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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year

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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.

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.

#red notice #nolan booth #john hartley #sarah black #the bishop #fic #dragonbabbles

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that-1-url · 8 months

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my thoughts on the pjo tv show (spoilers for episode 8) pt 2

6. speaking of VFX, why. They took the time to animate Grover's legs (something mostly unnecessary due to the fact that he wears jeans, fake feet and a hat to hide his goat-ness) in favor of other small things such as Ares' eyes, or Zeus' "flashy" exit from the throne room, or the throne room in general, or the size of the gods (something that could be done with practical effects). 7. Percy's ADHD. It just simply wasn't there. I don't have the authority to speak on the dyslexia side of things, but it felt like they replaced Percy's ADHD with some sort of hallucination-like thing that everyone around him gaslit him into thinking he had. It felt very odd and jarring at times, and while similar events happen in the books, all of the adults around him seemed very determined to like, hospitalize him or something. (This is no hate towards anyone who has visual hallucinations, it just felt like a very weird and slightly ableist (?) approach to the matter that really didn't do either ADHD nor hallucinations any real justice in terms of how it was) [i can't word this correctly i'm sorry] 8. The timeline. They had Grover throw Percy under the bus (for literally no reason) and then immediately whisk him off to montauk in the middle of the school year. (in the books it feels more natural because its at the end of the school term. which apparently it's the summer in the show? but the whole thing is really confusing). It was even more confusing when they show Sally returning because first he goes to montauk in his dream and then she's suddenly there when he wakes up and it begins at the end of the summer i guess?? Not to mention the whole weird portal thing with Luke. He didn't even mention his quest or why he felt personally betrayed by the gods. Just that he hated them because he hated feeling weak? Also Hermes and Hephaestus' appearances didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. I feel like the way they escape the casino didn't need to be changed, and in changing it they took away some of Percy's insecurity because in the book he's like "wow I'm having fun with annabeth and grover to find-? who? my mom! how could i forget my mom? something's up". Another quick thing I'm taking on the end is Annabeth getting left behind in the Fields of Asphodel didn't make any sense to me. 9. Annabeth and Grover randomly giving Percy their stuff? It didn't make a lot of sense and was never explained. 10. Percy's main focus at CHB being less of "I want my mom back and I want my dad to pay child support" and more of "so if i do something cool my dad will notice? hmm" felt very odd and out of character. 11. This is less of a critique and more of just a whiny complaint but the series could've been set in 2005 and wasn't. 12. I understand that the show was never going to be a shot-by-shot retelling of the books and i never expected that, but the way they cut out/added scenes felt very erratic and was heavily dependent on the audience already being familiar with the material that I guess we were supposed to fill in the gaps ourselves? and a lot of people have been like "Rick's improving on the story!" and while there were some add-ins I enjoyed, I feel like they cut or changed too many important scenes to really keep the main idea of both the plot and characters. Time for stuff I liked! 1. Dionysus tricking Percy so he would get him a drink was fucking hilarious. 2. Luke's voiceover before Percy fighting Ares being a parallel with Percy's "Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood"? Poetic cinema. 3. Percy pushing Grover and Annabeth through the door at the Arch. Excessive personal loyalty anyone?

4. Grover and Annabeth dunking Percy in the fountain to heal his shoulder was really funny. Truely teenage dumbassery at its finest 5. I didn't like how there wasn't the lightning bolt that threw them off the road at the beginning, but I will give the scene points for looking scarily similar to how I pictured it in my head. 6. The raw quote from Poseidon in the throne room "Obedience does not come naturally to you, does it?" "No...sir." 7. AGE ACCURATE CASTING! This is something we all have been saying from the beginning, but I like acknowledging it again. :) 8. The layout of CHB. You can see just about everything from Half-Blood hill in the books and in the show it's all nice and spread out (as opposed to the Peter Johnson movies where you couldn't even see the next cabin over).

There's more things I have on both sides that I might think of and post about later, but for now that's all I've got. I really did try to approach the TV series with an open mind, but as a show altogether I didn't like it that much, and I really don't think it did The Lightning Thief justice. It's hard to adapt books to TV, but it is possible. I believe that if they had more than eight episodes it could've played out more smoothly, but there were just too many things that changed that didn't have to, and there was too many holes that were left because they cut out the wrong scenes. Kudos to everyone who worked hard on the show and I'm glad that other people enjoyed it. But please respect my opinion and if you have any point of discussion I'd be happy to talk about them with you in a polite, constructive way. Welcome new fans and hello again to old ones, go out and enjoy Percy Jackson and The Olympians, it's a great series (books and TV alike, even if i personally don't like the show)

#percy jackson #percy jackson tv series #pjo tv show #textpost #long post

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sa7abnews · 2 months

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Best French Films - Cinéma Saturday - Cyrano de Bergerac

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/06/best-french-films-cinema-saturday-cyrano-de-bergerac/

Best French Films - Cinéma Saturday - Cyrano de Bergerac

From last week's hilarious comedy, we go to quite another branch of French cinema – the heritage cinema of the 1990s. One of its finest examples is this week's choice which has definitely stood the test of time and is as beautiful, witty and weepy as it ever was.

This week's film is Jean-Paul Rappeneau's classic Cyrano de Bergerac featuring Gérard Depardieu, Anne Brochet and Vincent Perez .

Cast & Crew

Director: Jean-Paul Rappeneau Cast: Gérard Depardieu, Anne Brochet, Vincent Perez, Roland Bertin, Jacques Weber. Screenplay: Edmond Rostand (play) adapted by Jean-Paul Rappeneau and Jean-Claude Carrière Cinematographer: Pierre Lhomme Producer: René Cleitman and Michel Seydoux Year: 1990 Genre: Historic romantic comedy drama Awards & Accolades: 11 César awards, a Golden Globe Award, Nominated for five Oscars (won Best Costume design), won four BAFTAs (nominated for eight), British Society of Cinematographers award for Pierre Lhomme and won and nominated in various international critics' awards. To see them all, check imdb.

Synopsis

Cyrano, a swashbuckling hero with a gift for verse – and a prominent proboscis – is madly in love with the most beautiful woman in Paris. Deterred though by his feelings of physical inadequacy, he instead uses his poetic skills to support another hapless suitor. But will the object of their affection realise who she’s really falling for?

What I liked about this film

French cinema enjoyed a kind of golden age of so-called heritage cinema in the 1990s, which brought historic stories to life often in beautiful and successful films. Full of beautiful landscapes in France, gorgeous costumes and people and places anchored in French culture, this week's film is no exception.

In Cyrano de Bergerac we have all the joy of French history, culture, food, conviviality, bravery, poetry and romance all mixed together in what is essentially a film of a very fine play. Rostand's Cyrano is a wonderful play which has been produced and re-imagined many times over in its history. Jean-Paul Rappeneau here gives us a rich tapestry of characters, beautifully shot and with a wonderful (English subtitles) translation by the great Anthony Burgess. The verse actually still 'works' for anglophones (it's no longer in French Alexandrines but, who's quibbling?) – so good news if your French is not quite up to historic drama.

What I love about this film is exactly this playful verse alongside the sumptuous setting and costumes full of candlelight and carriages, daring swashbuckling swordsmanship and plotting intrigues. It is full of warmth, comedy, drama and romance and it would be hard not to get swept up in the joy of all this 'period drama'.

Cyrano is brilliantly played by Depardieu and he brings all the bravado and tenderness required for the role. Cyrano has to be one of the characters you just fall in love with. He's witty, generous and bold: a poet soldier of gargantuan energy! In private, he is tender, poetic and loving. Yet he can't reveal this side of himself, claiming as he does to have far too large a nose to be of any interest to anyone, let alone the fair Roxane. I think I must be one of those Cyrano fans that Roger Ebert described in his review from 1990:

This seems like an excellent rule of thumb! In fact, I suspect that in adolescent musings, and self-esteem rock-bottom times, I probably over-identified with Cyrano! ☺️

In this beautiful comedy drama, there is political intrigue and jealousy, bravado and real bravery, gallantry and poetry. Truly, it's beautiful to look at it but very much more than style over substance. The cast plays each part to perfection with Brochet radiating the beauty of Roxane and Depardieu morphing into the tentative poet-soldier. Perez is the ideal Christian and the huge array of characters is full of life. The whole cast plays it absolutely seriously and so there are many laughs, much pathos and poetic beauty.

If you have seen it, it is worth seeking out the restored version and buying a new copy (handy links below). Settle down to an atmospheric Louis XIII-era comedy drama with laughs, duels and intrigue… and some real panache!

Why not indulge in one of French cinema's most delightful films?

1990 cast photographs

The British Film Institute brought a restored Bluray to market in 2020.

And just for fun, a bizarre Letterman interview from the "period" – 1990! (Was TV really like that?)

Where to Find It

Handy links are provided here for easy reference – just click on the images. (I'd be so delighted if you could support the blog and podcast by using the links below, at no cost to you.)

US & UK (clicking will show the product in your Amazon region*) DVD

BluRay

France/EU DVD

BluRay

Streaming

In the UK and other territories (including France) it is available to stream on Amazon Prime Video here.

*Product links might include Affiliate links which mean that you can support the blog and podcast by making a purchase at zero cost to you. Thank you for your support – it's so appreciated.

Have you seen this film? Did you like it? Let me know what you thought by email: hello at francewhereyouare dot com or over on social media.

I love to talk cinema! And when they're closed, I love to talk home cinema.

#News &x26; Politics

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mad-hatter-teacups · 2 months

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Mikhail's guardianship getting replaced by a Kenku is the funniest shit to me. Imagine neglecting your job so badly the pillars decide that the States guardianship goes to a literal bird creature instead of a human or a vampire.

V getting put in charge of Nosgoth's finances and having been a thief is poetic cinema at its finest.

Kain finding all of his guardians through some weird connection and then there's V...whom he literally finds in the garbage.

#legacy of kain #legacy of kain ocs #v the kenku

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pavitrtimes · 4 months

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The Art of Modern Anniversary Wishes: Influences from Bollywood's Finest

In this age of digital expressions and public declarations of love, the trend of commemorating anniversaries has taken on a new dimension. Distinctively, anniversary wishes from actors and personalized greetings by Bollywood celebrities have raised the bar for how these special moments are celebrated and shared with the public. As icons of cultural sophistication and romantic expression, Bollywood stars provide the perfect muse for those seeking to craft formal and elegant anniversary messages.

Celebratory Trends Set by Bollywood Personalities

Renowned for their expressive ways and larger-than-life personalities, Bollywood celebrities often share anniversary wishes that blend traditional sentiments with contemporary eloquence. These wishes are not only a testimony to the love shared between celebrity couples but also become a talking point for their elegance and heart-touching content.

Formality and Grace in Public Expressions of Love

When actors share anniversary wishes, there is often a layer of formality and decorum present, reflective of their status as public figures. A formal anniversary message incorporates respect, admiration, and often a touch of poetic flair—qualities that Bollywood celebrities adeptly model in their social media posts, interviews, and public appearances.

The Power of Wordplay and Poetry

Anniversary wishes by Bollywood celebrities often ring with the lyrical quality inherent in Indian cinema. The use of poetic language, metaphor, and cultural references can imbue a message with both depth and beauty. By borrowing techniques from scriptwriting and lyricism, anyone can elevate their anniversary wishes to a state of artful elegance.

Crafting Your Own Bollywood-Inspired Anniversary Wishes

Drawing upon the finesse of Bollywood's finest can result in anniversary wishes that are both formal and heartwarming. Here are a few tips to enhance the caliber of your anniversary communications:

Adopt a Respectful Tone: Keep the language respectful and appreciative. Use phrases that reflect the maturity and depth of your relationship, honoring the journey and the individual you are celebrating with.

Incorporate Poetic Elements: Use metaphors, similes, and gentle wordplay to give your message a lyrical quality. You may reference traditional verses or culturally significant imagery to add an extra layer of richness.

Refer to Shared Experiences: Like many actors do, reflect on your shared experiences and the growth of your relationship. This can include milestones, challenges overcome together, and the dreams you harbor for the future.

Be Authentic: While formality has its place, authenticity should not be lost. Ensure that your message comes from the heart and genuinely reflects your feelings and the bond you share.

Conclusion

In a world that often feels transient and fleeting, the longevity of a loving relationship is something to be heralded with grace and sincerity. Taking inspiration from the ceremonious anniversary wishes from actors and Bollywood celebrities can help anyone strike a balance between opulence and authenticity.

As we adopt the styles and eloquence of these big-screen luminaries into our own anniversary communications, we not only celebrate love—we do so with a touch of cinematic brilliance that can leave an indelible mark on the hearts of our loved ones.

An anniversary is more than a mere date; it's an opportunity to reaffirm love and commitment with a resonance that echoes the enduring charm of Bollywood romances. May your anniversary wishes sparkle with the same timeless elegance.

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