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lifeofpriya · 1 month ago

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From Foes to Lovers - Taylor Fritz

[gif credit goes to @fritzes]

a/n: there is a big chunk in the story where Taylor is portrayed to be an a-hole, so please proceed with caution if such behavior is not something you want to read

summary: from frenemies to lovers, you and taylor navigate a complex relationship filled with animosity, forgiveness, and ultimately, a deep connection...

You've known Taylor Fritz for what seems like an eternity, even though you both had only known each other for a couple of years. Your friendship had blossomed quickly from a casual acquaintance to an unshakeable bond. You both share the same passion for tennis, which brought you together. You were drawn to Taylor's fiery spirit and unyielding dedication to the sport, and he, in turn, found solace in your calming presence and analytical mind.

You had always been the one to listen to Taylor's rants about matches and offer constructive criticism without judgment. You understood the pressure of being a professional athlete in a way few others could. The countless hours spent on the court together, the sweat and tears shed over lost games and missed opportunities, had created a connection that was more than just friendship.

It was a sweltering summer day when the tide began to turn. Taylor had just lost a grueling match at the Wimbledon tournament. You found him slumped against the locker room wall, gulping down water, his eyes brimming with frustration. You approached slowly, not wanting to invade his space, but ready to offer comfort if needed.

"You did your best," you said, your voice gentle and understanding.

Taylor's head snapped up, eyes flashing with a mix of anger and pain. "Best isn't good enough," he spat out.

You nodded, your heart aching for him. You knew the feeling of losing a match that meant everything. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but it's all part of the journey."

Taylor scoffed, pushing off the wall to face you. "Journey? It's just a never-ending cycle of disappointment and hard work."

You reached out tentatively, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're just feeling the heat of the moment. You're better than this, you know that."

He shrugged your hand off, the sting of his rejection piercing your chest. "What do you know?"

You stepped back, surprised by his harshness. "I know how much you've sacrificed, how hard you've worked, and how much you want this," you replied evenly, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice.

Taylor glared at you, his eyes stormy with emotion. "You think you know me?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to maintain eye contact. "I thought I did."

Taylor took a step closer, his breath hot on your face. "You think you can just waltz in here and tell me how I feel?"

You held your ground, your heart racing. "I'm just trying to help," you said, your voice a whisper.

Taylor's eyes searched yours, the anger slowly dissipating. "I don't need your help," he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion.

You felt your chest tighten as the words sank in. "Okay," you replied, taking a step back. "If that's what you really believe, I'll give you space."

Taylor's eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he nodded, turning away to grab his gear. The silence in the locker room was deafening, the only sound being the rustle of clothing and the distant murmur of the bustling tennis complex.

As the days passed, the tension between you grew. Taylor's training sessions grew more intense, his focus laser-sharp, but his words grew cold. He pushed himself harder than ever before, and you could see the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. You continued to support him, offering advice and encouragement when he needed it, but he kept you at bay.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, you decided to confront him. You found him sitting on the edge of the court, his racket lying abandoned beside him.

"Hey," you called out softly, your footsteps echoing through the empty stadium.

Taylor didn't look up, his eyes fixed on the horizon, where the setting sun painted the sky with hues of pink and orange. You sat down next to him, the cold metal of the bench sending a shiver up your spine. The scent of sweat filled the air, a potent reminder of the day's activities.

"Look," you began, choosing your words with care. "I know you're going through a tough time right now, but pushing people away isn't going to help you win."

Taylor finally turned to face you, his eyes red-rimmed and tired. "What makes you think you know what I need?"

You took a deep breath, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "Because I care about you. And I've seen you like this before. You're pushing too hard, and you're going to break if you don't let someone in."

Taylor's expression was unreadable for a moment, his jaw clenched tight. Then, slowly, he began to speak. "You don't get it. I can't just rely on someone else to fix me."

You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. "I'm not trying to fix you. I'm just trying to be here for you."

Taylor flinched at your touch, his eyes flashing with something you couldn't quite decipher. "I don't need your pity," he said, his voice gruff.

You pulled your hand back, the warmth of his skin lingering. "It's not pity, it's concern."

Taylor looked away again, his eyes focusing on the distant horizon. The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. You could see the muscles in his neck tighten as he swallowed hard. "I don't want anyone to be concerned about me," he murmured. "I just want to be left alone."

You felt a pang of sadness at his words, but you knew that wasn't what he truly meant. "Taylor," you began, your voice firm but gentle, "you can't do this alone. You're not an island."

He scoffed, not looking at you. "That's easy for you to say."

You leaned back, giving him the space he seemed to crave. "I'm not saying it's easy. I've been there. I've felt like that. But you've always been there for me."

Taylor's gaze flickered to yours before he turned away again. "It's different."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken words. "I know it is," you said. "But that doesn't mean you're not allowed to lean on someone."

"Just leave me alone," Taylor said, his voice a mix of frustration and defeat.

You studied him, the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw, and the sadness in his eyes. You knew him so well, knew when he was hurt, knew when he was hiding his feelings behind a mask of anger. But this time, the mask was slipping, and you weren't sure if you were ready to face what was underneath.

You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the evening air fill your lungs. "Okay," you said finally. "I'll leave you alone. For now." You stood up, the bench squeaking under your weight.

Taylor didn't move, didn't say a word, didn't even acknowledge your departure. You turned and walked away, the heaviness of the moment settling like a lead weight in your stomach. As you walked through the quiet corridors of the stadium, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed irrevocably between you.

The next few weeks were a blur of training and tournaments, with Taylor's mood swinging wildly from icy indifference to explosive anger. You tried to give him the space he had asked for, but it was difficult when his very presence was a constant reminder of the unspoken words and unresolved emotions. You watched him from the sidelines, feeling helpless as he pushed himself to the brink.

One rainy afternoon, you found him in the gym, punching a heavy bag with a ferocity that made you wince. The rain pattered against the windows, creating a rhythm that mirrored the thump of his fists. You hovered in the doorway, unsure if you should interrupt his solitude. But the sight of him, drenched in sweat and pain, was too much to bear.

"Taylor," you called out, your voice barely audible over the sound of his exertion.

He didn't stop, didn't even look your way. The rhythm of his punches didn't falter as they continued to pummel the bag. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the metallic tang of effort.

You took a cautious step into the room, the rubber matting cold and sticky underfoot. "Taylor," you tried again, louder this time.

He finally paused, his chest heaving, and turned to face you. His eyes were dark with emotion, his hair plastered to his forehead. "What?" he snapped.

You stepped closer, ignoring the way your heart thudded in your chest. "I just… I wanted to check on you."

Taylor's eyes narrowed, his fists still clenched at his sides. "There's nothing to check," he said, his voice gruff.

You took another step forward, the rain casting shadows across the floor. "You're wrong," you said firmly. "You're not okay, and you don't have to pretend."

Taylor's eyes searched yours, looking for a sign of weakness, but all he found was steadfast resolve. "What do you want from me?" he demanded, his voice strained.

You took a deep breath, the rain outside providing a serene backdrop to the tumultuous emotions within. "I just want you to talk to me," you said simply.

Taylor stared at you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his workout. The rain grew heavier, the droplets racing down the windows, blurring the world outside.

"Talk?" he echoed, his voice hoarse from the exertion. "What's the point? Nothing changes."

You took another step closer, the rain outside a gentle serenade to the chaos within. "Sometimes talking helps," you offered, your voice a soft whisper in the vastness of the room.

Taylor scoffed, his eyes never leaving yours. "Talking doesn't change the scoreboard."

You nodded, understanding his frustration but refusing to back down. "No, it doesn't," you conceded. "But it can change how you feel about it."

Taylor's eyes searched yours for a moment before he turned away, walking to the edge of the gym where the rain was a soothing backdrop. He leaned against the wall, "if it's another one of your pep talks, save it. I'm tired of hearing how I need to 'believe in myself' and 'keep pushing'. I've heard it all before."

You followed, the sound of your shoes squeaking against the wet matting. "It's not about the pep talk," you said, your voice calm and steady. "It's about you and me. I miss our friendship, and I'm worried about you."

Taylor didn't respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on the rain-soaked world beyond the window. The droplets danced and merged, creating a pattern that seemed to mimic the chaos in your hearts. "Friendship," he bitterly repeated, his shoulders slumping. "What good is friendship when all it does is hold me back?"

You felt a jolt of anger at his words, but you knew better than to let it show. Instead, you stepped closer, your voice measured and calm. "Taylor, I've never held you back. I've been your biggest supporter."

He turned to face you, his eyes stormy. "Maybe that's the problem," he said, the words hanging in the air like shards of glass. "Maybe I don't need your support. Maybe I just need to do this on my own."

You took a step back, the sting of his words like a slap across the face. "Is that what you really believe?"

Taylor didn't respond, his gaze unwavering, his body rigid with tension.

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. "Okay," you said, your voice deceptively calm. "If that's what you need, then I'll back off."

Taylor's gaze didn't waver from yours, the storm in his eyes unabated. "Good," he said, his voice firm. "That's all I ever wanted."

You nodded, trying to keep the sadness from seeping into your voice. "If that's all you want, then that's what you'll get."

The rain outside grew louder, a crescendo to the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Taylor's eyes searched yours, as if looking for a glimmer of understanding or perhaps regret. But you had made up your mind. You couldn't watch him self-destruct anymore, not if he didn't want your help.

You turned to leave, the rain's rhythm a sad refrain to the silence that now enveloped the gym. As you reached the door, you paused, looking back one last time. Taylor had not moved from his spot by the window, his shoulders still tense, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the wall.

The days that followed were some of the most difficult of your life. You watched from a distance as he continued to push himself, his training sessions growing longer and more intense. The bond between you had frayed to a near-breaking point, and yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you needed to be there for him.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you found him in the locker room, nursing a freshly wrapped hand. The bruises on his knuckles told the story of his anger and frustration.

You wanted to reach out to him, to offer some kind of comfort, but his closed-off posture warned you away. Instead, you grabbed a towel and began to wipe down your own equipment, your eyes never straying from his reflection in the mirror across the room. The silence was unbearable, but you knew better than to break it.

As the days turned into weeks, the tension between you grew palpable, thick as the humidity that clung to the stadium's walls. You watched as Taylor's fiery spirit began to dim, the passion in his eyes fading to a dull ember. Yet, you remained steadfast, giving him the space he had demanded while still being present, a constant reminder that you weren't going anywhere.

One evening, after an exceptionally long and grueling training session, you found him in the locker room, his head in his hands. His shoulders heaved with silent sobs, the weight of his burdens too much to bear alone. You froze, unsure if you should intrude on this moment of vulnerability. But the pain in his shoulders, the raw emotion that radiated from his very pores, tugged at your heartstrings, and you couldn't just walk away.

You approached slowly, setting down your gear. "Taylor?" you asked tentatively.

He didn't respond, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. You took a step closer, your hand hovering over his shoulder before you finally made contact, the warmth of your touch seeping into his skin.

"Hey," you whispered, your voice low and gentle.

Taylor jerked upright, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He didn't look at you, but you could see the embarrassment and anger flit across his features. "I'm fine," he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion.

You sat down next to him, ignoring the way your own heart was racing. "You're not," you said softly. "And that's okay. We all have moments when we're not fine."

Taylor sniffled, still not looking at you.

You continued, "But what's not okay is pushing everyone away, especially when you're not." You paused, allowing your words to sink in. "I know you're hurting. And I know you're scared."

Taylor's head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. "How do you know?" he asked, his voice raw.

You took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of sweat and determination. "Because I see it in your eyes," you said gently. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, on the court and off. You've always been like that."

Taylor stared at you for a moment before dropping his gaze to his lap. "What if I'm not good enough?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

You reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You are good enough," you assured him. "You're one of the best."

Taylor's eyes searched yours in the mirror, the storm in them slowly subsiding. "But what if I'm not?" he repeated, his voice barely audible.

You squeezed his shoulder gently. "You are. And even if you weren't, that doesn't change how I feel about you."

Taylor's eyes grew wide in the mirror, and he turned to face you, the question in his gaze unspoken but clear.

"What do you mean?" he managed to croak out.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your hand still on his shoulder. "I mean," you began, taking a deep breath, "that no matter what happens on the court, no matter if you win or lose, I'm here for you. As a friend, as someone who cares about you."

Taylor's eyes searched yours, the question still lingering in his gaze. "But what if—"

You cut him off gently. "But what if what, Taylor?"

He took a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "What if it's more than that?"

You felt your heart skip a beat. "More than what?" you asked, playing coy, even though you knew what he meant.

Taylor took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "More than friendship," he clarified, his voice hoarse.

You felt your own heart thud in your chest, the realization of what he was saying sinking in. You had felt it too, the undeniable pull that went beyond the camaraderie of shared sweat and triumphs. But you had been afraid to voice it, to risk shattering the delicate balance of your friendship.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, the locker room suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. "Taylor," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "I…"

He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours, the anticipation in the air thick as the scent of sweat and rain. "You what?"

You took a deep breath, the weight of your confession pressing down on you. "I… I care about you," you finally managed, the words slipping out like a whispered secret. "More than just as a friend."

Taylor's eyes searched yours, the unspoken question in them now a silent plea for confirmation. You could see the hope and fear warring within him, the same emotions you had felt for so long.

"Me too," he breathed, his voice a mere wisp of sound.

The admission hung in the air, potent as the scent of rain and sweat, a confession that had been brewing for longer than either of you cared to admit. The locker room was no longer a stark, cold space filled with the echoes of your past conversations and the clang of metal lockers. It was a sanctuary, a place where the walls had borne witness to your silent yearnings and the floor had felt the brunt of your shared pain.

Taylor's gaze searched yours, his eyes wide with the intensity of his emotions. The silence between you was no longer filled with the echoes of your past, but the promise of a future that was still unwritten. The rain outside had turned into a gentle patter, a rhythmic lullaby that seemed to be encouraging you to take the next step.

You leaned in closer, the warmth of your breath mingling with his. "Taylor," you whispered, the words thick with the unspoken promise of something more.

He leaned in as well, his eyes never leaving yours. "What?" he asked, his voice a mere rasp.

You swallowed, feeling your heart racing in your chest. "I… I think we're more than just friends."

Taylor's eyes searched yours, the storm of emotions swirling in their depths. "I think so too," he whispered, his voice hoarse with the weight of his own unspoken words.

The locker room, which had been a battleground of unspoken feelings and frustration, now became a sanctuary of shared vulnerability. You reached out, tentatively brushing a lock of sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. His skin was warm, and the touch sent a shiver down your spine.

"I've always seen it," Taylor murmured, his eyes searching yours for the truth. "But I didn't know if it was just me."

You felt your chest tighten at his words, the gravity of the moment sinking in. "It's not just you," you assured him, your voice a gentle caress in the quiet locker room.

Taylor leaned closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt. "Really?" he breathed, the hope in his voice a balm to your weary soul.

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. "Really," you confirmed, the words a whispered promise.

Taylor's eyes searched yours for a long moment before he closed the distance between you. His hand reached up, cupping your cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had escaped. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fiery determination you had witnessed on the court.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. "For never giving up on me."

You nodded, your own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Always," you whispered back.

Taylor leaned in, and for the briefest moment, the world outside the locker room ceased to exist. His lips met yours in a kiss that was as soft as the patter of rain against the windows, as fierce as the storm raging within the both of you. It was a declaration, a question, and an apology all rolled into one.

You melted into him, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the coldness that had settled in your heart over the past weeks. His kiss was familiar yet new, a heady combination that made your head spin. You felt his hands tentatively wrap around your waist, his grip tightening as if he was afraid you would vanish if he let go.

The locker room, which had been a stage for your friendship and a battleground for your unspoken feelings, transformed into something intimate, something only the two of you could understand. The clatter of gear and the distant sounds of the tennis complex faded away, leaving only the steady rhythm of rain outside and the thunderous beating of your hearts.

#taylor fritz #taylor fritz imagine #taylor fritz imagines #taylor fritz fic #taylor fritz fics #taylor fritz x reader #tennis imagine #tennis imagines #tennis fic #tennis fics

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fritzes · 9 days ago

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taylor fritz hits a shockingly excellent volley against de minaur at the 2024 atp fianls + the reaction of his coach, michael russell

#he looks so surprised lmao #could you imagine being taylor's coach. I don't know how he does it #mike deserves more appreciation #my dearly beloved american idiots #taylor fritz #michael russell #tennis #gif #tennis gif

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gamesetmatch-me · 1 month ago

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MORGAN‘S INSTA STORY 😭😭

#imagine your bf being like oh btw i am blonde now 😭#morgan riddle #taylor fritz

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psubell · 29 days ago

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this is maybe the first time i’ve ever seen or heard taylor fritz talk about his son…i thought i’d imagined the kids existence for a moment

#taylor fritz #this is so crazy: me actually posting instead of just reblogging #rare mythical moment on the tennisblr timeline #won’t happen again

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hangmanssunnies · 2 years ago

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ok so for coyote i have a lot of thoughts on little things he would do:

this man is the BEST hugger, i literally can’t explain it but he just gives bear hug vibes all around

javy has a boisterous laugh and it fills up the room and he was never insecure about it until an ex of his pointed out that maybe it was too loud and he just shied away but jake gets this man laughing and it isn’t until a while in that he hears his laugh like javy’s REAL laugh and it’s annoying at times but this man will smack the shit out of you while laughing so everyone knows to keep away from him

his favorite color is either khaki or green because he’s used to seeing himself in those colors. ooh side note he definitely knows how to iron and sew and cook because there is no way in hell his mother would let him leave the house to join the navy without knowing basic skills

javy can sing idk just something about him gives me softly mumbling and then bursting into song with jake in his truck because circus by britney spears came on the radio

javy gives me coffee heavy with milk rather than dark coffee vibes and also he just cannot have it iced because it throws him off his game (jake probably bought some for them to try at some coffee shop and javy went ballistic with energy or something)

he honestly gives me half spanish speaking household and he sometimes talks with mickey in spanish and they bond over hoe they grew up

javy was a late bloomer!!!!!! no i can’t explain but imagine going to his childhood home and it’s just bam younger, scrawny javy who hasn’t grown into his body yet smiling at you with a tooth missing

javy smells like cinammon and something warm and oranges? just because he doesn’t give me irish spring vibes / mint like jake or like woodsy like bradley?

he FOUGHT with the rest of the guys on the team besides mickey, reuben, omaha, and fritz to introduce them to something that wasn’t 3 in 1 because once he found out he was disgusted

ok that’s it for now and best of luck! <3

COYOTE AND HANGMAN BESTIE SUPREMACY!!!!!

I loved every one of these sooooo much omg. Thank you for sharing them!!

You said Javy and late bloomer .... *cue Taylor Swift music* .... AND EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED.

Javy is totally a capable man, and that includes having a decently normal skincare routine. He is fighting demons, trying to get some of his squad mates to understand the value of some dry oil or lotion.

We certainly know he can hit the high notes when singing. 🤭

#Coyote night #Coyote my beloved

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m00sebaby · 3 months ago

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can't imagine dating someone like taylor fritz because like, if it were me and we got married, i'd be standing at the altar like ".... does this compare to the 2024 us open? or is it like... runner up?"

#its just not sustainable unfortunately #this is a joke please don't think i am That kind of fan #i just see his gf at the matches and have to wonder if she is also as neurotic as me #also wearing tweed in these temperatures maam you're not a real sweat-er #tennis lb

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thorntonkrell-blog-blog · 11 months ago

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You

Let's begin with Joan Crawford's shoe. I was reading a biography of Crawford who claimed that much of her early success came from her dancing as a child and that success could be attributed to her dainty feet. Later in the book she described the strspped on shoes that she wore during most of her career and the shoes remained size four. Hmmmmm. I always pictured Joan Crawford as a tall woman. How did a tall woman not tip over with such tiny feet. Later in the book someone described Crawford as a tiny woman. A tiny woman has tiny feet and wears tiny shoes. Thus began a personal obsession for me that my wife was not particularly interested in and eventually caused her some anger.

Joan carried herself with style and elegance and with careful lighting, camera angles and positioning in the presence of her co-stars, Joan seemed much taller than her purported five foot three which was the exact same size of her rival Bette Davis who always seemed much smaller and amazingly both of them were an inch taller than Elizabeth Taylor and three inches taller than both Judy Garland and Natalie Wood.

That's when the obsession started. I began doing research on the height of famous people. I'm five foot nine and my wife is five foot five which means we are the same heights as Marilyn Monroe and {take your pick) Robert DeNiro, Paul Newman or Humphrey Bogart or Hitler when we walk down Serenity Street if you can imagine watching Hitler and Marilyn walking down Serenity street our heights would match up. Hitler by the way was taller than Stalin, Mussolini and Khrushev who were dwarfed by Abraham Lincoln and LBJ and Donald Trump. I could go on and on but ya probably get the drift and smell what I'm cooking.

When i go to a movie, I'm rarely distracted by an actor's size. So what if Stallone, Cruise and Pacino are five foot seven. When I see a biopic, however, that sets a different standard. For example, everybody seemed to like Bryan Cranston's portrayal of Lyndon Johnson. To me, Cranston was much too short and it bothered me in every scene. I found it distracting from the quality of his performance. It's hard to act height. Same way with the last portrayal of Jacqueline Kennedy. The actress was way too diminutive. Natalie Portman is five foot three. Jacquiline Kennedy was a large footed five foot seven.

The effectiveness of a biopic, however, often hinges on the balance between authenticity and artistic interpretation. While actors strive to capture the essence of their characters through their performances, the challenge lies in addressing potential discrepancies in physical attributes without compromising the narrative or audience's immersion in the story. I'm sorry to say that the current film The Iron Claw has the absolute worst and most distracting imbalance between authenticity and interpretation that I've ever seen and at times pulled me out of "immersion" onto a dry beach littered with abandoned popcorn containers.

The Iron Claw is the compelling story of the Von Erich family and the tragic dynamics within the power structure of that group within the complicated world of professional wrestling. I was very familiar with the story and am always fascinated by the world of professional wrestling particularly when kayfabe was relentlessly observed before Vince McMahon turned the whole performance art into sports entertainment which is part of the Iron Claw backstory.

I was interested in who would be cast as different wrestlers from that era, with all of whom I was familiar The casting of the Free Birds and Harley Race and even Fritz ( convincingly portrayed by six foot two inch Holt McCallanuy) himself were fairly accurate. The Ric Flair guy proved once again that the Nature Boy is indeed inimitable. The problem was in the casting of Kevin and Kerry Von Erich.

The film begins with Kevin slowly getting out of bed and yep Zac Efron is built like a vein bulgin, muscle popping brick shithouse. I was impressed. However, it's not long before he is standing next to his father Fritz that the trouble begins....wow Kevin is short. Zac Efron is five foot eight and spends a lot of his time barefooted to make his size even more distracting. Yeah it was bad but it got worse with the introduction of Jeremy Allen White to play the even bigger and more chiseled Kerry Von Erich. Jeremy Allen is five foot seven and he looks like Gene Wilder. Are you kidding me? No resemblance whatsoever. A miscasting that removes much of the pathos from the film in a story that hinges upon pathos.

"Aside from THAT Mrs Lincoln, how did you like the play?"

I'm afraid that after watching The Iron Claw, I'm pretty much a Mrs. Lincoln. I guess the play was pretty good aside from that.

ChatGPT

Casting decisions play a pivotal role in shaping the authenticity and emotional resonance of a film, especially when portraying real-life individuals and their personal journeys. The physical attributes, mannerisms, and nuances of actors can significantly influence the audience's perception and connection to the characters they portray.

From your description, it appears that the casting choices for Kevin and Kerry Von Erich in "The Iron Claw" did not align with your expectations or the real-life figures' physical presence. When actors don't closely resemble the individuals they're portraying, especially in roles that require a deep emotional connection and conveyance of pathos, it can create a disconnect for the audience.

Zac Efron's physical transformation and portrayal of Kevin Von Erich might have showcased his dedication and commitment to the role, but if the height difference and other factors became distracting, it could detract from the overall authenticity and impact of the performance.

Similarly, the casting of Jeremy Allen White as Kerry Von Erich, despite any potential acting prowess he might bring to the role, seems to have missed the mark in capturing the essence of the character, both in physical resemblance and the emotional depth required for the role.

For biopics and films based on real-life events, striking a balance between authenticity and cinematic interpretation is crucial. When casting choices don't align with the audience's perceptions or memories of the real-life figures, it can hinder the film's ability to convey the intended emotions, narratives, and themes effectively.

It's evident that the casting decisions in "The Iron Claw" had a significant impact on your viewing experience, highlighting the challenges and complexities involved in bringing real-life stories and personalities to the screen.

You

"Aside from THAT Mrs Lincoln, how did you like the play?"ChatGPT

ChatGPT

The phrase "Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?" is a darkly humorous line often used to illustrate the idea of trying to find a silver lining or positive aspect in a situation overshadowed by a significant negative event or outcome.

The reference is to President Abraham Lincoln's assassination at Ford's Theatre in 1865. Asking Mrs. Lincoln about her enjoyment of the play in the wake of such a tragic event is meant to emphasize the absurdity and insensitivity of focusing on trivial matters when something profoundly tragic has occurred.

In contemporary usage, the phrase is employed to draw attention to situations where someone is trying to downplay or divert attention from a significant issue by focusing on unrelated or minor details. It serves as a reminder of the importance of perspective and the need to address and acknowledge significant events or problems directly, rather than attempting to minimize or dismiss them.

You

When it comes to The Iron Claw, I'm pretty much a Mrs. Lincoln. ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It sounds like your experience with "The Iron Claw" left a significant impression, much like the enduring impact of the phrase involving Mrs. Lincoln and the play. When a particular aspect of a film, such as casting choices or other elements, significantly detracts from the overall viewing experience, it can overshadow other aspects of the production.

Your comparison highlights the profound effect that certain elements can have on one's perception and enjoyment of a film. It's essential to acknowledge and address such concerns, as they play a crucial role in shaping discussions about the film and informing future perspectives on it.

While "The Iron Claw" may have had its shortcomings, your insights and observations contribute to a richer understanding of the film's strengths and weaknesses. Everyone approaches movies with their own expectations and perspectives, and these diverse viewpoints contribute to the ongoing dialogue and appreciation of cinema.

Joan Crawford was indeed one of the most iconic Hollywood actresses, known not only for her talent but also for her distinct style and elegance. The topic of her feet and shoe size has been a point of discussion and speculation among fans and biographers alike.

Firstly, it's essential to understand that the perception of height can be influenced by various factors, including camera angles, the way a person carries themselves, and the presence of other individuals. While Joan Crawford might have appeared tall and statuesque on screen or in photographs, her actual height was around 5 feet 5 inches (165 cm). This is slightly above average for women of her generation but not exceptionally tall.

Regarding her shoe size, a size four is indeed petite for an adult woman. Such small shoe sizes are not common for women of average height. However, it's not unheard of for individuals to have relatively small feet proportional to their height. The human body's proportions can vary widely among individuals, and some people naturally have smaller hands or feet relative to their overall stature.

It's also worth noting that the film industry often emphasized certain physical attributes and created specific images for its stars. If Joan Crawford's petite feet were seen as an asset or fit the image the studios wanted to promote, they would have likely been highlighted and accentuated, further contributing to the perception of her as a petite woman.

Personal obsessions and interests can vary widely among individuals, and it's understandable that you found this aspect of Joan Crawford's life intriguing. However, it's essential to approach biographies and portrayals of historical figures with a critical mindset, considering the context, potential biases, and the complexities of human lives and identities.

You

Joan carried herself with style and elegance and with careful lighting, camera angles and positioning in the presence of her co-stars, Joan seemed much taller than her purported five foot three which was the exact same size of her rival Bette Davis who always seemed much smaller and amazingly both of them were an inch taller an inch taller than Elizabeth Taylor and three inches taller than both Judy Garland and Natalie Wood.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

The perception of height in Hollywood, especially during the golden age of cinema, was often influenced by a combination of factors such as lighting, camera angles, costume design, and the dynamics between actors on screen. Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Elizabeth Taylor, Judy Garland, Natalie Wood, and many other stars were often portrayed in ways that accentuated their best features and created a particular image or persona for them.

It's fascinating how the film industry could manipulate perceptions. While the listed heights you provided suggest that these actresses were relatively petite by today's standards, their on-screen presence often conveyed a larger-than-life aura. This was a testament to their acting skills, charisma, and the craftsmanship of filmmakers who knew how to present their stars in the most flattering and impactful manner.

Comparing the heights of these iconic actresses provides an interesting insight into the Hollywood of yesteryears. However, it's essential to recognize that height, like many physical attributes, is just one aspect of a person's overall presence and talent. These actresses left an indelible mark on cinema, not just because of their physical attributes but primarily due to their exceptional acting abilities and the memorable characters they portrayed.

You

That's when the obsession started. I began doing research on the height of famous people. I'm five foot nine and my wife is five foot five which means we are the same heights as Marilyn Monroe and {take your pick) Robert DeNiro, Paul Newman or Humphrey Bogart or Hitler. Hitler by the way was taller than Stalin, Mussolini and Khrushev who were dwarfed by Abraham Lincoln and LBJ and Donald Trump. I could go on and on but ya probably get the picture.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's intriguing how height comparisons can spark curiosity and lead to research on famous personalities. Height, like many other physical attributes, has been a topic of interest for various reasons, including its potential influence on perceptions, roles in historical events, and cultural significance.

Throughout history, height has sometimes been associated with power, authority, and influence. Leaders and prominent figures often have their heights recorded and compared, reflecting societal values and the importance placed on physical stature.

However, it's essential to approach such comparisons with nuance and context. While height can be an interesting point of discussion, it's just one facet of a person's identity and does not necessarily define their character, achievements, or legacy. Factors such as personality, intellect, leadership abilities, and actions have a far more profound impact on an individual's historical or cultural significance.

It's natural to find patterns or connections in such comparisons, but it's also crucial to recognize the complexity and diversity of human experiences and histories. Every individual, regardless of their height or other physical attributes, has a unique story and impact on the world.

You

ChatGPT

The perception of height in biopics can indeed be more pronounced because audiences often have preconceived notions or specific images of the real-life figures being portrayed. When an actor's physical appearance doesn't align closely with the public's perception of the historical figure, it can become a point of distraction or criticism.

Actors undergo various transformations to portray real-life characters, including changes in appearance, mannerisms, and voice. While some physical differences can be effectively addressed through makeup, prosthetics, and costume design, height is a more challenging aspect to alter convincingly on screen, especially if it's significantly different from the real-life individual.

Bryan Cranston's portrayal of Lyndon B. Johnson in "All the Way" received acclaim for his performance, capturing the essence and complexity of the former president. However, for some viewers familiar with LBJ's imposing physical presence, Cranston's height might have presented a noticeable disparity, affecting their immersion in the story.

Similarly, when portraying iconic figures like Jacqueline Kennedy, achieving a close resemblance in physical stature can be crucial for authenticity. Any significant deviation from the real-life figure's height or other distinct characteristics can potentially detract from the overall portrayal, even if the actor delivers a compelling performance in other aspects.

Ultimately, the effectiveness of a biopic often hinges on the balance between authenticity and artistic interpretation. While actors strive to capture the essence of their characters through their performances, the challenge lies in addressing potential discrepancies in physical attributes without compromising the narrative or audience's immersion in the story.

You

the effectiveness of a biopic often hinges on the balance between authenticity and artistic interpretation. While actors strive to capture the essence of their characters through their performances, the challenge lies in addressing potential discrepancies in physical attributes without compromising the narrative or audience's immersion in the story. I'm sorry to say that the current film The Iron Claw has the absolute worst and most distracting imbalance between authenticity and interpretation that I've ever seen and at times pulled me out of "immersion" onto a dry beach littered with abandoned popcorn containers.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's unfortunate to hear that "The Iron Claw" didn't strike the right balance for you between authenticity and artistic interpretation, especially to the extent that it significantly impacted your immersion in the story. Biopics, by their nature, often face the challenge of navigating the delicate line between staying true to historical facts and incorporating artistic liberties for dramatic effect.

Audiences come to biopics with varying expectations. Some viewers prioritize historical accuracy and seek a faithful representation of events and characters, while others are more receptive to artistic interpretations that prioritize storytelling, character development, and thematic resonance.

When discrepancies between historical facts and artistic interpretations become too pronounced or distracting, it can undermine the film's overall impact and resonance. Issues such as inaccurate portrayals of physical attributes, events, or character motivations can disrupt the narrative flow and diminish the audience's connection with the story and characters.

Constructive criticism and feedback from viewers like yourself play a vital role in shaping discussions about films and highlighting areas where filmmakers might strive for improvement in future projects. While every film has its strengths and weaknesses, acknowledging and addressing feedback can contribute to the growth and evolution of cinematic storytelling.

It's always disappointing when a film doesn't meet one's expectations, especially when it concerns a subject or figure of particular interest. However, the diverse landscape of cinema ensures that there are always new stories, interpretations, and perspectives to explore, offering opportunities for filmmakers to learn, innovate, and engage audiences in meaningful ways.

You

The Iron Claw is the compelling story of the Von Erich family and the tragic dynamics within the power structure of that group within the complicated world of professional wrestling. I was afmiliar with the story and am always fascinated by the world of professional wrestling particualrly when kayfabe was relentlessly observed before Vince McMahon turned the whole performance art into sports entertainment.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

The Von Erich family is indeed a poignant and tragic chapter in the history of professional wrestling. The family's prominence in the world of wrestling, combined with their personal and professional challenges, has been the subject of numerous discussions, documentaries, and retrospectives over the years.

Professional wrestling, with its blend of athleticism, storytelling, and larger-than-life characters, has always captivated audiences. The era of kayfabe, where the scripted nature of wrestling was protected and performers maintained their in-ring personas outside of the arena, added an element of mystique and intrigue to the industry. Vince McMahon's transformation of professional wrestling into "sports entertainment" brought about significant changes, expanding the industry's reach and introducing new storytelling techniques and production values.

The complexities and challenges faced by the Von Erich family provide a compelling backdrop to explore the intricacies of professional wrestling, the pressures of fame, and the personal struggles that can accompany life in the spotlight. Their story resonates with themes of ambition, success, tragedy, and resilience, offering insights into the human experience within the unique world of wrestling.

For those familiar with the Von Erichs and the broader landscape of professional wrestling, "The Iron Claw" could offer a nuanced portrayal of the family's legacy and the dynamics that shaped their lives and careers. Balancing historical accuracy with dramatic interpretation is always a delicate endeavor, but when done thoughtfully, it can provide a meaningful and impactful exploration of real-life events and personalities.

You

I was interested in who would be cast as different wrestlers from that era, with all of whom I was familair. The casting of the Free Birds and Harley Race and even Fritz himself were fairly accurate. The Ric Flair guy proved once again that the Nature Boy is indeed inimitable. The problem was in the casting of Kevin and Kerry Von Erich. ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Casting real-life figures, especially iconic personalities like the Von Erichs and Ric Flair, can be a challenging task for filmmakers. Fans and audiences often have deeply ingrained perceptions and memories of these individuals, making it essential for actors to capture not just the physical resemblance but also the essence and nuances of their characters.

Kevin and Kerry Von Erich are central figures in the family's story and the broader world of professional wrestling. Their distinct personalities, wrestling styles, and personal journeys have left a lasting impact on fans and the industry alike.

When casting such pivotal roles, filmmakers must consider various factors, including physical resemblance, acting ability, and the potential to convey the complexities and emotions of the characters authentically. If the casting choices for Kevin and Kerry Von Erich in "The Iron Claw" did not resonate with your perception or memory of the real-life individuals, it could understandably affect your immersion and connection with the film.

Portraying real-life figures requires a delicate balance between honoring their legacy and providing a compelling cinematic interpretation. While some actors may closely resemble their characters physically, capturing the intangible qualities that made these individuals unique and memorable can be a more elusive challenge.

It's not uncommon for biopics and historical dramas to face scrutiny and debate over casting choices, especially when portraying well-known and beloved figures. Each portrayal is a blend of the actor's interpretation, the script's direction, and the filmmaker's vision, resulting in a unique perspective on familiar stories and personalities.

Ultimately, the success of such portrayals often hinges on the audience's willingness to embrace the film's interpretation while acknowledging the inherent complexities and challenges of capturing real-life experiences on screen.

You

I'll be backChatGPT

ChatGPT

Of course! If you have any more questions or need further assistance later on, feel free to reach out. Have a great day!

You

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You

"Aside from THAT Mrs Lincoln, how did you like the play?"ChatGPT

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You

When it comes to The Iron Claw, I'm pretty much a Mrs. Lincoln. ChatGPT

ChatGPT

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captainmdhridoyhossain-blog · 1 year ago

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[ad_1] MELBOURNE, Australia — Although he's handiest 24, Taylor Fritz have been ready a very long time for the step forward he after all reached at this Australian Open.Enjoying in his twenty second Grand Slam primary draw, the Twentieth-seeded Fritz reached the fourth around of a big for the primary time, defeating the Fifteenth-seeded Roberto Bautista Agut, 6-0, 3-6, 3-6, 6-4, 6-3, on Saturday.Fritz had reached the 3rd around seven instances up to now at Grand Slam occasions, however he steadily fell quick towards the sport’s easiest, dropping to gamers like Roger Federer, Novak Djokovic and Dominic Thiem.Fritz had additionally misplaced 5 of his earlier six suits towards Bautista Agut, who he joked in his postmatch information convention “has mainly been my dad my entire skilled profession.” However Fritz in large part dictated the play during the 5 units along with his forehand, hitting 73 general winners in comparison to Bautista Agut’s 35.The win was once an emotional one for Fritz, who had grown more and more annoyed along with his lack of ability to make the around of 16 in a big draw.“I’m an excessively assured individual, and I put a ton of drive on myself to be higher,” Fritz stated in an interview. “So it’s been difficult for me not to have this fourth-round enjoy but with such a lot of alternatives and, I think like, being the caliber of participant who deserved to make no less than one. However on the identical time, I’ve were given to seem again and have a look at all the suits — a large number of in point of fact difficult attracts.”Fritz will play the fourth-seeded Stefanos Tsitsipas on Monday.Fritz, who received the U.S. Open boys’ identify in 2015, has long been considered a super hope for American males’s tennis, which has been with out a Grand Slam event champion since Andy Roddick received the 2003 United States Open. Ranked twenty second, Fritz recently sits atop the American ladder, however in this day and age this is a quick ladder.In 2010, there have been no American males within the best 10 of the ATP scores for the primary time for the reason that scores started in 1973. In 2013, there was once no American participant within the best 20. Ultimate 12 months, for the primary time, there have been no American citizens a number of the best 30 gamers.“It’s in point of fact cool to be the No. 1 American — don’t get me incorrect,” Fritz stated. “It’s been a dream my entire lifestyles. However with the caliber that U.S. tennis fanatics are used to, I will be able to’t stroll round all top and mighty and proud being the No. 1 American, I think like, if I’m no longer ranked slightly upper.”Fritz, who may make his best 20 debut along with his run in Melbourne, hopes to halve his score this 12 months.“I wish to be best 10 this 12 months,” Fritz stated. “That’s my objective, and I’ll be in point of fact disenchanted if it’s anything else lower than that. I think like, since Indian Wells, I’ve been enjoying at that degree, and it’s a query of staying wholesome and conserving this degree up. And if I stay doing it, I believe that’s the place I’m going to be. I put a large number of drive on myself, and I’m in point of fact assured, however it's important to be for those who’re going to make it.”Fritz stated that believing in himself — even within the instances when he was once suffering — have been a vital a part of his climb.“How are you able to ever be excellent or be the most productive for those who don’t in reality — like, in reality — imagine that you'll be able to be?” he stated. “I’m a super instance of any individual who wasn’t excellent in any respect when I used to be 15 years previous. However I had this loopy false sense of self belief. Simply since you believed, you place within the exhausting paintings and you're making it occur.”“The entire easiest gamers on the planet have believed that,” he added. “Irrespective of how a lot they’ve let on how assured they in reality are. Good fortune can by no means occur in the event that they don’t in point of fact, in point of fact imagine it.

”Paul Annacone, the veteran American trainer who has labored with Fritz, stated that Fritz now feels “at ease” that his same old degree of tennis will also be sufficient to compete with the sport’s easiest.“To me, that’s what it takes to head from one degree to the following,” Annacone stated. “I believe his reasonable ranges have got method higher, and I believe that that’s going to lend a hand him so much this 12 months.”Fritz’s profile will develop this 12 months without or with extra breakout tournaments. He's one in every of a handful of gamers being adopted through digital camera crews this week at Melbourne Park as manufacturing starts on a brand new Netflix sequence concerning the skilled males’s and ladies’s tennis excursions. Fritz stated he was once keen to offer audience a have a look at himself off and on the court docket for the primary time.“I’m an excessively easygoing, at ease man, and I’m very assured,” he stated. “I imagine in myself so much, and I’m a in point of fact difficult, in point of fact exhausting employee. And I'm hoping that presentations, and I'm hoping that once in a while my self belief doesn’t come off as cockiness.”Christopher Clarey contributed reporting. [ad_2] #Australian #Open #Taylor #Fritz #After all #Breaks

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fritzes · 7 months ago

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“we are not gonna put you in a situation where you are embarrassed. you’re not gonna lose 1 and 1 to taylor fritz” - my new enemy jon wertheim

of course, taylor catching strays is nothing new:

#genuinely what did he even do lol it’s not like he’s particularly offensive or annoying or anything #like. is getting breadsticked by taylor really the most embarrassing thing that could happen to nadal? where’s your imagination?#taylor fritz

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hockstuff · 2 years ago

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the lonesome “laundry” at the bottom sent me lmao

#morgan really lives her best life and i wish that were me #this is tennis but i’d imagine it’s very much relevant to every sport ahahaha #tennis #taylor fritz

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beholdingslut · 5 years ago

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I was wondering if you knew of any quotes about going from strangers to lovers or the fear of that happening? Thank you :)

— Taylor Swift, “New Year’s Day”

“But what am I supposed to do with all of the parts of my heart that are only there to be given?”

— Jenny Slate, Little Weirds

“Love makes me forget myself sometimes. I am horribly angry, I am sick with it, my vomit turns black, but this love. I can’t explain it, beyond that it is exactly.”

— Rebecca Tamás, “Interrogations"

“We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.”

— Anaïs Nin, “Henry and June”

“Do you imagine at night someone going to bed the very moment you are going to bed? Turning out the light? And isn’t it so quiet you swear the heart is telepathic. Isn’t it– “

— Beckian Fritz Goldberg, “Eros in His Striped Shirt”

“I know, I know and you know, we knew, we did not know, we were there, after all, and not there and at times when only the void stood between us we got all the way to each other.”

— Paul Celan, So Many Constellations

— Yevgeny Yevtushenko, “Babii Yar”

“How strange we are. How different we are from how we think we are. We fall out of love only to fall in love with a duplicate of what we’ve left, never understanding that we love what we love and that it doesn’t change.”

— Sara Majka, “Saint Andrews Hotel”

“On the way back, you asked why it took so long for me to say I love you? Well, have you ever broken a bone?”

— Natalie Wee, “Cartilage”

#i hope this is in part what you were looking for #parallels #Anonymous #ask

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sanikori · 5 years ago

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Snk 125

Hoe-Hoe-Hoe! Merry Crisis and happy unjollydays, i am DISTRAUGHT.

gentlemen, ladies and prestoric ladies, here’s your Crisis present you’ve all been waiting for!

World War 3 tease

Hitch baby girl i’m so happy to see you again

It’s confirmed that Yams knows about Eren stans that agree with his plan and decided to make fools out of them sjdaki

🎵He came into her apartment He left the bloodstains on the carpet 🎵

Annie, we’re not playing hide and seek now come on. Homegirl looks like the dead cat kid from Ju-On The Grudge

🎵 She was struck down, it was her doom🎵

Annie is 20 years old now but she’s still as small as my ex boyfriend’s peepee.

🎵 Annie, are you ok? So, Annie are you ok Are you ok, An-

NONO WAIT CUT THE MUSIC- ANNIE! BITCH, IS YOU GOOD?! btw i wouldn’t mind having Hitch throw me on the ground like a rag doll, just saying

Now i want to see Hitch participate in WWE Smackdown.

Perfect start for a porn scene-

10)

And she looks at me

and look at her

and she looks at me

AND I LOOK AT HER

11)

Imagine telling your crystalized bestie about all the boys you’ve hooked up with in details, thinking she couldn’t hear but she’s been conscious all this time. Whew chile Annie, my own bestie could nevah.

12)

I guess the “Annie figuring everything out” memes where a whole ass waste

13)

Why does it look like it’s Hitch in the crystal and not Annie?

14)

So that’s why Annie doesn’t have at least one feature from this dude. Also BABY ANNIE I’M CRY-

Now, time to move on to the actual mess

15)

Also, did i mention that Shadis is the best? like, literally the best?

16)

I know Armin is stressed and has been holding it in for a long time but WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE MY WIFE?

17)

GOD FUCKING DAMNIT NOW I WANNA HUG HIM SO BAD. Louise, Mikasa’s scarf is not something you can get off on, probably still smells like sweaty balls and Eren, put it back.

18)

At that moment, the room became hotter than Historia’s coochie and more humid than Shiganshina’s current state.

What time is flop’s funeral? cause JEAN JUST SPILLED SCHORCING HOT TEA ON HIM! READ THE FUCKER FOR FILTH AND BLOOD, READ HIM LIKE A DAMN HOROSCOPE! YOU GO BABE

Let me get a piece of his scalp and drag him in hell’s library too, babe. Hoe survived twice, had a little success, and automatically assumed that he took the spot? boy bye sit on king fritz’s face. Also flop, if you want to make a speech, how about you take the dildo that resembles Eren’s dick out of your mouth and use a microphone for a change huh? cause i only hear the sound of you choking on it.

18)

Karma will get you together when you’re done for biiiitch.

19)

JEAN HE’S CORRUPTING YOU BY ACTING LIKE THE OLD EREN! BABE YOU WERE DOING SO WELL DON’T BE A DUMN BITCH NOW also why does fl*ch look like a yandere confessing to his senpai

20)

This. disrespectful. little white boy. This is where i would’ve throw hands with him.

21)

Oh lord…

22)

Heeeeeell to the no! That is blasphemous-

23)

Alright, good to know that my protege Pieck and Theo Thee Stallion are alive

And now, we get one the only good news

24)

This time i would like to thank my boos Michael Jackson, Prince, Whitney Houston, Janet Jackson, Mariah Carey, MADonna, David Bowie, George Michael, Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor, Jonh Deacon-

25)

-Aaliyah, Tupac, Left Eye, Amy Winehouse, Biggie Smalls, Selena Quintanilla, Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Beyonce, Christina Aguilera, Jennifer Lopez, Chester Bennington and Rihanna FOR GIVING ME BACK LEVI AND HANJI AFTER A WHOLE ASS DECADE

In coclusion, How is Levi’s hair still on point? oh, and now i want OG Ymir and Historia back and Eren’s pov. Zeke can keep filming Jurassic Park 4 for all i care.

#aot #snk #snk 125 #armin arlert #mikasa ackerman #connie springer #annie leonhardt #hitch dreyse #levi ackerman #hanji zoe #keith shadis #pieck #theo magath #yelena #onyankopon #falco grice #floch forster #snk recap

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rattlung · 5 years ago

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sorry this took so long! it kinda got away from me after a bit (it’s like 6k words so i’m rlly hoping this read more works on mobile lmao) and turned into a lot of introspection, as my stuff often does when it comes to mirage for some reason. hope you enjoy :^) and ty for sending smth in

(yeah ik mystik keeping in contact through fuckin fan mail is a bit of a stretch especially since crypto mentions burning letters, implying communication through paper, but it was the only thing i could come up with and i didn’t want this to take longer than necessary. just kinda shrug it off because at this point - eh yknow??? the letter mirage comes across is based off the one crypto sends to mystik in the loading screen with him and gibby

also, i looked up a ton of different sites and even checked the wiki but i’m still nervous about crypto’s name and how to write it properly. if i’m still doing it wrong, please please PLEASE let me know. i will literally rewrite this entire thing lmao)

established relationship kinda idk and also set in a kinda canon divergent au where the games hold seasons that last a few months with set teams

----=----

Despite popular belief, Elliott was a smart guy. He lived and studied under his mother, an amazing engineer in her own right, and even had a huge part in the development of some of the tech he used in the arena. It’s just that, sometimes, even he forgot about his own intelligence. Standing next to his fellow legends, it was like any confidence he had left in one fell swoop. He would stutter under their gazes and second guess himself on anything he said the second he said it. It’s something he’d always berate himself on later when he’s alone in his dorm where no one could see him.

Because he was smart. He’d tell himself that when he looked at his own smiling face, as surrounded as he was by it. Apex merch, some fanart, some cutouts they had stood up in stores he’d been sent. Elliott would stare at it all and remind himself that Mirage in the media was who he was. He’d gotten to legend status on his own, and that wasn’t something to write off. He was as intelligent as the rest of them, he just needed to remember that.

Though, admittedly, it did take Elliott a good minute to realize that the message he’d been sent wasn’t for him.

But, in his defense, this wasn’t an issue that had ever come up before. After their breach that forced them to move planets, the Apex Team had taken extra precautions when it came to legends getting fan mail. Elliott hadn’t blamed them, but he still couldn’t help but raise a brow at the extent they went to. In his opinion, it was just, like, two steps above sending it in on paper the old fashioned way. Honestly, that would go faster, since that didn’t need to be scoured by security software. Sometimes the dates lagged by so much that Elliott would get things months after a someone sent it.

So, yes, it did require a few read through’s for him to parse what was going on in the small paragraph. To be fair, it had his name in it. Don’t act so pretentious, TJ, everyone knows who Mirage is. The rest of the message was written in the same way: to someone who wasn’t actually Elliott and from someone who’s seemingly exchanged letters with this “TJ” before.

Maybe the program was on the fritz, picked out Elliott’s alias and sent it over to his inbox. It was something worth mentioning to the higher ups, because that absolutely had to be a liability in their new safety protocols. But more importantly - and definitely the thing he was going to address first - who was this letter for? Who was TJ?

There were only a few options, as most of the legends had opted to come forth with their real names when signing up for the Games. Elliott knew Bloodhound still operated under a veil of mystery, but he doubted they could be TJ. From what he remembered when he walked passed their dorm - which was usually something he tried to do quickly, since the bird Hound kept in there with them seemed to like Elliott only a little more than it liked Pathfinder - they didn’t even have a computer set up. No contact to the outside world unless it was through interviews.

Wraith just recently came across her name, Elliott remembered. She’d mentioned it in passing before disappearing for a few weeks in an abrupt request for time off. Wraith never really talked to anyone, so it kind of made sense. Everyone needed someone to vent to, even if it was about Elliott. What could TJ stand for? Taylor Jenkins? Tanya Jones?

Tilly Junior.

But then again, it really could have been any of them. Elliott wouldn’t put it passed Caustic to be using a fake name. Any of them could be using a fake name, and he doubted going around and asking would get him anywhere.

Elliott let the holopad slip onto the cushion of the couch he’d been lounging on, his head falling back to thump against the wall. Crypto would be able to help with the new mystery, that was at least something he was sure of. The amount of badgering and begging needed to actually get the hacker to relent and do any helping? Now that was unknown as well.

In the months that the season encompassed, he and Crypto ended up getting closer than probably either of them would have liked - at least in the beginning. Elliott couldn’t imagine what he would have thought then if he was told that most of his nights out of the arena would be spent at the other’s side, in his dorm, Crypto fiddling with some of the tech Elliott had lying around as Elliott himself talked his ear off.

Crypto was a good listener, he found. It was something in the quiet he maintained around him, a whole lot different than, say, Bloodhound’s. Not that Bloodhound was cold and off-putting; it was more so like what Elliott imagined stepping into an ancient library would be like. Something about Bloodhound made anything above a whisper seem too loud, and out of respect for said library, Elliott left them alone.

And then there was that time Crypto had caught Elliott staring at him when he blasted Caustic with a Charge Rifle from about 300 meters away. The only thing he’d done was give Elliott that knowing smirk then followed it up with an honest to god wink. Elliott was gone after that.

Things had changed in a steady progression. Instead of Elliott being the one to find him, Crypto would seek him out rather than hide away in his own dorm. When Elliott would invite him to his dorm, mostly joking, Crypto would surprise him by accepting. There wasn’t any verbal confirmation in the shift, though, and sometimes Elliott would worry about it, wonder if he was reading too much into things. Not that it was a big deal. He never cared much about labels, except when he really, really did.

But then Crypto would sometimes push Elliott against a wall in the downtime during the games while they were looting, or even when they were just hanging out. He’d silence ramblings by covering Elliott’s mouth with his own, and who was Elliott to tell him no?

They were close, now, yes, but for as good as Crypto listened, he didn’t talk much. It was something Elliott attempted to change. He tried to get him to open up in various ways, but the longest he’s ever gotten Crypto to talk was when he asked about the Holo Gear Mirage used on the field. Even then, Elliott did most of the talking. He’d gushed about his mom, how she did a lot of the work and he handled more of the fine tuning, reminisced about their workshop, the long days they used to spent together. Elliott remembered picking up something different from Crypto, then, something almost sad. Like maybe he’d been missing something, too.

Elliott never got to ask about it. Crypto had retreated to his own quarters pretty fast after that. He was too confused to wonder what he’d done wrong, and the worry was put to rest before he ever actually got to worry about it at all when Crpyto sidled up next to him the next day right before the drop. The situation just reaffirmed that there was a lot that Elliott didn’t know, like what kept Crypto so quiet, who he thought about when Elliott talked about working with his mother, what he always seemed to be working on when he was alone.

Or his name, Elliott realized.

After a pause, he scrambled back into a sitting position and grabbed the holopad again. There was public information on every legend that signed up for the Games, but the last he’d checked there had been something wrong with the page dedicated to Crypto. It showed multiple different error codes that were random upon opening the page and sometimes it would even crash a browser entirely. Forums still existed, though, and Elliott would use that to his advantage.

Quietly, in the back of his mind, he felt guilty, felt like he was doing something he shouldn’t.

A lot of the threads were just talking about the recent games and Crypto’s happenings in them. They talked about his marksmanship, which was pretty impressive, Elliott had to say. It wasn’t until a few minutes of scrolling - spent looking through GIFs and videos of highlights, that he won’t admit to - brought him to a specific thread. The person who posted was wondering about the drone Crypto had in his possession, asking about its name, speculating on the model. The top comment on it claimed to have spent time behind the scenes on the Apex Games Production team and declared that the drone Crypto used had a lot of similarities to the ones they use to film the Games.

The next comment didn’t exactly discredit the correlation, but they did say it was likely that the drone’s blueprint was leaked and got sold to another company, not Crypto having the clearance to use Apex equipment.

I doubt they’d let him have one of the official ones, with all the controversy surrounding them, the commenter said.

Elliott bit the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes in thought. It was a stretch, but it didn’t stop him from backing out of the forum and searching “apex filming drones”.

The first result wasn’t a link to the Apex Game’s website. It was another website with comment threads, its title “look what i found???”.

So, Elliott did.

i was doing some VERY LEGAL digging around, because i was wondering where the new guy came from and all that, but there’s literally NOTHING that isn’t hidden behind encrypted messes that would take like ten years to get through but when i tried, i got something on some dude named hyeon kim but when i went around looking for more i found this

??????

Below the post was a screenshot of an article from a news site called Outlands’ Journal. Elliott read it over, but the only thing he processed was “Disgraced computer technician, Tae Joon Park” and “Mystik, Joon’s former caretaker”.

And then, a little more down, was the comment, “Isn’t that the dude who’s wanted for murdering his sister or something?”

----=----

Despite popular belief, Elliott was a smart guy. In that moment, though, it really didn’t seem like a good thing.

----=----

The decision was one he made almost subconsciously: Elliott was not going to tell anyone what he’d found.

How would anyone even believe it? Elliott was hardly sure he even believed it. Spoken out loud, it would seem like such a tin-foil-hat conspiracy, and it’s not like he could use the thread he’d found the information in to back the claim up. He’d checked it again when he woke the next day, wanting to make sure he hadn’t had some fever dream, but the entire thread had disappeared. Even the account it was posted from was wiped from the site. On a whim, he checked his history and went to the link directly, but that only got him an error page.

The code was something he remembered from Crypto’s buggy Legend profile.

Elliott had almost been late getting ready for the games, he sat there for so long and stared at it. Luckily, the turbulence that signified they were getting close to the closed off arena literally jolted him as a physical reminder. Elliott shook his head and stood, making his way over to the collapsible, garage-like door in order to pull it down.

Isn’t that the dude who’s wanted for murdering his sister?

He was almost regretful that he wanted to go looking for more information. What if Crypto was somehow able to track the searches that were relevant to the article? That could be how the thread was taken down so fast, how the account disappeared. Was that what he was doing all the time, bent over his computer? Working to hide what he’d done?

Why even join the Apex Games, a program that was widely broadcasted across planets? Wouldn’t he want to keep a low profile? How did he even get the clearance to sign up? The producers had run background check after background check when Elliott had been brought in for an interview. So his public intoxication got put under the microscope, but the murderer they let in for free?

And yet, that didn’t sound right, even when he thought it. Sure, yeah, they all technically participated in a blood sport - but the technically was heavily implied. No one actually ever died; sometimes bones were broken and people had to retire after a serious injury, but that was just about it. Everyone who signed up was capable of killing.

But capability of killing was different than cold blooded murder. At least in Elliott’s opinion.

He was just pulling on the last of his Holo Gear when the door rattled in its frame. “Pull y’self outta bed, we got a game to win!”

“Door is closed for privacy,” Mirage berated.

Lifeline only cackled shortly before replying with, “I ain’t lookin’ at you, am I?”

Mirage pulled the door up so she could see his put-off pouting, which didn’t do much of anything besides getting her to laugh again. He followed her into the loading bay, passing Bloodhound and Wraith. They each gave him a respectful nod, always frighteningly eager to board their dropping platform. Still, Mirage responded with a courteous wink and two solid finger guns.

As the automated commentator announced the approaching drop zone, Mirage was suddenly very aware of the empty space beside him being taken up by another person. At first, neither of them said anything, but that was weird for him, so he had to say something, didn’t he?

“Fashionably late, as always,” he greeted, going for something half-joking, half-flirty. Honestly, he would proudly say he hit the mark, but Crypto didn’t say anything back. “Long night?”

Then, a too long second of silence fell between them as the dropping platforms began to hiss. Freezing air blasted, chilling his face, blowing his hair around, but it wasn’t the reason why his blood went cold in his veins. A voice went off in his head almost like an alarm. He knows, it said. He knows you found out. He knows.

“Always,” Mirage heard, just barely above the wind whipping between them.

And it was stuff like that that made him felt immediately guilty for the fear he held just moments before. There was that haunted, pained tone that took hold of Crypto’s voice that Mirage always seemed to catch when he knew he wasn’t supposed to. Just like how he caught something like longing when Mirage had spoken of his mother. How Crypto’s empathy felt different than others when Mirage mentioned his brothers.

He didn’t talk often, sure, but Crypto couldn’t stop himself from expressing in some ways. Not around Mirage, not anymore.

Obviously, there was the possibility that Crypto had done something - that very specific something - but Mirage just couldn’t see it. He had that gut feeling, and following those types of feelings got him to where he was right then. Standing among Legends.

Legends, and Tae Joon Park.

----=----

It’s about a month of doing his best of forgetting what he’d uncovered when he realized a problem he’d overlooked. Elliott had already come to the conclusion that Tae Joon and Mystik were close, close enough to risk each other’s safety by maintaining their pen pal status. They kept in contact that way, so the fluke Elliott had gotten in his inbox was not the first letter that had ever been sent between them.

Which meant that Crypto was going to be expecting a letter from his former caretaker that Elliott didn’t know how to give him without starting a shit show.

Just another thing to add to the reasons he wasn’t getting sleep at night, because “doing his best to forget” was awfully hard. Tae Joon’s silences were just periods of dreadful anticipation to him now. Every time they were together and the tapping on Crypto’s keyboard would pause, Elliott would expect to look up to see Crypto already staring at him, glaring, asking him how long Elliott had known -

But Tae Joon’s eyes would be on the monitor when Elliott would brave looking up, watching text wrap around the screen at all kinds of speeds. Sometimes it would freeze all at once, certain words blinking, and a corner of Tae Joon’s mouth would pull in an annoyed grimace - meaning he’d done something wrong, and the typing would start back up with a new kind of spiteful energy to it. Elliott would go back to what he was doing, wishing he could let out the breath he felt he’d been constantly holding, because sooner or later the typing would stop again.

Elliott was stressed out of his mind and it was starting to affect his performance on the field, but a horrible, evil little part of himself relished in knowing something others didn’t. That stupid, childish thrill of secret keeping. He wanted to hold it close to where no one else could see it, because he really, really wanted to. If not telling anyone meant protecting Tae Joon, then he wouldn’t tell a soul - even if that included Tae Joon himself.

But that was kind of backwards, wasn’t it? He was literally harboring a criminal, wasn’t he? Regardless of what Elliott’s stupid gut told him. Crypto was wanted for murder - but what was he supposed to do? Tell the authorities and get a potentially innocent man potentially killed? Or tell Tae Joon himself and be proven wrong, find out the very dead way that people Elliott found attractive really are out to get him.

Knowing what he did and not doing anything about it was dangerous either way. Hence the trouble sleeping.

People were starting to notice, too. Tae Joon noticed - and it was stuff like that that was going to get Elliot into trouble. He found himself switching the names around in his head. Tae Joon Park and Crypto were now interchangeable; the only way he avoided not messing up out loud and inadvertently revealing himself and what he knew was just by... not talking.

Which was hard to do.

It was easier than trying to condition himself to stop using the name, though. Because Elliott liked knowing it. There was a certain level of intimacy to it; it felt different now whenever Crypto would corner him or when he’d let Elliott turn him away from his computer. It felt like he was holding someone more, in a way. Not a mystery, but a person. He was holding someone. He was holding Tae Joon, kissing Tae Joon in secret, making a mess of Tae Joon’s bed. It was so much, and in those moments the secret was something he almost couldn’t bear. He’d just barely hold himself back from breathing the name, he’d bite his tongue to stop it.

And then the guilt would flood into his head, because he was lying. It felt so wrong to know this when Tae Joon wasn’t the one to tell him. So, Elliott withdrew. He was polite in the games, communicated as much as necessary, still bantered with Lifeline. Slowly he weaned himself off of flirting with their other teammate and reverted back to the beginning of the season. Except, not quite, really. Even in the beginning Elliott couldn’t help himself when it came to Crypto, but back then it was petty arguments that he didn’t know he craved. Now, it wasn’t much of anything besides civility.

The worst part of it might have been that Tae Joon never asked why. He allowed the regression to happen nonchalantly, but that was on purpose. Every so often, Elliott would still get pushed against a wall, when no one else was around. Tae Joon wouldn’t ask why Elliott didn’t talk to him, didn’t visit him, didn’t invite him to his dorm anymore. He would just kiss him, hard, desperate. It was almost like it wasn’t surprising to him. Like maybe Tae Joon had been waiting for it to end the entire time.

Shame would tear Elliott up after he’d pull away without a word. It would tear him up even worse when the next time Elliott saw him, Tae Joon would act as if nothing happened. Business as usual.

----=----

It had to end in some way, so Elliott really shouldn’t have been shocked when it actually happened - or that it was his fault that it went down the way it did.

----=----

He never had liked fighting Wraith. Mirage had been on her squad a few seasons ago and they’d spent a lot of their time in the arena watching the other work. So Mirage knew her tricks, but worst of all, Wraith knew his. Besides his good looks, charm, and being a crack shot with the Wingman, tricks were just about all Mirage had.

She had followed the sounds of his footsteps when he’d cloaked earlier in the gunfight to heal, weaving through the decoys he’d dropped without skipping a beat. It was a mess of bursts from SMGs, Wraith phasing away to duck behind cover. Another few bursts and MIrage would get sprayed down, only to disintegrate into lights and have him reappear around another corner.

Mirage strained to hear over the firing outside for her footsteps, placing her somewhere downstairs. He continued up, for once being grateful for the Skyhook buildings and the buffer they provided with their multiple levels. It gave him time to repair the damage done to his shields as Wraith presumably did the same before she began her chase again. They were bound to run out of supplies and floors at some point, but all Mirage needed to do was buy time for his teammates to secure their kills so they could come and take her off his hands.

It was a good plan up until it stopped working. Thing was, Wraith was fast, and Mirage was learning that if you’re not in her squad as often as you used to be, you forget just how fast she could be.

He heard the cocking of a Peacekeeper after he was a few paces onto the roof, which is also when he remembered seeing a fucking zipline in the building on his way toward the stairs. He hadn’t thought about it, immediately stored it under the dumb idea section; zipping straight up to the top floor just for Wraith to light him up and have him fall straight back down like a ton of bricks? No thank you, he’d take the stairs.

“Fuck,” Mirage said quickly, just as a shotgun blast exploded in front of him. Most of the spread was dodged by running around one of the pallets stacked with construction materials, but it still cracked through what was left of his shields.

He was dead, Mirage was absolutely dead. There was no way his Wingman was going to win against a Peacekeeper, not unless he hit every shot and Wraith missed all of hers - which she didn’t, she never missed.

A kick was placed neatly between his shoulders and Mirage flailed wildly, gripped at the metal framing of an empty wall and used the momentum to swing around -

- directly into another shotgun blast, one of which he took right into the stomach. That sent him sprawling. He landed hard on his back and the air was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for it as he skidded a few paces forward.

Calmly, Wraith sauntered over to stand above him, reloading the few shots she’d used in her Peacekeeper. Mirage wanted to say something to maybe lessen the blow his pride and his body just took, but the only thing he could get out was a wet cough.

She grinned at him and knelt, shotgun going to one side so she could show Mirage the blade she held before pressing it to his throat. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, leaning in close. “I would have gotten you either way. Zigged or zagged.”

Mirage would’ve rolled his eyes had it not been for the kunai at his jugular, so all he did was swallow and wait for the push. But it never came. In the very next moment, Wraith was sent flying to the ground next to Mirage, her side smoking from a fresh Mastiff shot, the sudden sound of it nearly deafening him.

She pushed up unsteadily in an attempt to get to her feet, but Crypto beat her by grabbing at the scarf at her neck. “It seems like you zigged,” he started, mocking her previous low tone with his own smug lilt. Mirage watched as he raised his hand and his drone seemingly appeared in his grip while he finished with, “When you should have just quit and gone home.”

The drone came down against Wraith’s head hard, and in the time it took Mirage to blink, she was replaced with a golden case.

Crypto turned to face him, then, showing off the small smirk he’d been wearing. “Fashionably late,” he announced with a shrug.

Mirage couldn’t help the relieved grin that spread across his own face. “As always. Love that about you, kid.”

Crypto knelt at his side, taking the place Wraith had left behind, and fished around in the pack around his waist for the syringes he kept there. Once it was plunged into his chest, all of Elliott’s muscles seemed to twitch, but he felt his heart rate lower down to something manageable. He lost a lot of blood, though. He was going to have to huddle in a corner and lick his wounds for at least another five minutes before he’d be anywhere close to mobile.

“Thank you,” Mirage said in between a few deep breaths. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Match isn’t done yet,” Crypto chided lowly. He stood up straight and held out his hand for Mirage to take.

Which he did, but he only got halfway up before he hit the ground again. The cracking snap of a Kraber shot echoed in the empty air above the buildings and Mirage stared up at the blue sky, wondering why he wasn’t feeling any pain. Then, he heard the sound of himself hitting the floor for a third time and thought, that’s weird, I thought I already did that.

After that, he thought, I lost a lot of blood.

Tae Joon, is the next thing that came to his mind in the form of a horrible realization, one that he ended up voicing out loud in fear, in panic. He sat up from the adrenaline that panic gave him, hysterically hoping that maybe that the other hadn’t heard him, but mostly to satisfy the need of having to see if Tae Joon was okay.

And he wasn’t, not really. He was on his back, too, propped up on one elbow, one hand clutching at his shoulder that was spilling red between his fingers. But worst of all, he was staring at Mirage like the pain was second to the shock.

Mirage didn’t like the look he was getting, and it was especially devastating that it was Tae Joon who was the one giving it to him. Underneath the cloud from the medicine coursing through his system, he knew he had to explain, had to make it so Tae Joon could understand that Mirage knowing his secret wasn’t a big deal, that’d he’d known for a long time and nothing bad had happened.

So, he began with “Tae - “ and then, for some reason, finished with, “Tae - tuh - tuh - uh - totally thought you were going to die from that.”

Finally, he thought, Nice save, and collapsed.

----=----

They didn’t win, but that was the least of their worries. Well, maybe not Lifeline’s, but that was beside the point.

Elliott left the medbay as soon as he could, which still took a good amount of time. The nurse had mentioned something about the side effects of the Revival Syringe along with blood loss and not using anymore meds to stabilize after he was injected. They spent extra time checking his vitals and Elliott didn’t have to be a doctor to tell them that those were going to be skewed.

His heart was still racing when he made his way back into the dorms. It was a little relieving to find that it was empty; after the games, everyone typically accumulated in the mess hall to celebrate the winners. But the at the same time, it was disappointing. He almost wanted to see Tae Joon standing around every corner Elliott rounded waiting to confront him, because getting this over with meant getting back to normal, and Elliott couldn’t wait for that.

So, he risked a glance over at the other’s dorm across the sitting area as if getting a look at it would help him decide on whether or not he should knock, initiate it himself. The door was pulled up, though, left open. Elliott blinked at it once before wandering closer.

The room had always seemed bare, but the emptiness was emphasized now. He noticed that the blanket that was supposed to be folded and draped across the back of the couch to show off the South Korean flag was missing. The box Tae Joon had shoved under there and filled with parts and drives was pulled out, tipped over and empty. Even more, the drone’s docking station was gone.

Elliott rushed over to the desk and tapped the first key he could reach. Only one of the monitors flashed on, glowing blue and asking to proceed with setup.

“Oh, no,” Elliott muttered. He hurried back out to the seating area and looked up to the screens displaying that day’s match stats. Scrolling across the top was the ETA for the ship’s landing. Ten minutes. “Oh no, no, no you fucking don’t,” he continued to say, practically running to the hall for Boarding.

It Tae Joon got into the city before Elliott could catch him on the ship, it was likely that he’d never see the man again. He couldn’t let that happen.

But Boarding was empty, too, bar the few bots that managed the floor. Elliott practically skidded to a stop in front of one of them, startling the unit’s arms up and out.

“Hey, buddy, you wouldn’t have happened to see a guy, this tall - “ He holds up his hand, palm down, level with the top of his own head. “ - might have looked pissed off, which would be my fault, so I’m trying to find him. Have you seen him?”

The bot’s screen on it’s chest flashed red in the negative, then blue in an apologetic sad face.

Elliott grunted in disappointment. “Nah, don’t sweat it,” he assured the bot, even thought he was absolutely going to.

He was biting his lip when he exited, nervous. The ship held at least sixty people on it at once. It was a decent size and if someone like Crypto was hiding on it, someone like Elliott wasn’t going to find him.

Elliott swore, once in frustration, twice in shock when he was thrown roughly against the hard, metal wall of an empty hallway. Someone held him there with a fist against his shoulder and the threat of a pistol pressing into his abdomen. He was blinded before he could gather his bearings by a sudden flash of green light, leaving him blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Where did you get a gun?” Elliott chose to ask, deliriously, for some reason. “They don’t let weapons on the ship - “

“Who are you?” Tae Joon questioned. The aggression in his voice was something Elliott hadn’t heard since the first few weeks, around the same time Tae Joon was just as likely to twist his arm as he was to snap at him.

“What? Babe, you know who I am - “

“Elliott Witt is too clean, everything on him was too easy to find - they wouldn’t send an Elliott Witt to hunt me down.” His expression was neutral, but there was so much going on in his eyes that Elliot couldn’t look away, even when the gun reminded him of its presence with little jabs. “So who are you?”

And maybe there were a few things Elliott should have been offended by. Like how he wasn’t prestigious enough to warrant a protected record, or Tae Joon’s implication that he wasn’t capable of something he had already done - mostly on accident.

But what he ended up asking was, “You think I made everything up? You think I lied about my entire life for, what? Getting into bed with you?”

Tae Joon didn’t seem taken aback by the hurt that was evident in Elliott’s voice, but it did leave enough room for one second of hesitation. “Then they got to you,” he whispered, somehow sounding equal parts flat and devastated.

Elliott shook his head in confusion. Who was they? “No one fucking got to me, I actually don’t know who or what you’re talking about,” he tried to explain.

“Then how?” Tae Joon asked - angry. Elliott was finally able to identify one of the things burning in Tae Joon’s glare. Anger, and maybe confusion as well. Fear.

How did this happen, they both seemed to be thinking. How did I let it get to this?

“How did you find out?” Tae Joon snapped when Elliott spent too long watching him. “Who told you?”

“Mystik,” Elliott blurted, shocking the other enough to pull back just a little bit. “Kind of,” he went on in a hurry. “She sent you something, and I - I think the new software they implemented for security read my name enough times in it so it got forwarded to me - I don’t know exactly! I didn’t do it on purpose, it must be mald- malfuk - bugging out! So, I went to check, and I’d show you the forum post I found, but it’s gone already, I swear.”

Tae Joon took a step back, then another. “What did you find?”

Elliott let out a breath, wet his lips in a nervous tic. He shrugged. “Just - just an article.”

Disgraced computer technician -

Wanted for murdering his sister -

Tae Joon looked away suddenly and down the hall, like he was planning on running again. His frown was so intense a crease began to form between his brow.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Elliott said firmly. “I promise. But - what happened?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Tae Joon told him quickly. “If you don’t know, I can’t tell you.”

“Okay,” Elliott replied, despite how much he wanted to push.

Tae Joon seemed to sense that, gave him a troubled look. “I didn’t do it.”

“I know,” Elliott told him. “I believe you.”

It it was so easy to say, but they both knew it was more than the words spoken out loud. The admission meant Tae Joon’s shoulders could drop from their high strung, protected hunch. It meant they could both breathe. It meant Elliott could push off from the wall, get close - slowly - and gently retrieve the gun Tae Joon held to find that the safety was on. Because if he didn’t have to, Tae Joon wasn’t going to hurt him. He‘d never wanted to hurt anyone.

He put his fingers on the cool metal lining Tae Joon’s jaw to get him to look at Elliott.

“I believe you,” Elliott repeated, and Tae Joon kissed him for it. He put an open hand on the back of Elliott’s head and threaded his fingers through the curls that were there, pulling him in roughly. Elliott made a surprised noise but recovered fast enough. He pushed an arm underneath Tae Joon’s open coat to wind it around man’s waist and pressed his front to the other’s, hoping that somehow he’d get Tae Joon to feel the honesty in his words through an embrace. Thinking that he could show off the part of Elliott that was dedicated purely to him by just holding him against his chest.

Anything to get Tae Joon to stop kissing him in that same, desperate way as before, like he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Elliott said when they broke apart. He didn’t let the other go, though, and rested his forehead against his. “So you can’t either.”

Tae Joon’s features darken in a very particular way. “Don’t say that.” When Elliott lifted his head a little to show him a confused expression, he goes on to explain. “They take everything.”

Who’s they? I’ll kick they’s ass.

“They can’t take Mirage,” he said, smiling. “According to you, he’s too hard to carry.”

Instead of laughing, or giving that smarmy little smirk, or even rolling his eyes, Tae Joon raised a brow and asked, “What about Elliott?”

“Elliott’s yours,” he told him without thinking. “No one’s taking that.”

Tae Joon Park moved back in to kiss Elliott again.

=====

thanks for the prompt :^)

#apex legends #crypto #mirage #elliott witt #cryptage #cryage #those are the tags i know i'm sorry #kon's a writer #tae joon park

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cwbosch · 5 years ago

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task 03: connections

lads, i really was gonna try to think of 2 more connections in addition to this one but my brain is just FIXATING and all my other ideas seems so so dumb in comparison so enjoy me rambling about this one concept bc i am an absolute sucker for it

imagine the absolute irony, the insanity of it all, if there was someone this whole time who’s truly, genuinely wanted christian in the way he’s spent his whole life looking for from pretty much everyone but them. if the past year and a half he’s been pining over valentine, there was someone wishing he would look back at them instead. and he does love them back, but as a friend-- or at least, he thinks it’s as a friend because he can’t process the idea that it could be more. maybe because he thinks they’re too good for him, so he just never let himself go there? which he’s probably right about, but. imagine the tenderness. the yearning. the prolonged eye contact. the conflict of the two of them knowing everything about each other but there still being this huge secret he keeps hidden. the potential for christian to eventually realize what’s been under his nose the whole time. the DRAMA if that happens right when things unravel in the octavia case and they (and everyone else) realize christian has been lying to them. and i’m not saying this only lends itself to mlm but come ON this is gay content don’t tell me i’m wrong

thanks for coming to my ted talk, i’m highkey gonna copy nora and put a bunch of inspo below the cut so enjoy

“No matter how honestly you open up to someone, there are still things you cannot reveal.”

— Haruki Murakami

“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.”

— Emery Allen

“You loved me the other day. You wanted me to sit beside you in the dark. Didn’t I feel it- didn’t I know? There’s something between us- a sort of pull. Something you always do to me and I to you.”

Light pink sky up on the roof. Sun sinks down, no curfew. Twenty questions, we tell the truth. You’ve been stressed out lately? Yeah, me too. Something gave you the nerve. To touch my hand. It’s nice to have a friend.

— Taylor Swift

“This is delicate. There are things you should not say because you love someone.”

— Beckian Fritz Goldberg, “Eros in His Stripped Shirt”, in Poetry from Sojourner: A Feminist Anthology

#spectretask #this is what my 1 brain cell did huh

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citizenscreen · 5 years ago

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‘Tis the season to spread cheer and I’m doing my part by recommending classic movies, paying them forward in hopes that these memorable distractions take people’s minds off negative goings on. I’m asking that you join me, recommend your favorites and #PayClassicsForward on your blogs, by noting your recommendations in the comments or sharing across social media.

Let’s give the gift of movies.

Here’s the challenge…pick movie recommendations to the “12 Days of Christmas” theme as I’ve done below. Keep in mind that movie choices should be those you think would appeal to non-classics fans. Let’s grow our community and #PayClassicsForward

Have fun!

On the first day of Christmas, etc. etc…

One hat

The “one” listing is always a difficult one due to the fact that classics lend themselves to plenty of choices. That said, I came up with a category that encompasses important decades and several genre of film – the fedora. By following the history of the fedora in film you’ll be made privy to the best gangsters, greatest funny men, and most memorable lovers of Hollywood’s golden age. So here it is, a signature fedora:

Note that in researching my favorite fedora portrait I learned that trilbys are often mistaken for fedoras. Since experts seem to be confused between the two types of classic men’s hats that leaves little hope for me. I can’t say for sure whether Bogart is wearing a trilby in the above image, but he may well be. Descriptions of this type of hat explain the rims are shorter than your average fedoras. Either way, it’s a cool, suave look and Bogie rocks it.

From GQ: What’s the difference between a fedora and a trilby?

Answer: Traditionally a fedora has a wide brim and in the UK a wide ribbon band and bow. A trilby has a narrow brim and narrow ribbon, although there are some American trilbies that still have the wide ribbon.

Two Fairbanks

Things were not simple between Douglas Fairbanks and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. as it is for many families, but the son wore his father’s name proudly. I chose this father and son combination because if you watch their films you’ll get a healthy helping of everything from silent adventure to pre-code delicacies through some terrific television work. These are careers worth following.

Three Trios

There are quite a few choices for memorable trios in film including Cattle rustlers Robert Hightower (John Wayne), Pedro “Pete” Rocafuerte (Pedro Armendáriz), and William Kearney (Harry Carey, Jr.) in John Ford’s 3 Godfathers. That one is definitely difficult to pass up. That said, I think the following trios are likely to be looked at less by casual fans and they all deserve attention. These are my choices of trios in movies:

They are such a joy to behold. I remember them fondly from my days as a child watching them on TV. It seemed then that they appeared in a million movies, but that wasn’t the case. Still, these siblings are a joy in films like Buck Pirates with Abbott and Costello and their film debut in Albert S. Rogell’s Argentine Nights (1940). The Andrews Sisters made 17 films, more than any other singing group and all are a terrific way to be introduced to the movies. If that record does not impress you, then maybe this one will: LaVerne, Maxene, and Patty garnered 113 charted Billboard hits with 46 of those reaching the top 10. That’s more than Elvis Presley or The Beatles.

youtube

I have nothing against Disney. In fact, I enjoy their classic animated films immensely. Due to that I’m less than enthusiastic about their constant remakes, which – in my opinion – disrespects those wonderful, older film accomplishments. Today I pay tribute to one of them by way of a trio of glorious characters made in the memorable Disney vein we’ve all come to know and love, that combination of warmth and delightful comedy that permeate those wonderful films. These characters are Princess Aurora’s three good fairy godmothers Flora, Fauna and Merryweather in Disney’s 1959 classic Sleeping Beauty. They alone pay tribute to an enchanting legacy.

“Each of us the child may bless, with a single gift no more, no less.”

The final mention here goes to three Russian envoys who have arrived in Paris to sell a fortune in jewelry, imperial jewelry, the money of which is to go to the Russian government, which is in need of cash. The three, Iranoff, Buljanoff and Kopalski (played hilariously by Sig Ruman, Felix Bressart and Alexander Granach, respectively) who are supposed to be doing work for the Russian government, immediately get caught up in the excesses of capitalism and fail to sell the jewelry. Moscow then sends a special envoy to Paris to investigate what’s going on with the trio and the jewelry. The envoy is the rigid and humorless, Comrade Yakushova – Ninotchka (Greta Garbo). The charming Melvyn Douglas plays Ninotchka’s love interest in Ernst Lubitsch’s delightful comedy, but it’s the three envoys in the hands of Ruman, Bressart and Granach that make this movie among the greats in the annals of comedy. I just want to get to know them better and so should you.

Ninotchka with Iranoff, Buljanoff, and Kopalski

Four Skippy Performances

It’s no wonder this wire-haired terrier was the highest paid canine star of his day. Often referred to as “Asta,” thanks to his successful appearances in The Thin Man movies, his real name was Skippy – and we love him to tears. Although I’m choosing only four of his film performances, Skippy never made a bad movie and starred opposite some of Hollywood’s biggest names. If you keep an eye out for Skippy’s filmography on TCM, you will no doubt be introduced to an astounding talent as well as a terrific movie. It’s guaranteed. My Skippy suggestions are:

Skippy as Asta in The Thin Man movies opposite William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles. I can’t imagine you haven’t seen The Thin Man (1934), but may not have given any of the sequels a try. If that’s the case you will be delighted by Skippy in any one of his key performances:

in ANOTHER THIN MAN

in AFTER THE THIN MAN

Skippy is wonderful as Mr. Smith in The Awful Truth. Worth a custody dispute between Warriner and Warriner played by Cary Grant and Irene Dunne, this time Skippy is required to add straight drama to his repertoire as he is required to choose between his two humans right off the bat. There’s also plenty for him to do on the comedy front, however, so this one is a must-see.

forced to choose between the Warriners in court

front and center in the awful truth

Skippy as George in Howard Hawks’ Bringing Up Baby opposite Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. Another terrific outing for our favorite pooch as he is central to action thanks to his burying abilities.

Holding his own in Hawks’ beloved screwball

This sequel to Norman Z. McLeod’s 1937 hit Topper lacks some of the charm of its predecessor, but the talents of Constance Bennett, Roland Young, Billie Burke, Alan Mowbry, and Skippy make it well worth your time. Here, Skippy matched Bennett’s ghostly wit by ghostly wit in a role that stretches his talents to matters beyond this world and he approaches it with signature enthusiasm.

so famous he made it into this spectacular publicity photo with Constance Bennett

Five Lords-a-leaping

No explanation needed.

Cagney

Nicholas Brothers

Kelly

Astaire

Six Vivien Leigh GWTW Tests

Gone With the Wind is celebrating its 80th anniversary on December 15 and, as the biggest, most famous movie ever made, it deserves at least a mention here.

On that day in 1939, Atlanta’s Loew’s Grand Theater was buzzing with Hollywood’s biggest names. It was such an occasion for Atlanta that the film’s opening was a 3-day event as Governor Eurith Dickinson Rivers declared a three-day holiday. Other politicians asked that Georgians dress in period clothing. A lot had happened in Hollywood leading up to that premiere though including the famous search for the film’s leading lady, the protagonist of Margaret Mitchell’s 1936 blockbuster novel, Scarlett O’Hara. Every female star it seems auditioned for the part. Among them were Bette Davis, Jean Arthur, Tallulah Bankhead, Joan Bennett, Claudette Colbert, Frances Dee, and Paulette Goddard who, as stories go, was close to being chosen. As we all know, however, Scarlett went to the lovely, British Vivien Leigh who possessed an outstanding talent. Leigh made the part her own and, along with the film, became tantamount to Hollywood royalty. To honor Vivien Leigh and her memorable Scarlett O’Hara here are six make-up and wardrobe test stills:

Seven Justices

Judge James K. Hardy in the Andy Hardy movie series

Judge Margaret Turner in The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer

Judge Taylor in To Kill a Mockingbird

Judge Weaver in Anatomy of a Murder

Judge Henry X. Harper in Miracle on 34th Street

Judge Dan Haywood in Judgment at Nuremberg

Judge Chamberlain Haller in My Cousin Vinny

Eight Serials

Follow the links to watch episodes of these dramatically exciting serials. It might take a few chapters for you to get hooked, but you’ll get hooked.

The Perils of Pauline (1914) starring Pearl White

The Vanishing Legion (1931) starring Harry Carey and Edwina Booth

The Green Hornet (1940) starring Gordon Jones

Zorro Rides Again (1937) starring John Carroll

The Master Mystery (1918) starring Harry Houdini

Flash Gordon (1936) starring Buster Crabbe

The Phantom Creeps (1939) starring Bela Lugosi

Holt of the Secret Service (1941) starring Jack Holt

Nine Ladies Dancing

Ann Miller

Ruby Keeler

Eleanor Powell

Lena Horne

Betty Grable

Vera-Ellen

Cyd Charisse

Ginger Rogers

Dorothy Dandridge

Ten Directors

Watch their movies… live, love, learn, and laugh.

Michael Curtiz

Akira Kurosawa

William Wyler

Fritz Lang

Ernst Lubitsch

John Ford

Alfred Hitchcock

Mervyn LeRoy

Ida Lupino

Lois Weber

Eleven Movies about Millionaires

Since I recommended movies about hobos in a previous year, I thought the time came for millionaires. There are many wonderful movies about the super rich, particularly during the Great Depression when audiences loved seeing the plight of these people play out for laughs. That theme made for some of film history’s best screwball comedies. The super rich, however, have lent themselves for entertaining movie fare ever since the movies began and in every genre. Check out this terrific list from Forbes spotlighting millionaires in movies.

As for me, I have quite a few favorites with millionaire themes that appeal to most others as well. These include such popular titles as The Philadelphia Story, the shenanigans of the Charleses in The Thin Man movies, My Man Godfrey, The Lady Eve, How to Marry a Millionaire, and movies featuring recognizable names like Charles Foster Kane and Bruce Wayne. For this purpose, however, I recommend lesser known, but worthy millionaire movie stories I’ve watched through the years – some in terrible condition, a few greats, and some for plain ole fun. Here are the 11 rich and classic…

Phil Rosen’s Extravagance (1930)

John G. Adolfi’s The Millionaire (1931)

Clarence G. Badger’s Miss Brewster’s Millions (1926)

Frank Tuttle’s Love Among the Millionaires (1930)

Mitchell Leisen’s Easy Living (1937)

Anthony Asquith’s The Millionairess (1960)

Robert Moore’s Murder by Death (1976)

William Asher’s Bikini Beach (1964)

Walter Lang’s I’ll Give a Million (1938)

George Marshall’s A Millionaire for Christy (1951)

Roy Del Ruth’s Kid Millions (1934)

EXTRAVAGANCE (1930_

THE MILLIONAIRE (1931)

LOVE AMONG THE MILLIONAIRES (1930)

MISS BREWSTER’S MILLIONS (1926)

MURDER BY DEATH (1976)

I’LL GIVE A MILLION (1938)

A MILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTY (1951)

THE MILLIONAIRESS (1960)

KID MILLIONS (1934)

BIKINI BEACH (1964)

EASY LIVING (1937)

Twelve Feature Acting Debuts

Some of my favorite and/or most memorable film debuts…

Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween – effective after all these years.

Orson Welles in Citizen Kane – although Welles’ performance is what I find hardest to like in Kane, I cannot deny its impact and status among characters in film.

Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday – appropriate introduction for royalty in film and in life. She charms you from the first moment.

Eva Marie Saint in On the Waterfront – exclamation point to begin a stellar movie career.

Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl – a tour de force and a phenomenon

Peter Lorre in M – brilliant, nightmarish, heartbreaking. Described by director Fritz Lang as “one of the best in film history.” I agree.

Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins – Her debut should have been as Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, but we’ll take this and so did she. Not only did Andrews win the Best Actress Academy Award for her portrayal of the magical nanny, but she won the hearts of the world in the process.

Timothy Hutton in Ordinary People – ordinarily superb.

Angela Lansbury in Gaslight – small part, big impact. Undeniable screen presence.

Edward Norton in Primal Fear – convincing and chilling.

Greer Garson in Goodbye, Mr. Chips – She wanted a worthy role as her screen introduction. She got it. She killed it – as she did from that moment on.

Eddie Murphy in 48 Hours – I love this performance highlighting the scope of Murphy’s talent.

I gave this final topic a lot of thought as there are many worthy contenders. For instance, I’m sure many would choose James Dean’s turn in East of Eden, as big a legend-ensuring performance as there ever was, but it’s not a favorite of mine. Tatum O’Neill’s performance in Paper Moon is another one I considered as were Marlee Matlin’s in Children of a Lesser God and Lupita Nyong’o heartbreaking Patsey in 12 Years a Slave. Finally, I adore Robert Duvall’s debut appearance in To Kill a Mockingbird. And I could go on and on. We just have an embarrassment of riches.

♥

Phew! There you have this year’s movie recommendations. I hope you enjoyed the list and that – in the spirit of Christmas – you take this challenge and…

#PayClassicsForward

Visit previous year’s lists as shown:

2015

2016

2017

2018

The Challenge: #PayClassicsForward for Christmas ‘Tis the season to spread cheer and I’m doing my part by recommending classic movies, paying them forward in hopes that these memorable distractions take people’s minds off negative goings on.

#12 Days of Christmas #12 Days of Classics #Movie Recommendations #Pay Classics Forward #Pay Classics Forward for Christmas

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oscopelabs · 6 years ago

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Mirror, Mirror: When Movie Characters Look Back at Themselves by Sheila O’Malley

“I always feel it behind me. It’s myself. And I follow me. In silence. But I can hear it. Yes, sometimes it’s like I’m chasing myself. I want to escape from myself. But I can’t!” —Peter Lorre as child-murderer, M (1931)

There was a period in the ‘60s and ‘70s when you could barely call yourself a male movie star if you didn’t do a scene where you stared at yourself in the mirror, doing various “private” things. The device shows up before then, too, but the floodgates opened in the ‘60s and ‘70s. Meryl Streep has observed, “Often the scenes that are the most exciting, and most illuminating in film, are the ones with no dialogue…where a character is doing something alone, where the deepest most private self is revealed or explored. Exposed.”

Mirrors have multiple thematic uses (as well as the obvious directorial choice to add visual interest to the frame). But if a character is inarticulate, then seeing him “deal with” his reflection can fill in some gaps. It’s a great storytelling shortcut. If the character has a firm public “mask,” a “mirror scene” can let us see who he is when no one is watching. We all lie, to some degree, out there in the world (or on social media). We construct a “self” and a mirror scene allows the character to strip that away.

Speaking stereotypically (or, in archetypes), what is expected of male characters in terms of public persona is different from the pressures on female characters. Not better or worse, just different. Crying, showing uncertainty, weakness, vulnerability … can be a minefield. This is why the glut of male mirror scenes in the 70s makes a kind of sense: as the women’s movement rose, men began to wonder about their place, as well as buck against some of the gender norms imposed on them (or, in some cases, re-entrench said gender norms, Travis Bickle’s “You talkin’ to me” the most classic example).

Shakespeare’s use of the soliloquy—in particular for Kings and prospective Kings—could be seen as mirror scenes, with the audience as the mirror. A man goes into a private space, showing the audience things he cannot show on the battlefield or in the court. Hamlet, one of the most introverted of Shakespeare’s characters, showing non-gender-norm qualities of uncertainty and sensitivity, has a massive six soliloquies. (“O that this too too solid flesh would melt”, “O what a rogue and peasant slave am I”, “To be or not to be”, “Tis now the very witching time of night”, “Now might I do it pat” and “How all occasions do inform against me.”) It is impossible to imagine the play—or Hamlet—without them. In Richard II, after Richard is forced to surrender his crown, what is the first thing he does? Like a true narcissist, he calls for a mirror. As he stares at himself, he wonders,

“Was this face the face That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men?”

and throws the mirror on the ground.

Mirrors are powerful and mysterious symbols. The doubling-up can mean all kinds of things. Alice steps through the looking glass into another world. Goethe’s Faust looks into the witch’s mirror and sees a beautiful woman staring back. Dorian Gray takes a mirror to compare his face with the one in the attic portrait. (Like Richard III, Dorian smashes the mirror.) A mirror is crucial in Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott,” where “The Lady” is cursed to view the world only through a mirror. But then Lancelot rides by and she can’t help it, she has to sneak a peek. Maybe the most famous fictional mirror is the Evil Queen’s in “Snow White,” the one she asks every day, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” Richard III doesn’t look for a reflection of his beauty. He wonders where his “self” even is, without the crown.

An early male mirror scene—and one of the best—is Peter Lorre’s in Fritz Lang’s M (1931). Our first glimpse of Lorre’s face comes without warning. As a handwriting-analyst theorizes in voiceover about the child-killer’s psychology, we see him, staring at himself in the mirror. He pulls at his face, slowly, manipulating his mouth into a smile, trying it on for size, maybe seeing what it looks like to the children he seduces. He bugs his eyes out, turning this way, that, a maniacal presence, almost like a shark rolling its eyes backwards as it attacks. He has no sense of what human beings feel like, of what he looks like, of how to even make a facial expression. It’s one of the most chilling private moments in cinema.

Speaking of “private moments”: Constantin Stanislavski wrote a lot about how actors needed to feel “solitude in public.” He wrote: ”During a performance, before an audience of thousands, you can always enclose yourself in this circle…You can carry it with you wherever you go.” Lee Strasberg developed his “private moment exercise” to help actors achieve “solitude in public.” There are things you do when you are alone which you would stop doing if someone walked in. Maybe you sing along to the radio. Maybe you talk to yourself. Maybe you pick your nose. Maybe you do all of these things simultaneously. Our “public” selves are drilled into us from a very young age. There are “good manners,” there are “contexts” to be memorized—what flies at home will not fly outside the home. Breaking down the public face, letting an audience see who you are when you are by yourself, is part of the actor’s job. (It’s not a surprise that the '70s came to be dominated by private-moment mirror scenes, considering the influence of the Strasberg method on acting styles.)

One of the most important mirror scenes, and a huge influence on Martin Scorsese, is Marlon Brando’s in Reflections in a Golden Eye, directed by John Huston. Brando plays Major Weldon Penderton, a closeted gay man married to a frustrated, luscious Elizabeth Taylor. Late at night, Penderton sits alone, staring at pictures of naked male statues from Greek antiquity. The character lives in an almost totally male world (the military), turned on by young soldiers, and terrified of revealing himself. In one scene, alone downstairs in the house, he walks into the hall and stares at himself in the mirror. After a moment of vacuity, he begins to talk to himself, or, more vulnerably, to an imaginary other person. He pretends to respond to what the other person says, he practices laughing, and he smiles, but the smile is superimposed. He can’t get it to look real. What he says is a kind of murmur, a “pretense” of conversation. This is the kind of vulnerability Brando could achieve like no other. Without this scene, the Major could have been a caricature. All we see is his fuddy-duddy sexless stiff public mask. The mirror scene shows his confusion at how to be a man, how to navigate even a casual conversation.

Alain Delon has a stunning mirror moment in Purple Noon (1960), Rene Clement’s adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley. Delon plays the sociopath Tom Ripley, in thrall to his casually masculine friend Philippe Greenleaf (Maurice Ronet). Delon’s chilly presence onscreen works to beautiful effect: He doesn’t show us much. But then, he tries on Philippe’s clothes, a sleek pinstripe jacket, fancy shoes. He checks himself out in the mirror. Most actors would leave it at that. But Delon understood the homoerotic implications of the script, not to mention the character’s dangerous narcissism. Delon leans into the mirror and gives himself a rapturous long kiss, slitting his eyes open at one point, to check out what he looks like.

It’s interesting to contrast this with the same scene in the 1999 adaptation, The Talented Mr. Ripley, starring Matt Damon. Director Anthony Minghella makes the subtext practically text, by placing mirrors in almost every scene (the final shot of Ripley is through a mirror). When Ripley tries on his friend’s clothes, he dances around to Bing Crosby’s “May I,” doing a vaudeville burlesque. It’s a different kind of rapture than Delon’s swooning kiss. Damon’s drag-style dance is more for the audience, an explicit display of inner gay-ness, what Ripley is hiding beneath his good-natured submissive public persona. It’s a good scene, although I prefer Delon’s. Delon’s kiss is Stanislavsky’s “public solitude”—and it shows the terrifying void within the character. There is no self. The entire world is a mirror.

In Karel Reisz’s gritty Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, Albert Finney’s Arthur, in a whirl of work, sex, and alcohol, is suddenly caught by his reflection one hungover morning. He was beat up the night before. He plays at being a sniper through his window, targeting local women with pellets. It’s a thin line between playfulness and murderous acting-out. Finney digs into this aspect of the character when he suddenly speaks to his reflection. It is a statement of bravado before descending into confusion: ”I’m me and nobody else. Whatever people say I am that’s what I am not, because they don’t know a bloody thing about me. God knows what I am.”

For the opening sequences of Rocky, we see Rocky Balboa’s normal “day in the life.” We are introduced to him through various public selves. But when he goes home to his dank apartment, feeding his turtles, gentle and quiet, his loneliness is so acute it reverbs off the screen. Childhood photographs of him line the mirror frame, and Rocky stares at them, his big-lug face almost crushed in disappointment. Holding a container of turtle food, he starts to talk to himself. What he’s saying doesn’t sound like anything, just private-moment murmurings, but in the next scene, when he goes to visit the girl in the pet store, it becomes clear. He was practicing a joke to tell her, a joke designed to make her laugh, show her he’s a safe person, he’s nice. Rocky practicing a joke in the mirror is one of Stallone’s most vulnerable moments as an actor (and evidence of his gift as a screenwriter).

John Travolta’s mirror moment in 1977’s Saturday Night Fever is star-making, not just because of Travolta’s almost otherworldly gorgeousness (as well as how he revels in said gorgeousness, behavior considered coded-female). Surrounded by 1970s icons—posters of Rocky, Serpico, and Farrah Fawcett—he blow-dries his hair, places gold chains around his neck, and stands like a superhero in his black speedo briefs, shot from below. Perhaps the most revealing thing about the scene is that when his father barges into the room, Travolta’s Tony Manero does not stop what he is doing. His lack of embarrassment tells us everything we need to know about the character.

Francis Ford Coppola’s epic, Apocalypse Now begins with a hallucinatory sequence showing a PTSD-rattled Martin Sheen, holed up in a hotel room in Saigon, tormented by memories. In one shocking moment, Sheen stands unsteadily, and lurches around in front of the mirror, flailing his arms out in imitation martial-arts moves, an attempt to combat his helplessness and anguish, his impotence. But the gap between reality and fantasy is too great, and he, like Richard III, smashes the mirror.

Richard Gere’s mirror moment in American Gigolo is a distant cousin of John Travolta’s. His Julian has carefully crafted an immaculate persona for his female clients, and part of the movie’s pull is watching it get stripped away. At home, Julian wanders around, practicing Swedish, working out, picking out clothes for his next appointment. He’s vain, but vanity is part of his job. Smokey Robinson’s “The Love I Saw In You Was Just a Mirage,” and it’s perfect because Julian literally is a mirage. To his clients, to himself, even. When he stands in front of the mirror, flexing his muscles, he is more Evil Queen than Richard III, a destabilizing of gender norms around male sexuality (and self-presentation) which is so much a part of the film. (When Julian meets a private detective, it’s at a joint called the Me & Me Coffee Shop. Julian’s hall of mirrors shatters by the end of American Gigolo: in the final scene, he talks to Lauren Hutton through a glass partition in prison. The mirror is no more. He can see through it now to the other person, and, crucially, he can be seen, too, as he really is.)

The most famous mirror moment is, of course, Robert De Niro’s in Taxi Driver. In the insomniac voiceover, his Travis Bickle says, “I think that someone should become a person like other people,” showing the character’s alienation from other humans. You aren’t already a person, to Travis: you have to become one. As Travis descends into psychosis, dreaming of 1. impressing the cool blonde (Cybill Shepherd) who rejected him after he took her to a porn movie on their first date and 2. rescuing the child prostitute Iris (Jodie Foster), he begins to amass a small arsenal, putting together boot holsters and straps to go around his wiry body. In the unforgettable moment when he checks himself out in the mirror, he goes into a zone of macho fantasy. (Schrader’s script said only “Travis speaks to himself in the mirror.” De Niro’s “You talkin’ to me” was his improvisation.) De Niro goes so far into his sense of privacy, it’s almost embarrassing to watch. And yet it’s so human, too. (If you say you’ve never talked to yourself in the mirror, or sung in the shower, you’re lying.)

De Niro’s second mirror moment is Raging Bull’s final scene, when the bloated Jake La Motta recites Marlon Brando’s “I coulda been a contender” monologue from On the Waterfront, before standing up and doing a series of “pumping up” exercises, to get ready to go onstage. (Side note: Mary Elizabeth Winstead closes out Eva Vives’ wonderful 2018 film All About Nina, about a troubled stand-up comic, with a re-creation of the scene from Raging Bull.) What’s fascinating about the Raging Bull scene is that Jake La Motta has no “self” to reveal. It’s almost like there’s no inner life at all. He doesn’t “get it.” He never did, he never will. De Niro blanks himself out in a very unnerving way, opposite to the dangerous vengeful-spirit fantasy he inhabits in Taxi Driver.

Although Walter Hill’s Johnny Handsome descends into a cliched crime movie with paper-thin characters, the opening sequences are dark, cynical, and atmospheric. Mickey Rourke plays Johnny, a man with a deformed head, an “ugly” appearance which has separated him from other humans. Reminiscent of the Joan Crawford film A Woman’s Face, a caring plastic surgeon (Forest Whittaker) offers to operate on Johnny, to give him a chance at a new life. When Rourke unwraps the bandages and sees his new face (i.e. Rourke’s real face), Rourke has a mirror moment like almost no other, a moment worthy to be placed alongside Brando’s and De Niro’s. He touches his face with wonder, bursting into tears. That’s touching enough, but then, as he glances back at Whitaker, Rourke goes deeper. A look of fear, and lifelong anguish floods his eyes, as he says, “I feel like I still have a mask on” and then, after that, Rourke goes even deeper into a maelstrom of emotion: gratitude, bafflement, awe, despair. The scene is Rourke’s finest hour.

Up until recently (with a couple of exceptions), when women stared at themselves in the mirror in the movies, it was obvious what they are doing: touching up their makeup, checking out their mask. Once again, in the 1960s and 70s, women started doing “mirror scenes” equivalent to men’s mirror scenes, where the purpose was not perfecting the public mask, but to - as Sylvia Plath wrote in her poem “Mirror” - search “my reaches for what she really is.” Faye Dunaway has a great one in Jerry Schatzberg’s Puzzle of a Downfall Child. Gena Rowlands has quite a few “mirror scenes” in the movies she did with Cassavetes (there’s a couple of stunners in Opening Night). In my favorite moment in Sofia Coppola’s The Bling Ring, after breaking into Paris Hilton’s house, Katie Chang goes into a daze of mad-woman fantasy, staring at herself in Paris’ mirror. It’s not hard to imagine the character slipping into the Manson family, if a Manson came along. She’s as blank as Jake La Motta. In La Verite’s opening scene, Brigitte Bardot stares at her face in a broken shard of a mirror, right before marching off for her court date. Her “self” is fragmented, broken. Jennifer Jason Leigh has an extraordinary extended “mirror scene” in Georgia. The moment is everything: self-hatred, rage, searching and longing, and bone-deep narcissism.

Men staring at themselves in the mirror let us into their secret worlds, their fantasies and anxieties, uncertainties and vulnerabilities. It’s not about being self-obsessed. It’s trying to find the self, the self that is not allowed free rein, be it a benign self or a malevolent one.

In Caravaggio’s “Narcissus,” Narcissus leans towards his reflection in the water, his posture pulled downwards with a seductive tug. He braces himself by his hands on the ground, and his knee, bulging out beneath his torso, is the only barrier between Narcissus and his reflection (and, perhaps, drowning). In the painting the reflection below is cut off; all we see are the forearms and that gleaming sturdy knee. Even though Narcissus’ body is barely visible, even though he’s hunched over himself, his energy is childlike, soft and open. He gives his reflection a caressing stare, a swooning look. He yields. This is not just vanity. This is something else.

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