#Michael inwardly sobbing: why do I care so much?

[langdhon]

𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚃𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛 ⸻ look who found his 1 braincell

What’s the worst part of being fifty percent human?  Emotions. Emotions and the strong reactions they conjure, the impulses. Mind-clouding and tearing open old wounds to spill their poisoned blood over present differences and blow them out of proportion. Michael neither met nor otherwise contacted Alice in weeks. Diving head first into the preparations necessary to fulfill his prophecy was what gradually cleared his sight on the awful outcome back in Malcolm’s club. Why is it that, by all his intelligence and power, a spark of anger shuts down his ability to think beyond his impulses?

Alice was thrown out with him because she sided with him, against her friend. She was mad at him choosing violence and he mistook her just reaction for betrayal. But in no second did she betray him. Strange, how the absence of one person who doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things takes a toll on you; no matter how much you try to move on. There was no way he could ignore this persistent sting in his chest any longer.

This will be hard. Admitting his wrongs was never a strong suit of his. He usually gets away with everything. Critics can be sent straight to hell.

But he told her not to come back to him and she stayed away. Now it’s Michael — oh, the irony — who enters Alice’s store with an inexplicable but no less strong urge to make amends. She’s the only person he can trust, after all. At least he tells himself that.  ❛ Alice, I need to talk to you.❜  Beating around the bush isn’t his thing, although Michael does his best not to sound demanding. He won’t sacrifice his dignity and cower at her feet like a beaten dog, either.  ❛ Do you have a moment? ❜  // @ravenskeeper​

#⛧ 𝙋𝘼𝙏𝙃 𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙊𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙔 // threads. #ARC 2. #Michael inwardly sobbing: why do I care so much? #ravenskeeper

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

What Did They Do? | Cliff Booth

Pairing: Cliff Booth (OUATIH) x Plus Size Reader

Word count: 2,131 words.

Request: Hi. Could you write a Cliff Booth one-shot with the reader being bullied at work because of her plus size, and Cliff comforting her? (If it's ok with you). Thank you.

Warnings: Fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, angst, body-image issues, a little bit of fluff.

A/N: Listen, I didn't want to focus on how the scenes with the coworkers played, they're not the ones who suffer because of the words. ALSO: remember that it's your body, therefore your choice. If you want to try and change something about your routine or whatever, go ahead! But please do it for yourself, your happiness, and your health.

Weight was an issue, a metaphorical and literal one. You had fluctuated between Ignoring what everyone else said about your weight or body shape and obsessing over every little flaw they saw in you. It took a toll on you some days like on any other person who didn’t have what it took to be considered the standard for an attractive person yet the pressure of hearing comments constantly was getting too much.

A hostile work environment wasn’t new to you, school hadn’t been different, and sometimes even your family could get pretty annoying and borderline cruel with the topic.

The walk from your workplace to your house wasn’t long, but it sure as hell felt like it. Between the changing weather, how tired you truly were, and the weight of the comments and gazes you had to endure on a daily basis, the way home felt like sheer torture. You supposed it wouldn’t be too bad to move your body some more, maybe your workmates had a point when they told you you needed to lose some pounds although they could’ve been kinder while doing so.

Acting like you didn’t care was getting harder as the days passed, you didn’t know who were you trying to convince more when you said it didn’t matter. Many factors were at play, and their comments used every one of them to break you. You had tried to understand the reasoning behind those types of insults for years and at some point instead ended up believing they were simply the truth.

But why? Why did you have to be the one who changed instead of them? Why couldn’t Lorna understand that your body was different than hers? Why didn’t Michael accept that you didn’t exist for people to find you either attractive or not? Why couldn’t they just get over the fact that no one is the same and that not every single person can fit their personal standards? And why couldn't you either?

The lights from the living room were on and Cliff’s car was parked on the driveway. You sighed heavily, inwardly praying to not look like you cried all the way home even though you totally did. Before you could slide the key in, the door swung open. His bright smile greeted you, the usual kiss on your temple leaving your skin buzzing.

He said, very happily, that he bought your favorite dish from that dinner you love. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to find an excuse as to why you can’t eat it. It would be rude to say you’re not in the mood when he had to make a detour to buy the food, but you don’t feel like eating ever again in your goddamn life.

“I’ll just take a shower, yeah?” You didn’t wait for him to answer and made your way toward your shared bedroom.

Mindlessly taking a clean pair of underwear and a pajama set you entered the bathroom not before kicking your shoes off. The clothes were placed on the countertop just beside the sink, your reflection staring back at you; you didn’t recognize the sad eyes boring into yours— your own eyes.

The warm water wasn’t of too much help. You had expected it to at least ease the tension on your shoulders enough for you to not feel like you’d crumble at any minute. The dreaded part of the shower began when, while waiting for the conditioner to set and do its job, you started to scrub your body. A sob escaped your lips, your hand clutching the extra skin on your stomach— god, Lorna was definitely right when she said you needed to be on a strict diet.

You didn't dare to get out of the shower just yet, too embarrassed by the fact that all those things your coworkers said to you were true. You felt like the filthy cow Michael called you, you truly did, and tears just kept streaming down your face. Avoiding your reflection in the mirror while you put your clothes on, the wonderment of what Cliff really thought of you came to your mind.

Reminding yourself that you needed to focus on the fact that he had never complained about anything you exited the bathroom with the idea of going to bed and hoping for the best. If you were lucky, getting some rest would help you see things clearly, be kinder to yourself like you logically knew you should be.

Cliff stared at you with a frown, you supposed he had entered the room to change into sleeping clothes too because he had discarded his patterned shirt and was now only in a pair of shorts and the t-shirt he had been wearing earlier. You grew nervous under his gaze like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t have even thought about.

“You want me to reheat dinner?”

Your stomach churned upon hearing the question, not helping the feeling of nervousness at all. Excuses escaped you, there wasn’t a good one other than saying you weren’t hungry which was just not realistic. Opting for just nodding in hopes of calming down when your boyfriend wasn’t staring at you, you waited for him to leave the room to let out a light groan.

You felt stuck. No one likes to feel like that and lately, that’s all you can really feel. Stuck between accepting yourself and changing everything people found flawed, between skipping meals and eating properly to be healthy, between looking for another job where you weren’t verbally abused on a daily basis and just accepting that it would keep happening if you didn’t change your body.

You wished you could tune it all out, you knew some people were able to and you knew their lives were a little easier because of it. You wanted to be able to feel comfortable in your own skin without being told you were harming yourself— oh, how you hated the way they looked at you when you wore a skirt instead of a pantsuit, and God forbid if you felt confident enough one day to wear shorts...

It was tiring, it added to the weight on your shoulders and in consequence, deteriorated your health. The irony of how much their comments that — according to them— came from a place of worry for your health were harming you would have amused you if you weren’t in so much distress.

The clearing of a throat startled you. Your eyes landed on Cliff’s face as you turned to look at the doorway. “I’ll be there in a moment,” you rasped, surprised by how hard getting the words out had been.

He pushed himself into the room and away from the doorway, standing in front you four strides later. His warm palm landed softly on your cheek, an attempt to either get you to talk or comfort you, perhaps both at the same time.

Your eyes closed out of habit, your brain processing the gesture as one of the few things that gave it serotonin. His free arm wrapped around your middle, pulling you closer. There was a moment of silence, not uncomfortable because nothing was with him, one that he used to asses what could possibly be wrong while you tried your hardest to not cry some more.

“What’s wrong, love?” Cliff asked, so lowly and softly, so tenderly that you believed Samantha when she said you didn’t deserve to have someone like him in your life.

You shook your head, the movement prompting your lips to brush against his palm for a few seconds. It was deeply embarrassing to tell him how bad you felt for being yourself, it wasn’t fair for you to go through it, any of it.

He encouraged you to speak still, “you can tell me anything.”

Stubbornly, you shook your head again. “It’s nothing. How was your day?” Your question came with the opening of your eyes. You knew you had to be convincing, you could cry some more in the morning while showering after all.

“It was great,” he deadpanned. “Now, is my girlfriend telling me what’s troubling her or do I have to beat her coworkers up to know?”

A shiver ran down your spine, not because you were scared of him but because he talking to your coworkers was your worst nightmare. They could easily open his eyes, make him realize he deserved someone better than you. Shit... Cliff deserved better than you, it was true. Someone he could show off, someone who didn’t struggle to find pretty clothes, someone who could wear his clothes without them being tight or stuck.

Your reaction seemed to make him realize what was wrong. You saw it on his face, and he probably saw everything on yours. It surprised you, how upset he looked as it dawned on him. “What did they do?”

And just like that, you let it all go because there was no point in saying everything was fine, you were sad, he was mad— things could go terribly wrong or perfectly fine and you needed it to just happen already.

He listened, all his attention on your face as you both sat on the bed, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. Your chest started aching as the hiccups began to interrupt you, between the crying and the eagerness to explain yourself now that you had the chance to let it out, you were desperate to find some relief.

Cliff shushed you, soothing sounds filling your ears. You heard him say he would get you some water to which you could only nod. You didn’t know how much time passed, you just knew you were still crying. Words flew out from your mouth when he was back, you hadn’t realized how many things you had bottled up until the moment you caught yourself speaking about your first day of work when everything had begun.

He hugged you tightly once the hiccups stopped, letting you cry some more on his chest as he played with your hair. Sweet nothings were whispered like second nature, how competent you were, how pretty, how attractive, how much he loved you. You even wondered why people called them sweet nothings when it truly meant everything to you.

“We’re going to find you another job, darling,” he assured, “don’t you worry your pretty little mind.”

You shrugged, knowing it wouldn’t change much. “Everyone will say the same,” you lamented.

“You can’t let them do that to you. I know it’s not your fault,” Cliff quickly clarified, “but we can’t please everyone and not everyone will like us. Maybe this is different and I can’t understand it because I’m not going through it, but I know it’s still true.”

Nodding, you looked down at your hands on your lap. It was easier said than done, no matter how well he meant he wasn’t the one who would go through it. “What if they’re right?”

You wanted to take the words back upon hearing his huff, wanting everything but to go through a fight that night. You were tired, drained actually, and fights with Cliff didn’t happen often but when they did you ended needing a lot of alone time to recharge.

“Look,” he sighed, clearly trying to mask his annoyance when he knew it wasn’t your fault, “if you want to make some changes to your routine, maybe become more active or eat healthier... that’s great, love. I will happily go through it with you.” His hand fell on top of yours, giving a squeeze to get the point across and to gain your attention so his next words were understood. “But if you don’t want to, if you feel fine, you don’t have to change a damn thing.”

“Can I make that decision later on?” you timidly asked. You weren’t ready to take such a big step, you truly just wanted to get some rest.

Cliff agreed, leaning to peck your lips in reassurance. You allowed yourself to smile which only made him kiss you properly that time around, hugging you by the hips when you kissed back.

Later that night, while laying on his chest, you focused on the sound of his heartbeat as he watched some TV. You were trying to pay attention to whatever was happening on the show but your mind was somewhere else. The next day would be big, you’d finally focus on what you needed instead of what people wanted and allow yourself to make a decision regarding what you would do to accomplish it.

The next day you’d finally start the journey to get what you truly deserved, and you would give it to your own self while your boyfriend accompanied you.

#cliff booth x reader #cliff booth x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size reader fanfic #plus size reader imagine

[therealkn]

David’s Resolution: Day -2

Day -2 (December 30, 2018)

The Night of the Hunter (1955)

“And then the good Lord went on to say, ‘Beware of false prophets which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly, they are ravening wolves. Ye shall know them by their fruits. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit. Neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. Wherefore by their fruits, ye shall know them.’”

There have been plenty of actors who’ve tried their hand at directing films, with varying degrees of success. A big example is Ron Howard, who started out acting in The Andy Griffith Show and Happy Days, then went on to become an accomplished filmmaker with a lot of good films like Apollo 13 and A Beautiful Mind. Clint Eastwood’s had a pretty solid career as a director, with films like Unforgiven and Million Dollar Baby. Same with Rob Reiner, who went from being known as Michael “Meathead” Stivic on All in the Family to being known as the director of This is Spinal Tap, The Princess Bride and Misery (and also North, much as we’d like to forget that film exists).

Mel Gibson took on directing Braveheart himself, and that film was also a big success commercially and critically (also has a great soundtrack by James Horner); same thing with Tom Hanks and That Thing You Do!. But not every actor who goes into directing met big success, at least initially, and one such example is Charles Laughton.

Charles Laughton was a great actor whose more memorable roles include William Porterhouse in 1932′s The Old Dark House, Dr. Moreau in 1932′s Island of Lost Souls (a really good old horror movie where he is the best thing in it), and Quasimodo in the 1939 adaptation of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which portrayed Claude Frollo as a judge over 50 years before Disney’s animated adaptation of the story. He was a fantastic actor who sadly directed only one film, but at least the film he made is fucking incredible and one of the best thrillers of all time.

The Night of the Hunter is the story of one Rev. Harry Powell, played by Robert Mitchum. Powell is a traveling preacher who also happens to be a serial killer operating in the same vein as Bluebeard: he finds wealthy widows, marries them, kills them, takes their money, rinse, repeat. And his latest target is Willa Harper (played by Shelley Winters), a widow living in Depression-era rural West Virginia. Willa’s husband Ben (played by Peter Graves) was arrested, sent to prison, and executed for bank robbery and killing two men during the robbery, but it just so happens that Ben’s cellmate was Rev. Powell himself, who was serving time for car theft. And Powell learns that Ben, before his arrest, gave the money to his two children - his son John and his daughter Pearl - for them to hide, meaning that not only is Powell going to go after Willa, he’s going to go after her kids.

So after Powell is released from prison, he goes to Willa’s town and begins charming his way into the town and endearing himself to the townsfolk, which does two things. One is to show Robert Mitchum’s talents as an actor: he is legitimately charming and charismatic as he tells the now-famous story of why the words “hate” and “love” are tattooed on his knuckles, and he quickly endears himself to the town and to Willa and Pearl, even to the viewer in some degree. And that’s where the other thing comes in, and that is that it shows how goddamn terrifying Robert Mitchum can be.

I ended the It Happened One Night review saying “Robert Mitchum is a scary motherfucker”, and this movie shows why. There’s a reason the American Film Institute put Powell on their list of the 50 greatest movie villains of all time. The way Mitchum plays Powell is captivating not only in how charismatic he is, but also in how sinister he is. At all times, even when he’s singing hymns with the townsfolk at an outdoor picnic, there is always this sense that something doesn’t feel right. Even when he is played a little more for comedy, like when he’s peeking upside-down at Ben in prison like he’s Kilroy, or when he’s hollering like Daffy Duck after getting shot in the arm (we’ll get to that later), there’s still this feeling of unease around him. If anything, the fact he can be more comedic makes him scarier because it makes him feel more like an actual person. It makes him more grounded and fleshed out and all the more disturbing.

Powell soon marries Willa and kills her, but not before convincing her that she has been a wicked woman - their honeymoon is him making her feel ashamed for wanting sex in a marriage, and she soon adapts herself to her beliefs. This leads to what I feel is the most disturbing and terrifying scene in the movie, where Willa is preaching to the townsfolk about her “formerly wicked” ways, surrounded by torches as she preaches her rhetoric. It’s legitimately terrifying to see her indoctrinated into these beliefs and speaking these words in this way.

Willa dies at Powell’s hands, and it eventually leads to John and Pearl striking out on their own, travelling downriver to avoid the pursuing Powell. This eventually brings them to Rachel Cooper, an old woman played by Lillian Gish who takes care of stray children, and who takes them in to live with her. Rachel is established as a badass old lady who does have a very kind and understanding side. The film reaches its peak when Powell tracks the children to Rachel, who doesn’t buy his sob story about Willa’s death for one moment and, when Powell goes after John, immediately goes for her shotgun to force Powell off, leading into a tense nighttime standoff between the reverend and Rachel. And how it ends... yeah, not spoiling this one. You’ll have to see it for yourself.

Put simply, it’s really depressing that Laughton didn’t direct another film. This is one of those movies that took some time to be seen as a classic. When it first came out, it did not do very well with critics or audiences, and it really got to Laughton to where he didn’t direct another film. It sucks because I’d have loved to have seen him direct more films, because if The Night of the Hunter is anything to go by, he’d have given us more great classics like it. This makes me wonder if after his death, he saw the film’s reception even today and how so many see it as a classic.

All the acting in the film is great, from Mitchum and Gish and Winters to the child actors, even to the Spoons, an old couple who are friends with the Harper family and whom the wife Icey (yes, her name is Icey Spoon) I absolutely fucking hate as a character. That’s not a bad thing, I think she was designed to be a character you hate, and if that is the case then it’s done very well. The music by Walter Schumann is excellent at conveying mood, especially when things get dark. But then you get to the cinematography and the lighting, and that’s the really good shit.

That screenshot I used for the film is the perfect example of that. The use of lighting in this film is god-tier and there are few films before or since that have used light like The Night of the Hunter. The symbolism behind it is very simple - light and dark, good and evil - but it’s absolutely striking. There are shots that are beautiful to look at and haunting at the same time: the ethereal depiction of Willa’s body in her car at the bottom of the river, the whole thing framed like a painting; the shot of John and Pearl sleeping in a barn when John sees Powell on horseback in the distance, searching for the kids; and the scenes with John and Pearl floating downriver, with the night sky above and the animals watching on the ground. There’s some really beautiful imagery in the film and it’s worth watching just for that.

I highly recommend this movie. Just the cinematography and lightning’s enough to make you want to see this movie for how great it looks, but it’s also a top-notch thriller with one of cinema’s greatest and most terrifying villains. Also, this is the first movie that I’d recommend you watch in the dark, preferably in the evening or in the early morning before the sun rises.

Next time: a Joan of Arc film, but not the kind you’re thinking of.

#David's resolution #The Night of the Hunter