stupid and entry-level as he thinks it is. Hartley may not have actually worked for the FBI as a profiler, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have the skills. Hell, he’s worked as a circus performer and he didn’t even have to pad out his CV that much. Hartley knew him, better than he’s let most therapists know him, and adjusted the lie accordingly. It was tailored specifically for him, that’s why it worked so well.

Never mind that it’s impossible to get that much stuff without actually talking to someone, never mind that it’s almost insulting how easy it was for him, if that was the case, it means they looked him up and did the job they knew he would fall for. 

Of course they did, a traitorous part of his brain whispers, they’re con artists. That’s what you do. 

Nolan grits his teeth and tugs at the cuffs again. It’s useless, he knows, he’s actually going to have to work to be free of these blasted things, but his hands aren’t working properly right now and he’s still too distracted by the pain blossoming in his chest. 

He wonders if Hartley knowing how badly he wanted to believe the lie was a part of how they came up with it. 

Who is he kidding, of course it was. 

Hartley’s words still ring in his head. Worthy of your father’s love. That had been the first time he’d conceded to the big hunk and he…he’d honestly thought it might be the last. But it hadn’t. 

Not when he’d gotten caught right next to him and found that not only is the man strong, he’s smart.

Not when he’d actually been hurt when he’d heard the fake snore coming from underneath him. 

Not when he’d watched him about to handcuff the Bishop only to stop, an actual fond smile coming to his face before sharing what might be the most tender kiss he’s ever seen with the woman who was supposed to be their greatest rival. 

His greatest rival. 

Nolan resists the urge to slam his head against the branch. Barely. 

We. When did this become a ‘we’ thing? When did he start thinking of this operation not as Booth and some agent he’s dragging along, but Booth and Hartley? When did he start to care that someone else was here, to the point where he left the fucking egg?

As with all good cons, the target can’t point out a singular moment where the switch flipped. It’s a slow burn, the kind where you put a frog in water and it doesn’t jump out even when its skin starts to peel off. 

How hot was the water when he heard Hartley laugh for the first time? Like, genuinely, I’m-not-shitting-you, you-genuinely-caught-me-off-guard laugh. His whole face had broken out into this smile and Nolan hadn’t been able to look away for a second. 

How hot was the water when he’d heard Hartley gasping for breath behind him and his chest had seized, trying to make him spit out the information just so he could get Sotto Voce to stop?

How hot was the water when they’d both been scrabbling around in the dirt like children, their sides pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, until the heat was almost unbearable?

He’d been boiled alive at the bottom of the waterfall. 

It doesn’t matter what you do, only what they think you’ve done. 

It doesn’t matter that the gasps he heard from Hartley made his throat cry out in agony, only that he lied to Bishop about where the last egg was. It doesn’t matter that his hand shook as he fitted the watch into place on that Nazi bunker, only that it worked to get inside. 

It doesn’t matter that his heart feels like it’s tearing itself in two, only that he got them what they wanted. 

The cuffs jangle as he yanks on them. 

Hartley…with his gruff voice and short sentences and jokes that slid just underneath Nolan’s skin. Even when they’d been fighting, he’d never hurt Nolan, not really, not badly, and the way they just seemed to match each other. Even with their insults and when they’d been squaring up in front of guns and technology and behind enemy lines, they’d been—he could look at Hartley and feel some sort of security. 

And Bishop…god, where does he even begin? The attention she’d paid him, the way she said his name, the way she’s crafted the narrative of them together as art thieves, even the way they teased Hartley for being so Johnny Law…

He tries to observe his own flaws with the way he does others, if only to make sure he can account for them when he goes to work. He knows he has a need for validation, for attention, but god had he underestimated how much he’d turned into a fucking lapdog. 

The pit in his chest opens a little bit more and two hands twist the knife. 

Whoever said that true friends stab you in the front because it’s quick and painless is a filthy liar. 

Of course they knew. Of course they knew. They’re too fucking smart not to know. He knew as well, that this was just a game. This was a game of them trying to one-up each other, seeing who could get the other to give up a weakness first. He knows he lost. He knows he’s lost badly and he’s a gracious loser. But that doesn’t mean it’s painless. 

He wonders who figured out he was starved for affection first. His money is on Hartley, just because the man is the one who figured out how to walk the line between giving Nolan enough to make him follow the crumbs like a stupid pigeon while still believing it was all his idea. But Bishop…oh, Bishop did so well with toying with him that he has to believe she knew it too. Little boy, perfectly molded into what they needed him to be by a daddy who didn’t talk to him for over a year and there he was, a pawn they moved effortlessly across the board, hand in unlovable hand. 

Another lie he told himself, another lie he knows he won’t ever be able to believe. 

Thank god he’s tied up in a jungle. The breeze ripples through the trees and insects whine like it’s their job to suck his brain out of his ears and he’s panting as he pulls at the jangling cuffs. It’s not quiet, it won’t ever be, not here, and he’s just a little bit grateful to them for that. 

“Do you ever shut up,” Hartley had grumbled on the flight to Argentina, “or am I cursed to just put up with your noise?”

“Aw, don’t complain, sweetheart, I’m sure I’ll make plenty of noise for you if you just ask nicely.” Never mind the fact that he would, he knows he would, if only that shamed and shunned part of him weren’t so buried. 

Hartley had glared at him. “I’m sick of you.”

And unbidden, Nolan had laughed. Genuinely laughed. “You think you’re sick of me? I have to listen to me all the time, even when I’m not talking.”

Hartley had given him another look, one that he now knows means he’s filing that information away to be turned into a weapon later, wielded by him or the Bishop, it doesn’t matter. Back then, he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, it’d been something like…regret? Compassion? Something?

Nolan isn’t sure that Hartley knew what he was saying. 

I have to listen to me all the time, even when I’m not talking. 

The worst thing about prison is the silence. Of seeing so many people and knowing they’re there and no one saying anything. Of being ignored because of course he’s there to be ignored. No one cares, no one will, and he will drown in silence until he can’t hear himself scream. 

Maybe he should. 

His throat closes up and aches to be let free and he wants to, he wants to, but the lingering fear that someone might hear him keeps a lock on it. 

Because he’s under no illusions that he’s saved face, but he has some pride left. 

He settles for the most pathetic whine he can think of as he buries his face into the bark of the tree. There’s no one but himself here to lie to, not in the safety of his own head, and he knows better than to try right now. 

He thought his legs were going to give out when he realized what had happened. He’d stared at them looking so smug, so perfect, so annoyingly perfect when they revealed what the jig was. And then to see them comforting each other, reassuring each other, apologizing to each other because they cared about each other. Seeing the fake warmth fade to genuine affection and fondness as they proceeded to treat him like a wall. He wasn’t there. He didn’t matter. He never did, he was just the Bishops’ pawn, and he would never be anything more than that. 

Nolan’s eyes squeeze tighter. He’s not going to cry alone in this jungle, handcuffed to a tree. He’s not. 

He’s not going to think about how stupidly condescending that last speech was. He’s not going to think about the part of him that still yearned to reach for Hartley during that moment when he said they had nothing but respect for him. He’s not going to think about how much he felt like a kid again, begging for scraps of anything from a father that wouldn’t give it to him. 

He’s not going to think about how easily they moved around each other. He’s not going to think about how, even when they were still supposedly enemies, they moved around each other as easily and comfortably as only intimate lovers could. He’s not going to think about how well he could see that in how they took turns tearing him apart. 

He’s not going to think about where they’re going now. He’s not going to think about the Bishop in some extravagant evening gown with Hartley taking her arm, the power couple they are. He’s not going to think about how much they care for each other, how much they depend on each other, and how little of anything they ever gave him was or could have been real. 

Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t real. It won’t be real. They don’t think of him. He is nothing to them, not in the way they could be to him. 

So he’s not going to think about it. 

He’s not. 

He’s not. 

Nolan Booth ducks his face between his elbows as tears squeeze themselves from his eyes. 

He can’t stay here. Das is going to come looking for him. He’s going to be escorted back to prison and he’s going to have to deal with this. He has to plan. 

So he lets himself have this. He slumps against the cuffs and lets them dig into the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrists and he lets the ache in his chest send him almost to his knees. Because the second Das finds him, the game is on and he’s going to need all of his strength for what comes next. 

He has to rest now. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he wants to scream, he has to rest now. 

He’s as silent as he can be in the middle of an abandoned jungle. 

He lets Das and her men throw him roughly into the back of a truck. He lets his restraints be fastened so tight his circulation is about to be cut off. He lets himself be shoved into the back of a silent truck that means he can’t hear anything other than his own breathing and the blood rushing in his ears. 

He lets the boat spray hit him too hard in the face as he rides it out to the yacht in the middle of the ocean. He lets his shoulders ache and protest as he squeezes himself into a too-small space. He lets the sounds of passionate, real love and affection nestle into some soft part of his brain and stay there. 

He lets Hartley look at him like he’s a pest. He lets his words that say I don’t give a single fuck about you and you wish I cared enough to be angrier strike him where Hartley knows it hurts. He lets Bishop persuade her partner—her partner—to take the score because Booth can be a valuable asset and Hartley trusts her, one hundred percent. 

And he never again lets himself believe that, even for a second, any affection they show him could possibly be real.