#Betty Ford Boys

[trianglesimpfordpines]

the journal says having annoying music stuck in your head can help yeet bill out of it... ford listens to 80s synth pop.... bill in dreamscaperers hates synthesized music..... ok so basically ford in isolation flipping bill off while gloria by laura branigan plays at an ear-shattering volume is canon now

[ramp-it-up]

II Most Wanted Pt.I: And I don't know what you're doin' tonight…

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"

Summary: The feeling and flashbacks you get when you saw your high school boyfriend Jake Syverson at your 20 year reunion was quite the unexpected twist in your orderly life.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, body image issues, flashbacks, horny teenagers doing horny things (over 18 tho) heavy petting, fingering, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of breakups, teenage mean girl behavior, the Powerpuff Girls, old automobiles, mentions of drug abuse and difficult childhoods, 20 year high school reunion, drinking, swearing. Explicit description of sex acts. Read at your own risk.  Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is the first installment of II Most Wanted. This is also my first fic in nearly half a year. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

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-------

June 2024

The visceral reactions started as soon as you entered the parking lot. There it was, Sy’s 1978 white Ford Bronco. Not thinking, you pulled into the space right in front of it, wanting to look inside. You almost lost it when you saw the old charm hanging from the rear view mirror. You couldn’t believe he still had that.

Especially with everything that happened since you put it there.

April 2004

“I claim this ancient truck as my throne!”

You were lit and in love, parked with Sy at the lookout. You were also silly and giggly from smoke and hormones.

“Mmmmm, careful Buttercup.” 

Your boyfriend growled in your ear, making you shiver against him. His attempt at menace was thwarted by the smile you felt against your neck, where he was busy marking you up, a sure sign later for everyone to know who you belonged to.

Sy was known for making bloody the face of those who expressed hate for his beloved Betty Bronco. But you had him whipped.

“It’s a classic, but I’ll let that slide...” 

He wished that you would let him slide, but you were adamant that you weren’t ready to be a parent. He was adamant that that didn’t have to be the outcome, but beneath the red blooded country boy was a gentleman. Sy would never do anything you didn’t want to, not that it stopped him from trying to convince you to admit that you in fact, wanted it as much as he did.

He wasn’t wrong.

You sighed as you placed the Powerpuff Girl necklace you got from Hot Topic on Sy’s rearview as you sat on his lap, giving him a treat. He had you in his grip by the hips and he was subtly moving you against his boner. The attraction between you two was heady, and he almost got what he wanted plenty of times. But you were a romantic and wanted it to be special. You promised him prom night, and Sy couldn’t wait.

“..Driving me crazy, Baby. You can put anything on my rear view as long as you let me get your rear view in the back seat….”

You giggled.

“You’re so corny, Sy.”

You whispered as you turned your head and kissed him over your shoulder. 

“Hmmmm. And you’re so sweet.”

Sy’s sea blue eyes gazed at you as he licked his lips.

He was crazy for you. And you were for him. You felt it. And you just knew you’d be together forever. You grinned as you climbed over him into the back seat. Didn’t hurt to fool around a little, even if you weren’t gonna give him the p that night.

——————

You shook out of the memory as a warm June breeze whipped your short skirt around your thighs. You pulled on the yellow and white designer dress as you contemplated driving back to your hotel and changing. This dress was not a good idea. The triumphant feeling of serving looks when you appraised yourself in the mirror was replaced with anxiety. The dress was too short and you were not the same size you were in high school. Thighs you considered pretty and thick in the mirror just an hour ago seemed massive and you tugged at the deep plunge of the neckline without a bra.

You sighed as you tried to center yourself. You told yourself that you were growing out of negative self talk, especially in the last seven years since your divorce. You were reminded of your promise to never care about the, male gaze again. It just wasn’t worth it.

But you hadn’t been under Jacob Syverson’s gaze in 20 years.

——

Sy posted up at the bar, blue eyes taking in the scene of his former classmates reuniting. He downed his two fingers of Maker’s Mark and asked for another. His heart rate was up as he scanned the room, eyes going back to the door again and again. He was waiting for you. No use in denying it to himself. He wanted to see you again, and more. It was his one objective. An objective he was unsure of attaining.

He was more nervous about being in a hotel ballroom tonight than in Afghanistan. 

Christ, he felt like that 17 year old kid again who first laid eyes on you.

——-

August, 2003

Sy knew what he wanted the moment he saw your face. 

You stopped the world when you first stepped into his British Literature class the first day of senior year. He was seated and talking with his best friend and wide receiver, Jeremy Atkins, when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He let the conversation about which route they should run at the scrimmage that afternoon slip as his eyes lighted on your face. You were anxious, but trying not to let it show. Those eyes held fire, and your lips…

…well your lips besides being everything he dreamt of, he just knew the words that came out of your lips would light someone up as well. He could tell you had spirit by the way you carried yourself.

Your hair was wild and shoulder length, bangs swept aside for vision, and you couldn’t hide that body under your baggy clothes. He lasered in on the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath your graphic tee, and power that  the strip of skin between your shirt and your baggy jeans was not lost on him. He was a 17 year old male, after all.

Sy shifted in his seat as he leaned back and grinned to himself when you scanned the room, glaring at anyone who looked askance. He tapped his pencil on the desk to try to get your attention but you just ignored him as the group of seatless students surrounding you dwindled. You were left alone under the scrutiny of soulless cretins, otherwise known as teenagers. 

You gave each one brazen enough to stare at you a side eye, but you stopped when you finally noticed Sy smirking at you. You stuck your tongue out at him, causing him to choke on a chuckle.

Becca Ferguson, Sy’s girlfriend, kicked him in the leg after noticing that not only Sy, but Jeremy were openly staring at you. Shit, he’d forgotten about her. He caught the way her eyes cut over to you, and he knew what came next. He tried to distract her with a flip of the shelf of his blown out curls and a smile, something that had worked many times before. 

But you were a threat to Becca now; she had to do something about you.

You raised your head high as you walked to the seat that Mrs.Beatty pointed out. You passed down the aisle between Sy and Becca, who scrunched up her face as if she smelled something bad. Sy got a whiff of you and you smelled divine, like that Sweet Pea bath gel stuff that he played off sniffing when he went to the mall with Becca. 

His head turned.

Becca glared at him and he turned toward the front of the room, where the teacher had started to pass out the syllabus. 

—--

June 2024

Just like lunch on the first day of school at Central High all those years ago, Carla and Tiffani engulfed you and took you under their wings when you walked into the Marriott, the venue for your reunion. They crowed over you; your hair, your dress, your glow. You forgot any anxiety that you were feeling about how you looked. These were your best friends. Your Bubbles and Blossom.

These women filled the gaping place in your heart torn open from attending 10 different schools from K-12, following your mother’s loves and whims when she didn’t take her meds, or when she self-medicated. They were your soul sisters. And you still kept in touch even though distance separated you.

Carla had that grin on her face while Tiffani expressed her excitement that you were in town.

“Girl! I am so glad that you made it!” 

Tiffani was the gentle one.

“Yeah, I owe Tiff a c-note, because I was sure you’d chicken out.”

Carla laughed at you while you scowled at her.

Tiffani tskd at her bestie, and took your arm while Carla took the other and they ushered you through the doors of the ballroom.

“Well, she has a new job in town and everything, she had to come.”

“Yeah, she had to come to town, but coming tonight is a wholeeee different story.”

You laughed.

“I don’t have the job yet, Tiff. Interview is Monday. And why wouldn’t I come tonight?”

The familiar banter was back, as if 20 years was no matter at all between you and your girls.

You heard someone clear their throat behind you and Carla peered over her shoulder and then smirked at you. She jerked her head back.

“Because of that.”

You looked over your shoulder, smiling right before your stomach dropped.

There was Jake Syverson, all grown up, and staring at you as if all this time hadn’t happened.

—-

Sy saw you enter the ballroom and he almost wanted to run away. Being in country on a dangerous mission was nothing compared to the thought of actually facing you again.

At least he was trained for war. 

Love was another thing entirely.

He took a deep breath as he focused on you. You had always been beautiful, but now, as a grown woman, you were absolutely gorgeous. Your hair was sleek and your face was perfectly beat with makeup that accentuated your natural beauty. You were glowing and that smile was…everything.

As he leaned on the bar and scanned the rest of your body in that dress, he took another drink. Sy indeed felt 18 again, because his body was reacting as if he were a randy teenager. Your body was everything he remembered, and more. More of everything he remembered loving and lusting over 20 years ago. 

“Damn.”

He said it out loud and the bartender replied.

“Agreed, Brother.”

Sy looked at the young man admiring you who couldn’t be over 25, and threw down some money.

“Watch it, kid.”

That little bit of jealousy fueled Sy’s bravado, and he found the courage to step to you. 

—--

You froze like a deer in headlights. 

Over the years, you imagined seeing him again, in all different kinds of scenario, and you thought you could handle it, but the reality of the situation just about knocked you on your ass. Time stopped as you stared at him. 

Sy was more handsome with age, if that was possible. His eyes, his shoulders, his hair! His gorgeous curls were short and a shock of hair was growing from his chin. Your body reacted as your traitorous brain instantly thought of how his beard would feel on certain parts of your body. He looked good in a suit, but he was massive. You had on heels, but Sy seemed bigger than you remembered. He wasn’t the lithe high school quarterback you remembered.

You unconsciously walked closer. 

He was taller. 

But he was also huge: bigger muscles, thicker limbs; his body seemed more powerful all the way around.

Heaven help you.

And the way he was looking at you as if he still owned you, as if all everything that happened hadn’t happened. As if all these years…

Your arms went out to Carla and Tiff beside you for some support, but they were gone, and you stumbled a bit. Sy grabbed your arm quickly as you laughed to play it off.

“Hey Buttercup. You good?”

Goodness, his voice!

How could that damn drawl be deeper and sexier than you remembered? And his touch on your skin felt familiar, yet strange, like a touch from a dream. What was happening to you?

“I need a drink.”

Sy was silent for a bit as you got your drink and had a sip. The way you licked your lips made him want to fall to his knees and beg.

—--

May 2004

“Please, please, please Buttercup. Just let me put the tip in. I promise I won’t move. It wouldn’t really be doing it…”

Sy was whispering in your ear and you were mute, waiting to hear more as your pussy pulsed in your jeans, the grind against his crotch delicious torture.

“I dream about it, Buttercup. I feel you, Baby. So fucking wet for me. I just know that it would feel so, so so good. I’d slip right in.”

It was midnight on your 18th birthday and you were in the Bronco, letting Sy feel you up under your panties for the first time. Your head was thrown back and your eyes rolled at how good it felt. You didn’t know how you would hold out. But it was just three weeks until Prom.

You were sat on his lap and he had one hand down your jeans and one up your shirt.

He pistoned his hips up, causing your back to arch against his chest. You could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.. Sy’s voice lowered to a whisper.

“‘M Gonna taste my fingers, Buttercup. Watch.”

You opened your eyes as Sy pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth. You whined when he closed his eyes and moaned. You throbbed. It had never been like this before.

“You are so delicious… Need more…”

Sy pushed his hand back down into your pants to get you to do that arch again. It sent him feral to see that for some reason.

His fingers found the source and circled it, causing your body to tense up and your fingers to grab his arms.

“Oh my god! Sy!”

You’d come close to this feeling before just grinding with him on the back seat, but this was incomparable.

Your fingernails sunk into his forearms, creating marks for sure. This fueled him even more as he continued his ministrations at your core. He toyed beneath your bra and your mouth opened to seek oxygen as the feeling in your belly continued to tune you to a fever pitch.

“Yes…. Baby….. fuck… You gonna cum on my lap?”

“Hunnnh, hunnh, hunnnh!”

“You’re so fucking hot… I’m about to jizz in my pants… cum for me, Baby…”

Sy grinded against your bottom, and you stiffened while the world’s most wonderful feeling washed over you. You cried out as Sy pinched your nipple and you came, feeling as if the Bronco was caught up in the Wizard of Oz Twister. The world was certainly now in color when you could open your eyes.

Sy held you, watching your beautiful face as you pouted and came back to earth. When you did, your smile was worth all the gold in the world to him. He kissed your temple and slipped his hand out of your pants, sucking your juices off of them again.

You were about to jump him, but Sy interrupted your thought.

“Now that you’ve got a preview of Prom night, let’s get you home, Buttercup. Gotta get your beauty sleep for the festivities later on tonight.”

—-

Sy cleared his throat after staring at you silently for a solid three minutes. The way you licked your lips clean and focused on him was some powerful magic.

“So. How have you been, Sy? How is the family?”

You tried to keep any bitterness out of your voice. The fact that Becca Spurgeon ruined your prom (and your relationship with Sy) by announcing that she was pregnant with Sy’s baby after she was crowned Prom Queen and he Prom King was something you’d tried to get over for 20 years. 

Sy straightened up and looked over your shoulder. You glanced in that direction to see Carla and Tiffani hovering protectively. 

“Well, now Buttercup, that’s a long story. I know you want to hang with your friends. And I don’t know what you’re doin’ later tonight, but I would like to go somewhere quiet and talk about it.”

——

If you like it, hit Reblog!

Next part here.

[myosotisa]

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 1/2 - Why were you digging?

ǁ  summary: 30 days into your stay at the Betty Ford Center for Rehabilitation, Eddie Munson gets brought in against his will. While in the middle of trying to figure out your own issues, you find yourself being followed around by a detoxing rockstar who won't take a hint and get lost.

ǁ  tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers.

ǁ  content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ  word count: 7k

ǁ  Part 2 ǁ  Read on AO3 ǁ

The lock on your door clunks open at exactly 8am every morning. A glaring alarm that your new day is about to start whether you want it to or not.

At 8:15, one of the workers on staff is barely knocking before pushing in to make sure you and your roommate will be ready for breakfast at 8:30 sharp.

At 8:30, you’re standing in line with everyone else to get your morning meds. Amoxaphine for depression. Atenolol for high blood pressure. Methadone for opioid withdrawal. Acamprosate for alcohol withdrawal.

A little paper cup of water to wash them all down, your mouth presented to prove you did actually swallow them, and then a verbal pat on the back before sending you over to the breakfast line.

A styrofoam plate of scrambled eggs and toast with jam on a plastic tray, balanced carefully with a cup of whatever juice they decided to buy this week. Carefully set down on one of the small tables by the window where you’ll sit and eat alone – appreciating the quiet and serenity for the few moments a day you get it before you’re shoved off to the next task.

The same thing for the past 28 days since you were deposited in the Betty Ford Center. You’d gone from euphoric, cold, and totally out of it to anxious, shaky, unable to sleep, and just fucking miserable. And while some days were getting easier and others seemed more difficult than ever, at least you had gotten into the routine of inpatient rehab. At least you knew to expect the same thing everyday. At least you were prepared to deal with what the external world threw at you.

Until you weren’t.

The moment the doors to the main hall are thrown open – impacting the opposing walls with a slam –  you get an overwhelming feeling that something is about to change. Something big.

“Hey fucker! Hey! Get your meat hands off me, lughead.”

Most of the heads in the room turn toward the source of the yelling, a parade of 5 coming through the double doors. Two you know, the medical director Mr. Ford and one of the doctors Dr. Lincoln. They both look annoyed and uncomfortable as they walk ahead of a set of 3 men. 

Flanked on either side by a buff orderly, getting borderline dragged across the floor, is a man you’ve never seen. His long, messy waves whip wildly around his head as he lets out expletives and pulls against the sharp hold on his biceps. His voice is ragged and slurred as he makes nonsensical arguments towards the two men leading him away. He’s in regular clothes – outside clothes – with torn jeans and metal chains hanging off his hips, ripped sleeves showing off his tattooed arms, and large rings on every finger.

Someone new?

Having gotten their eyeful, half the room goes back to pushing around their breakfasts with plastic cutlery while the other half continues to watch with amusement. A new person only comes through every 15 days or so, and this was only the second since you’d arrived. The first one, a meek boy named Thomas, had been admitted so quietly that he all of the sudden appeared one day in group, already through the worst of the detox, before you had ever even heard of him.

It makes you wonder if more inpatient admissions are like that or like this.

You wish you could remember yours.

In a whirl of movement, the man rips his arms free and flies backwards with a stumble. Had he been more coordinated, and probably more sober, than he is, he might have made a decent break for it. As he is, he’s barely able to turn toward the doors they came through before the men are grabbing him again from behind, hooking their arms around his to now actually drag him down the hallway toward the hospital wing.

The heels of his black boots drag against the beige tile floor as he slumps in their grip, eyelids fluttering slightly before he manages to bring back enough energy to yell another, “Fuck you!” at his captors.

Just before they disappear behind another set of locked down double doors, the two of you make eye contact. From this distance, you can still see how bloodshot his eyes are – deep brown ringed by red toned white. They are steadily falling closed with each blink as he most likely loses the fight against some kind of sedative. But somehow, with what must be the last moments of consciousness he has left, he sees you watching him. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a lazy smirk. And he winks.

The motherfucker winks at you right as his head lulls to the side before falling forward and the group of 5 disappears.

Something new indeed.

You don’t see the stranger again until 6 days later.

New admissions normally spend anywhere from 3 days to a week and a half in the hospital wing after arriving. IV fluids, heavy meds, and a more prepared medical staff to deal with the worst of the detox period. Depending on what you were on, how recently you took it compared to when you arrived, and the length of your addiction makes a huge difference in how much time you spend there before being sent back to the rest of the floor.

4 days is average, which is the amount of time you spent in the hospital wing before being put into room 102 with Melissa Redding. Teen beauty queen of the Betty Ford Center who got hooked on meth after a consultant for the pageant used it to help her lose weight.

The center had a neat little tradition of having your roommate show you around on the first day. For you, that had meant busy bee Melissa whispering in your ear in and outs of who was who and all of the drama entailed even though you didn’t care in the slightest. That continued through the rest of the day as she showed you around the main hall, gave you a tour of the garden during your mandated 1 hour of outside time, and into the Therapy House.

While she had initially been excited to have a roommate, she very quickly learned you would not be the entertainment she wanted. So she went back to gossiping with Kathy the housewife, who was in for a bad habit of using too much Adderall to get through the day with her kids. Leaving you to your own devices.

It was better that way.

You’re already in your seat by the window with breakfast by the time the stranger stumbles in after Howard, the gruff old man whose family sent him here for drinking too much (drinks the same amount as any other man his age, but who are you to judge?). He gets right into the med line, now half diminished due to their late arrival, and doesn’t seem to pay any attention to the stranger as he wanders away.

Guess he decided that wasn’t his job.

Tall, dark, and lanky looks like he’s been through the ringer. Skin pallor and clammy, hair pulled into a bird’s nest of a bun on the back of his head with the top and bangs matted flat with what you assume is sweat, hands fussing in front of him like if he doesn’t move as many muscles as possible at once he’ll explode. There are deep purple bags under his wide eyes as he approaches one of the other windows in the space, 30 feet away from where you’re sitting. 

He looks over the frame like he’s trying to find a way out, coming back with nothing before heading to the next window, closer to you. His appearance and behavior make you think of a wet rat trying to claw its way up the side of a bathtub – unable to grip onto anything and getting sent back down into the water again every time he tries to climb.

Hoping not to catch his attention, you direct your gaze down, focusing back on your under salted eggs and grape jam. Between the lack of seasoning and the juice of the week being some kind of weird pineapple mix, you’re left wanting even more so than usual over your bare bones breakfast.

Despite your half assed attempt to be invisible, the single chair across from you at your table is pulled out, flipped around, and then settled into by the stranger. In your shock, you look up at him before you can second guess the reaction.

“I saw you, I remember,” his voice is deeper than you thought, raspy at the edges with exhaustion and hardship. His gaze flicks rapidly from the table, your food, your face, the rest of the room, his hands. Everywhere at once it seems. “The day they brought me in.”

“Yup,” you confirm with an awkward nod of acknowledgement before looking back at your food.

Please leave, please leave, please leave.

“I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Looking back up at him, he has a bit more life in his face. Something that looks a little bit like hope.

“Okay.”

His face falls.

“You… Doesn’t ring any bells? Eddie Munson, guitarist, Corroded Coffin, biggest rock-metal band of the 90s?” The longer he goes, his wet eyes widen, making him look like a pleading animal looking for food scraps. When you show absolutely no recognition for anything he’s saying, he brings his hands together, fingers moving to twist at rings that no longer sit there. When he doesn’t find them, his leg starts to bounce under the table and his palms start tapping on the top of the chair at his chest.

“If you’re looking for celebrity worship, I’m sure Melissa or Kathy would be happy to provide.” You inform him, hoping he will lose interest and go searching for them to give him the attention he seems to be looking for. You go back to spreading jam on your slightly burnt toast.

He doesn’t take the bait. “How, uh, how long have you been here?”

Taking a long inhale through your nose and out through your mouth, you set your plastic knife back down. “A month.”

His hisses out air through his teeth, eyes searching over the rest of the room, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen. “How long do people normally stay locked up in here?”

Ah. 

“I dunno. A couple months? I’m not exactly some kind of authority here. You should go ask–”

“Has anyone ever broken out?”

Though you’re not sure why you’re surprised, you still struggle with the question. He makes eye contact with you again and the look in his eye is different now. Smaller.

He’s scared.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

He scoffs, using his hand at his chin to crack his neck in either direction, looking unsatisfied with your answer. “Come on, like nobody has ever tried to get out? You’ve never tried?”

A weight presses down on your chest. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yeah right, I’m sure that there’s some–”

“Mr. Munson!”

An orderly stalks toward the table, looking crabby and annoyed this early in the day. Eddie looks about ready to bolt after their bark but somehow remains seated until they arrive. “I’m sure Howard didn’t inform you, but first thing in the morning you’re supposed to come up to the nurse window to receive your medication.” They present their arm back to where the now empty med line stands, everyone else settled into seats with their breakfasts. “After you’ve taken your medication, you can grab some breakfast and…” They make eye contact with you that you’re quick to avoid. “Converse with whoever you want.”

“See, your mistake was that I don’t need any medication, so I don’t need to wait in line.” His voice is slowly raising in volume, drawing more and more attention as he goes. “In fact, I’m not even supposed to be here!”

“Mr. Munson, please lower your voice, you’ll disturb the other residents.”

“Fuck the other residents,” he slams his palms down on your table, almost knocking off your plastic cup of juice when it rocks and you jolt back from the show of aggression. All eyes in the room are on him now, and by extension, you. Other residents, other orderlies, nurses, the kitchen staff.

Too many eyes.

While the attention makes you want to crawl into a hole and die, it seems to please Eddie. He pushes up off of his chair and makes a show of arguing with the annoyed orderly all the way over to the nurse’s station. All eyes in the room follow him and his suddenly animated features, looking like he has gained 10x more energy than when he walked in. You use the distraction to your advantage.

By the time Eddie has had medication forced down his throat, a plate of shitty eggs deposited in his hands, and he turns around to look at your table again, you’re nowhere to be found.

He finds you again in the garden before group therapy.

You’re tucked away in a painted white, wrought iron chair that’s bolted to the ground next to a tall shrub. It’s still in the gated off outdoor area, but mostly hidden from view. The orderlies know to find you there if they need you because that’s where you always are – sitting on that single chair in the sunshine with a paperback book on your lap. Today it’s Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch.

When a body blocks the sun over your book, your first assumption is that it’s an orderly coming to tell you it’s time to head to Therapy House. But it seems too early for that, and you’re normally a pretty good judge of time (at least, in here), so when an unfamiliar voice clears its throat in front of you, you huff a breath before you raise your head to acknowledge him.

“Is that seat taken?” He asks with a grin, motioning to the empty table bolted to the ground beside your chair. It’s obviously a rhetorical question – maybe to get you to smile or laugh. You do neither and give him a flat look.

“Actually, I’m saving it for someone.”

This seems to delight him even more, eyebrows raising and eyes getting some more life in them as he takes a seat on the table anyway. “Well I’ll keep it nice and warm for them until they show up.” He pulls his facility-issued navy sweatpants covered legs up to cross under him, effectively draping his knee over your arm.

Accepting your fate to not get rid of him, you open your book again to where you left off. 

“Best not to speculate, really,” said Aziraphale. “You can’t second-guess ineffability, I always say. There’s Right, and there’s Wrong. If you do Wrong when you’re told to do Right, you deserve to be punished.”

“I checked the perimeter of the garden,” his voice is lowered, as if someone would overhear him, “looking for weak spots.”

You hum an acknowledgement, keeping your eyes on your book as you reply in a sarcastic monotone, “Because that’s definitely not suspicious.”

He waves you off out of the corner of your eye, beginning a light tap of his hands against his knees. Even with the medication. He either needs a higher dose or he’s hyperactive at baseline. “They probably just thought I was giving myself a little tour or something, I don’t know. I don’t really care if it’s suspicious, actually. All I know is there’s like… Nothing. At all.”

“Shocker.”

Continuing to ignore your lackluster responses, a bopping of his head joins the beat of his palms. You attempt to reread the same paragraph over and over to try and comprehend it through his talking and fidgeting, failing time after time. “Not even like a locked gate or anything. And the fence itself is too high to get over with no footholds, unless you got something to stand on to grab the top and pull yourself over. Yeah…” 

“Oh!” The sudden volume of his voice makes you jerk away from him again, not expecting the sharp change. “What about your chair, is it loose?” One long fingered hand grips the backrest between your shoulder blades and the other the chair arm closest to him, attempting to give it a shake. “Maybe we could get the bolts out and use it to climb the fence.” He only succeeds in making an annoying rattling sound and jostling you back and forth.

“Fuck, Eddie, will you –” Using the paper cover of your book, you smack at his forearm a few times, causing him to quickly withdraw and hold his hands up in front of his chest like he’s worried your attack will continue. “Fucking, stop it.”

“Geez, sorry,” he mutters, looking slightly sheepish but still not exactly apologetic. “What’s your name, by the way? I forgot to ask.”

“Seems a little too late to ask now, don’t you think?” You turn the page of your book to make it look like you’re making progress despite the fact that you haven’t been able to finish a sentence since Eddie sat down beside you. Anything to help you look less interested in his attempted escape and, therefore, him.

An amused snort leaves his nose, tapping hands turning to a hold on his knees to let him lean back without falling off the table. “Well you are just a ray of sunshine,” he snarks back, looking more amused than annoyed. “Anyone ever told you that before?”

Finally lifting your head to give him a placating and overly artificial smile, you meet his eyes to make sure he can see your insincerity when you say, “Only every day.”

And while he opens his mouth to probably throw back another sarcastic retort, he’s interrupted by the “relaxing” (read: fucking annoying) gong by the Therapy House going off, signaling it’s time to head inside. You snap your book shut and push off your chair without a word to join the rest of the group outside in the unenthusiastic shuffle toward the birch wood doors. Another set of slip-on shoes, a matching pair to yours, sidles up beside where your own drag through the dirt path.

“So what happens now?” He asks, leaning a little bit closer to you as he speaks again, like the two of you are conspiring together on something. Based on your interactions so far, maybe he thinks you are.

“Therapy,” is your sharp reply. And, as if finally understanding he probably isn’t going to get much more information, he shuts up and just walks beside you toward the two story building off of the main facility.

All 12 of you wander through the doors in your similar outfits – sweatpants, t-shirts, and hoodies in shades of blue, grey, and black. Crossing from dirt and stone pathways onto the pristine wood floors of the Therapy House that’s awash with sunlight. As many windows as possible in all directions and a huge circular skylight above leaves the whole room bright and airy.

There are 13 metal folding chairs set up in a circle beneath the skylight, 1 more than yesterday, and the one directly across from the door is already occupied.

Mrs. Penelope Windsor is the head of therapy at the Betty Ford Center for Rehabilitation and wears that title with the utmost pride. She’s put together, ambitious, intelligent, and damn good at her job. Not to mention attractive, with her long legs crossed under her black pencil skirt, her crimson red button up blouse showing just enough collarbone to still be ‘professional’, and the long brunette braid draped over her shoulder. Her black heels are patent leather and perfectly shiny along with the matching briefcase sitting beside her chair. She stands out sharply from the white walls and birch wood floors of the Therapy House – but she commands your attention that way. A focal point in a room of white and tan and beige nothingness.

And the moment you walk through the doors with Eddie beside you, you feel her hazel eyes on you like a fucking hawk.

You avoid making eye contact, as per usual, and settle into the seat you’ve been using since the first day you came here. To your displeasure, Eddie immediately grabs the seat to your right, flipping it around to sit backwards in it, folding his arms over the back with a certain lazy confidence.

Tony, who normally sits there, hovers uncomfortably for a moment behind before scuttling over to the only remaining chair between Mrs. Windsor and Melissa.

As soon as he’s seated, heavy and tense silence settles over the room while the rest of you wait for Penelope to greet the group. You could hear a pin drop in the room in these moments, everyone shifting uncomfortably in the quiet as she takes a few moments to look over the group before her.

Almost like she enjoys making us all squirm under her authority.

Her sharp eyes settle on Eddie, her face as passive as always. He does very little to react to her stare but takes it as a sort of challenge – staring right back where most would shy away. The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly, like she appreciates the challenge.

The silent standoff is broken as Thomas’ wooden cane clatters to the floor beside his chair from where it had been leaning. He immediately turns bright red from the collar of his black t-shirt all the way to the tips of his ears. “Shit – Wait, oh, shoot, sorry!” Scooping it up in shaky hands, he is quick to tuck it between his knees, white knuckle fisting the handle in his embarrassment.

“That’s quite alright, Thomas,” is Penelope’s serene reply, a gentle smile directed his way before she addresses the group. “Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome back to our group session for today.”

No one says a word as she takes another uncomfortable moment to scan the group before doubling back to land on Eddie. “I see we have a new member of our group today. My name is Mrs. Windsor and I’m the head therapist here at the Betty Ford Center, but you’re more than welcome to call me Penelope. Could you introduce yourself for us, please?”

“Eddie Munson, guitarist, Corroded Coffin.” He answers cooly, and you watch his eyes do a quick scan to see if anyone shows any recognition. When there are a few reactions, his smile grows into one of satisfaction before he returns his gaze to Penelope. “Am I supposed to say what they locked me up for now or somethin’?” It comes out in a teasing lit, like he is trying to make a joke of it all.

No one laughs.

She takes it in stride. “You’re more than welcome to share what you’re struggling with, if you’d like.”

His shoulders rise slightly, like a cat going on the defensive. “Okay, first of all, I’m not struggling with anything. I’m not even supposed to be here. I keep telling them if they just let me call my manager we could get this whole thing cleared up so I can get the fuck out of here and back to my life.”

“Your manager…” She leans over, plucking a file from her briefcase and unfolding it on her lap. “Mr. Scott?” She looks up through her eyelashes for confirmation.

He settles again, looking slightly relieved. “Yeah, Jonathan Scott, Razor & Tie.”

“Mhmm…” She looks back at the file, flipping a page up in what looks to be a show. Like she already knows what she’s supposedly ‘looking’ for. “It says here Mr. Scott is the person who applied for your stay in our center and is the sign off as your legal guardian while you’re completing your treatment.” She lightly closes the file, sitting up straight again to look at him. “Did you know that Eddie?”

“No,” he answers, voice suddenly unsure, eyebrows drawing together on his forehead and shoulders falling. “No, I didn’t.”

“Well then,” her smile is nothing but satisfied when she slips the papers back into her briefcase. “It seems there’s nothing to be cleared up here after all. And I’m sure we’re all very excited to get to know you over the next few weeks, Eddie.”

Challenge won.

When he doesn’t respond, she moves on. “Now, Kathy, it looks like your nails are doing better…”

You tune out the rest of her interaction, focusing on the man beside you. He has his head slightly hung down, eyes on his hands as he holds one wide and uses the opposite thumb to rub along his palm. There’s an air about him – closer to one you saw this morning. Confused. Lost. Scared.

You almost feel sorry for the guy.

Two hours later, you’re in one of the ‘office lofts’ of Therapy House, a 5x5 closed room with a loveseat for you and an armchair for your therapist. After group is over, there are rotations of 1 on 1 therapy with one of the various counselors on staff, herding each of you into tiny rooms for an hour at a time. At the beginning of your stay, you had somehow lucked out to being assigned to Queen Penelope herself.

She sits across from you with her holier-than-thou attitude and a spiral notebook clutched in her well-manicured hands – filled with notes about you that you’re not supposed to see. In the sunken down cushions of the loveseat, you end up sitting below her eyeline even if you tried to sit up straight. So you don’t try – tucking your legs under you and crossing your arms under your chest.

As per usual, she starts the session with a few moments of horrifying silence. Almost as a dare to get you to talk first just to break it.

You never have.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

“Fine. Same as always.”

She clicks her pen, like she’s already prepared to start taking notes off that one sentence. “Indeed. Everyday is always ‘fine’, isn’t it?”

Eddie must have made you more snippy than usual, because you’re already ready to turn on her. “What point are you trying to make, exactly?”

“Everyday, every time anyone asks, the answer is always ‘fine.’ Fine is a noncommittal answer that means nothing.” She leans back in her chair, cool and collected as always. “Fine is the answer you give when you’re avoiding the answer.”

It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes at her. “Okay, what is my answer supposed to be then?”

“The truth, preferably.”

Wow, thanks, that’s helpful.

When you don’t respond with a new answer, she moves on. “Are you still having nightmares? Flashbacks?”

A shiver crawls up your spine, creeping toward the cold sweat that starts to build at the nape of your neck on instinct. “Sometimes.”

Liar.

“How often, would you say? For the nightmares?”

Clammy hands press into the fabric of your grey sweatpants. “Maybe once a week.”

Liar.

She scribbles something down in her notepad. “And the flashbacks?”

A vision of cold, blue tipped fingers reaching out toward you from the dark comes to the forefront of your mind before you blink it away. “Less than that, I think.”

Liar!

“And are they all still about her?”

The cold from those blue tipped fingers permeates through your body, settling into your bones in a chill that never seems to leave you anymore. “Not all of them.”

LIAR. LIAR. LIAR. LI–

“Actually, can we talk about something else?” Your request comes out quicker than you’d like, giving a show of desperation as you adjust in your seat. “Please,” you add as an afterthought.

Her gaze is sharp as ever and calculated in her perusal of you for another few moments, but she concedes. “Alright. What would you like to talk about then?”

When you flounder for an answer, mouth opening and shutting uselessly, she offers an alternative of her own. “I saw you walk in with the new guy today. Eddie, right? Did you talk to him at all?”

You let out a huff, eyes directing down to where your wandering fingers have landed on a piece of loose thread on your pants. “More like sat there while he talked at me.”

“He didn’t give you a chance to talk or you never took it?”

“I don’t exactly have anything I want to talk to him about,” is your cold response, once again looking up to make eye contact with her.

“You know, it wouldn’t actually hurt to try to connect with someone again. Maybe open up to a new friend?”

This time you’re not able to withhold your eye roll. “Junkie rockstar is not exactly the kind of friend I’m looking to make.”

“That’s a bit of a hurtful representation, don’t you think?” She is writing another note as she speaks, eyes looking between you and her page. “How would you feel if someone didn’t want to interact with you because you’re a ‘junkie’?”

Your gaze flicks back down to the thread between your fingers as you mumble, “They wouldn’t exactly be wrong.”

“Do you think you’re a bad person because of your drug use?”

I think I’m a bad person for a lot of reasons.

“It doesn’t exactly give you a glowing perception in the eyes of the public,” you answer defensively.

“That may be true. So you did something that was frowned upon by the general public, making it ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’.” She adds in the air quotes, even though her tone was enough to warrant the assumption that she was being facetious. “What about all of the good things you’ve done? Is there some kind of threshold for the amount of ‘bad’ things a person needs to have done in comparison to the good ones to brand them as a ‘bad’ person?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

Her eyes flit over to the book beside you, resting on the cushion with the cover Good Omens facing up, before returning to you. “I think, personally, that it’s possible to have done bad things without it making you a bad person. It doesn’t make you a good person either, mind you. Because there’s also no such thing as a person who is wholly good either.” She folds her hands over her lap like she always does when she thinks she’s about to say something really profound.

“Good and bad are just malleable descriptions we give to things. People are not simply good or simply bad. People are just… People. Where good, bad, and everything in between coexist.”

Then why do I feel like this?

Eddie plops down in front of you at breakfast looking slightly less like a wet rat than he has so far.

"Good morning, sunshine." And he grins, way too fucking chipper for being 2 weeks into detoxing.

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever you say, sunshine," he repeats with the same grin, like he's glad you don't like it. "I have a plan for us to get out of here."

Get out? A plan? Us? You don't even know where to start with that. "Ah. No wonder you look like it's Christmas morning."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." With a noncommittal 'mmfh', you go back to pushing around your over salted scrambled eggs. "Aren't you going to ask what my plan is?"

"No."

"Well, since you asked," he ignores you and leans over the table, once again lowering his voice to a soft murmur. "One of the night nurses is a fan of my band."

He pauses there, like he's looking for some kind of response. You offer up a completely lackluster, "Congrats."

"Sooo, maybe I can butter her up. Promise her VIP tickets or backstage passes or something. Bribe her to get us out."

Stabbing into a chunk of egg hard enough to almost pierce through the styrofoam beneath, you mumble, "Good luck with that."

He points his fork at you, eyes narrowing in a glare. "You don't think it will work."

"I don't care if it works," you sigh as you bring a hand up to rub at the sudden tension in your temple. "What do you think is gonna happen when you get out, huh? They're just gonna say 'Well, he got out of rehab, guess that's it then!' Your manager is just gonna have you delivered right back here."

"Then I get a new manager." Another flat look is leveled in his direction. "Seriously, I can figure it out once I get out of here. And if you're gonna be this negative about it, then maybe I won't take you with me," he says it like a threat, looking smug as he sips at his not-quite-pineapple juice.

"Good."

His plastic cup hits the table fast enough that a bit sloshes out and onto the vinyl cover. "What do you mean 'good'? You're telling me you don't want to get out of here?"

It's like he's finally hearing you for the first time. "Yes, that is what I'm telling you."

"As if." He scoffs, shoving a chunk of scramble egg in his mouth before continuing to talk through chewing it. "Nobody wants to be in here getting pumped full of happy meds and talking about our feelings with the Ice Queen."

A part of you actually wants to be amused at the term Ice Queen, but you're quick to beat it down. "Yeah, well, maybe I do."

He takes a big bite out of his stiff toast next, crumbs flying with the force of it. "I think," he pauses to swallow the bite before pointing the toast at you this time. "That you have Stockholm Syndrome. And have accepted defeat in your captivity."

"Whatever you say, Munson."

You should've known better than to assume it would end there.

After breakfast, all of you scatter throughout the main hall to do various things to fill your time. As usual, you sit down on a chair by the window so you can continue your book. You're quickly approaching the climax of the narrative, when the four horsemen begin their ride toward the end of the world.

Eddie has set up shop at a table nearby, bent over the top that's scattered with papers that are all covered in drawings of various mythical creatures. He's currently scratching away at a sketch of a three headed Hydra, mouths roaring fire toward the sky.

You'd never tell him this of course, but you have to admit that they are pretty good.

It's 30 minutes of blissful silence with plenty of progress made in your book until he starts talking again.

"Do you actually not want to get out of here?"

You exhale through your nose sharply, annoyed that you're being forced to continue this conversation. Closing your book with your thumb tucked in to save your page, you turn your upper body toward him. "Is that really so hard to believe?"

"Yeah, actually, it is. What are you even in here for anyway? Like what 'problem' do they think you have?"

"None of your fucking business," is your extremely grumpy reply, settling back into your chair and opening your book again in hopes he'll drop it.

"Well, whatever it is, it's not worth sitting in this glorified prison for months on end, I can tell you that much."

Something about the way he's talking really starts to grate on your nerves, making you want to fight more than you want to ignore him. "I'm sorry, would you rather be in actual prison?"

This makes his face drop, a muscle in his jaw rolling with tension. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that coke and meth are illegal, in case you forgot. And can actually get you arrested." Your tone is condescending, tinged with venom. "So maybe you should be grateful to be in this 'glorified prison' instead of a real one."

"Grateful?" He lets out a fake laugh, looking at you in disbelief. "Yeah, let me just try to be grateful to have my every move watched and my entire day planned for me like I'm in a fucking daycare."

An orderly walks in through the double doors to the garden, propping them open in an invitation to move outside for the hour. You're quick to rise, tucking your bookmark into your spot and muttering a dismissive, "Whatever," as you pass.

You're barely off the stone path and into the grass towards your seat when he comes barrelling out after you.

"Hey, I'm not done."

"Listen," you continue forward, talking over your shoulder at him as he marches after you, "I get you're still in denial and everything. But it's not my job to make you accept that you're here for a reason. So why don't you just leave me alone."

A hand grips your shoulder, forcing you to turn toward him. The sun is behind his head from this angle, leaving him silhouetted in light and you standing in his shadow in the grass.

"And what exactly do you think the reason I'm here is?"

"I don't know," you push his hand off your shoulder, tucking your book in against your stomach. "Why don't you ask yourself that question?"

"I'm here against my will because a fucking corporate prick thinks I need 'fixing'," his voice comes out as a hiss through his clenched teeth. His hands tighten into fists at his sides. "Everybody thinks we need to be 'fixed'."

"Maybe we fucking do, Eddie! Did you ever consider that?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your argument getting some attention from other patients and an orderly standing watch, but you're too caught up in your anger to care.

You jolt in surprise when Eddie's hands grip your shoulders, forcing your attention on him. "Are you even fucking listening to yourself?!"

"Eddie, let go of me."

His hands only tighten, his wide eyes going wild. "They fucking infected you with their bullshit doctrine of what society thinks is right and wrong, but it's not true."

You try to pull away from him but his grip just turns bruising in response, fingertips digging into your skin painfully. Fear takes hold, tears starting to push at the back of your eyes as you plead, "Please, Eddie, you're hurting me–"

"They're hurting you!" He's borderline yelling in your face now, emphasizing his next point by shaking you where you stand. "Don't you fucking get it? They're the ones hurting you by making you think there's something wrong with you!"

An orderly appears beside him and grips his shoulder, ordering a tense, "Let her go."

This seems to shock him as his hands release you mid-shake, sending you backwards onto your ass. You make impact with a yelp, the tailbone pain enough to force the tears that were threats before to start to spill down your cheeks. You're sure that if your hands weren't pressed to the ground behind you, they'd be trembling.

Heels click along stones on the approach, heated and quick. "What the hell is going on here?" Penelope Windsor asks sharply, barely faltering as her heels meet grass and dirt.

You look up at Eddie with tears in your eyes, shocked and terrified.

He looks down, as pale as a ghost, the orderly's hand still on his shoulder as he stares at his own like they don't belong to him.

"Are you alright?" Penelope asks when she kneels to the ground beside you, fancy slacks of her pantsuit in the dirt. A gentle hand hovers over your shoulders, concern evident in the way she looks you over.

Swallowing hard around the lump in your throat, you break away from your stare at Eddie to glance at her and then the ground. "I'm fine."

"I…" Eddie's voice sounds small, scared. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to–"

"Come on." Penelope is calm as she interrupts him, more caring and gentle than you've ever heard her. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

You manage a nod before you allow her to help you to your feet and put a protective arm around your back as she leads you over toward the Therapy House.

Eddie stands there with the orderly, hands shaking and tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he watches you go. Hoping you'll look back. That you'll tell him it's okay, that you'll forgive him. Tell him that you will be okay.

You don't look back.

Once you've disappeared behind those birch doors, the orderly finally lets him go. Walks back over to the main hall without another word – leaving Eddie alone to his panic and shame while he stares at your copy of Good Omens from where it sits half open and abandoned in the grass.

Your chair is empty in group that day.

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thanks for reading!! please reblog if you liked it and let me know what you think, feedback means everything!! read part 2 here

[tootern2345]

Various production art and animation drawings from various stuff including

1. Grim Natwick art from 1931

2. A caricature sketch of an associate done by Flesicher/Famous BG artist, Tom Ford

3. Drawing of Betty & Bimbo by Natwick for the 1930 Flesicher Talkartoon, Dizzy Dishes

4. Drawing done by Barre/Disney artist, Albert Hurter

5. Animation cel of Julie Bruin from Tiny Toons

6. Background art from a 1948 Terrytoon called Seeing Ghosts

7. Animation cel of Barnacle Boy from SpongeBob

[mr-divabetic]

It would be difficult to be the founder of a nonprofit called ‘Divabetic’ and not love DIVAS! 

Thankfully, I do! So many iconic female vocalists have inspired, comforted, and thrilled me throughout my lifetime. They are the soundtrack of my life which is why the lyrics to the new holiday song, "Pink Champagne,” by Ivan Hampden Jr. and Paulette McWilliams, is a tribute to many of my idols, including Ella, Carmen, Eartha, Betty, and Marlena. 

For some of you, Marlena Shaw’s name might not be as well-known as the others, but her classic rendition of “Go Away Little Boy” is my all-time favorite. It’s a magical performance because her brilliant storytelling makes you want to see her perform it live again and again.

Last November, I set out to write a signature song like that for the holidays. Fortunately, my friend Paulette McWilliams, a highly respected vocalist who performs for audiences worldwide, crafted a beautiful melody for Ivan Hampden Jr. to create and produce a lush, beautiful orchestration.  

I wanted to write a song to make fans yearn to see Paulette perform live and in person. I imagined her on stage, dressed in a baby blue satin Balenciaga gown, in a crowded smoke-filled jazz club with people dripping in diamonds and furs sitting in plush velvet booths sipping cocktails. In the middle of “Pink Champagne”, she signals to her music director; I imagine that person is Nat Adderley Jr., who slows down the tempo. Paulette sashays over to a small table on stage and lifts a crystal flute of pink champagne. She takes a sip before sharing a touching but funny true story of experiencing heartache during the holidays. When she finishes, she lifts her glass, toasts the audience, and resumes the song's end. 

Of course, I’m there too, sitting at the bar, doing my best Daniel Craig impersonation, dressed in a Tom Ford tuxedo sipping something cool and sophisticated. Actually, if this is truly a fantasy, then Daniel Craig is sitting next to me. LOL :)

Okay, now enjoy the song  “Pink Champagne” by Ivan Hampden Jr. and Paulette McWilliams, and then let me know what you think. Cheers! 

https://open.spotify.com/track/2NOBbq9KzRlyJb6hjSg67m?si=7a6f3f47091b4d10

[fetchmearum420]

Ranking each 1776 character:

John Adams, Massachusetts: 7/10 funny but something quite rude which I don’t like, can be cute like with Abigail. Bill Daniels nails the role.

Benjamin Franklin, Pennsylvania: 28736372818/10 deserves the damn world, Howard Da Silva really should have won an Oscar and Tony for Franklin, such a fun part.

Thomas Jefferson, Virginia: even though he really doesn’t speak much until But Mr Adams and in the second act, I still love him (not the REAL Jefferson) and Ken Howard really was extremely hot.

John Dickinson, Pennsylvania: 198277281/10 yes he’s a dick but he’s my dick and I love him. Always a mood. I respect that he was trying to be civil with England. Both Paul Hecht and Donald Madden nailed the role.

John Hancock, Massachusetts: 172774738/10 such an angry boy but he’s so funny and for what 😀 David Ford should have won an Oscar for his facial expressions.

James Wilson, Pennsylvania: 1938738291/10 idk why I love him so much but I do. He’s so cute and him and Dickinson are so in love and it’s adorable. Emory Bass really nailed the part and hardly smiled at all. Nailed it.

Edward Rutledge, South Carolina: 10/10 this one might be controversial but I LOVE Rutledge. I’m obsessed with his peacock costumes and his hairstyle. (Gary Beach played Rutledge which was his Broadway debut and he’s the reason I’m even into this musical.) Molasses to Rum is the show stopper for me and I bow down to both John Cullum and Clifford David.

Charles Thompson: 10/10 such an underrated king and Ralston Hill’s eyebrows should have won an Oscar. Always a mood.

Dr. Lyman Hall, Georgia: 183873828/10 a cinnamon roll that deserves more love. His first day is so chaotic but he doesn’t complain. Jonathan Moore slayed. (Also fun fact, Jonathan UNDERSTUDIED Adams while on Broadway. What id give to go back in time to see him do that role.)

Richard Henry Lee, Virginia: 182773829/10 a small role, but his number is obviousLEE a stand out and such a bop. He’s so cute and clearLEE fun. Ron Holgate totally earned that Tony.

Roger Sherman, Connecticut: 1273672/10 underrated king that I love. He always has a bowl of coffee with him and it’s so cute and for what 😩 Rex Robbins you son of a bitch why you make Sherman so cute 😭

Samuel Chase, Maryland: 7/10, doesn’t do much for me but he is pretty funny. Phil Polito and Patrick Hines nailed it.

Caesar Rodney, Delaware: 10/10 we Stan a king who was deathly sick but yet traveled 80 miles back to congress to sign the damn declaration and save Delaware.

Col. Thomas McKean, Delaware: 19927382/10 He is so damn funny and for what 😭 he’s always threading Read and it makes me cackle.

Stephen Hopkins, Rhode Island: 1929838291/10 my favorite drunk bastard. Ceo of RUM. Such a crackhead. We Stan Roy Poole for this role.

George Read, Delaware: 0/10 we don’t like this louse in my house. He is a slimy worm. Fuck this bitch.

Andrew McNair: 10/10 SWEET JESUS it’s obvious. William Duell deserved an Oscar for saying SWEET JESUS so many times.

Lewis Morris, New York: 8/10 ceo of abstaining, COURTEOUSLY. We Stan.

Rev. John Witherspoon, New Jersey: 10/10 friendly guy who has a whore of an Aunt. But wtf is up with James Noble’s eyes the entire movie 😭🤭

Robert Livingston, New York: 4/10, the only time he actually says something is during But Mr Adams and he’s singing. Doesn’t do much for me.

Joseph Hewes, North Carolina: 6/10 he’s okay. Doesn’t do much for me.

Abigail Adams: 182772883/10 my wife. Such a damn queen. We Stan Virginia Vestoff.

Martha Jefferson: 182772828/10 only in one scene but NAILS IT. I definitely prefer Betty Buckley but Blythe Danner was good too.

Dr. Josiah Bartlett, New Hampshire: 1/10 literally takes the fun out of Congress. Unfair bitch.

Courier: 4/10, don’t really have an opinion.

[444names]

h#rry p#tter characters

Abble's Abbly Abeferse Aceandort Afacius Afthersone Agavin Aled Aleng Aley Allison Amemoth Anted Appack Appons Asletious Astert Astra Astrand Auder Aute Authill Backnes Bagriggon Bahaver Bariont Barlf Becuroun Beettent Belde Beston Betti Billed Blang Blawp Blaza Blin Blor Bobstorin Books Boures Bover's Boy's Brieve Brol Broth Brount's Bulle Caliald Capeda's Capticker Carie Carope's Caterner Chame Chan Chidge Chis Cholivat Cled Cloner Clugon Clus Co's Com's Commity Commorth Comphean Cona Conam Coney Cons Cournis Crarom Cred Cree Cres Crom Crostred Crour Cued Curoper Curs Cution Days Defer's Dely Dembe Denthrenze Derforcy Dias Dighor Dighterste Dinixth Dird Dirly Disch Disersith Dises Divese Dogiaing Dolda Dorge Dousises Duch Duend Dumbe Dumbrie Dumbrin Durd Durnery Durns Eatorts Elda Elps Emat Empestry Erna Erney Esch Evaux Even's Examed Examelle Expes Fabid Fathadma Fathoung Fawned Fawp Fest Fince Fincelmity Fincess Flam Flas Fled Flerse Fley's Flug Forcy Forder Fords Franated Franit Frath Freformor Frifemus Fritars Fritur Fronce Galie Gamelley Gansur Gellowart Gian Giddle Ginst Gobill Goblohn Godfy Golda Goldbily Gort Goved Grafty Grapel Gred Gree Grefecy Grevent Grimandand Griontalt Gripled Grofer Grus Hagony Handele Hardem Harliths Harlstious Heakerfung Heasle Heathe Heats Heatude Hell Helly Hemeker Heptention Heputhe Himsy Hirk Hised Hoodrist Hoom Hopher Hughor Hureara Hurey Iderest Idge's Imass Imsy Inamelo's Inger Ingsh Inned Inquess Jair Jaise Johor Joina Joker Jorison Jorm Jortina's Karedays Kendue Kiders King Kisk Knisse Krunah Kruxect Lave Leeparrin Lesti Ling Litige Lius Live Locapta Loch Lornuk Lovestrage Luckee Ludiff Lund Lunge Lunt Mader Madorcion Mady Magobled Magogra Magus Maisect Malfrooly Malle Mallyjuid Maria Marvis Marvous Mary Merrey's Mily Ming Mins Moak Moner Mong Mons Mont Mood Mors Mothor Mught Munce Munis Munt Nedin Nell Nevern Nicape Niceloiddy Niciank Nickee Nor's Nors North Offle Ollitts Ollon Orping Owee Owney Pandriffer Paries Park Patick Peed Peeve Pele Perfor Persecy Pertart Peted Petrank Pettigave Phid Philch Phille Phoste Plawp Plenclus Potherson Potior Pottearry Pottlegic Poturds Pred Pree Prequall Prester Prippying Prody Prolf Proped Puffy Quic Quitor Rand Raner Rave Raved Reall Regirs Rephopin Replas Reprigge's Ress Rettly Retured Rid's Rideame Rirlforter Rolon Romme Rownesse Rubse Ruffity Sald Saller Saver Savinsan Scan Scaperva Scat Sconow Seacis Seeven Sentinne Sespy Seter Seve Shan Shauth Shigwiza Shurroped Shus Sidderner Sisesubse Sluff Slus Snal Snalder Snamus Snathe Spark Spinceat Statery Sted Stimmagoom Ston Stual Stunagir Stureloss Sturn Suck Suib Sullise Than Thars Themor Thinus Thoomity Thor Thornon's Thottlet Tievey Tommoseves Tore Tortmelly Touritor Tran Trand Trang Tranix Trato Trays Trele's Trester Tromsy Tures Turn Twoot Twycurs Ulloidin Vecten Vinve Volf Volo Wance Wang Warouni Wars Warts Wary's Waver Ways Weackne Weater Whallaced Whant Wher's Wholt Wicaldeat Wifeme Wiffing Wine Wizardinge Wizarre Wizarvend Wizood Worient Younatcher Yourofem Yous Zabacomst

[groovin2beats]

Music Tag Game

I got tagged for a Spotify music shuffle but I’m nothing if not a bougie Virgo

Take It Easy - Eagles

Crocodile Rock - Elton John

Go Your Own Way - Fleetwood Mac

Work Song - Hozier

Twistin’ the Night Away - Sam Cooke

Espresso - Sabrina Carpenter

Dance the Night - Dua Lipa

It’s a Man - Betty Hutton

Sixteen Tons - Tennessee Ernie Ford

I Want It That Way - Backstreet Boys

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Mother of 6 Found Guilty Of Neglect," Windsor Star. July 8, 1943. Page 3 & 6. ---- Court Hears of Young Children Devouring Garbage; Baby Girl Undernourished ---- Neighbors of Mr. and Mrs. Carmen Sutton, of 1641 Central avenue, in city police court Wednesday afternoon, told of how children of the couple ate out of garbage cans and went scantily clad in winter, Parents of six children ranging in age from 15 months to nine years, the Sutton's were tried on charges of neglecting their offspring.

LEFT FOR VACATION Representatives of the Children's Aid Society told of how Mrs. Sutton went off on a vacation leaving her three youngest children neglected at home, and of how the 15-month-old baby was found ill, unwashed and undernourished on a dirty mattress.

Mr. Sutton, an employe of the Ford Motor Company of Canada, works steadily at wages of 85 cents an hour, and between January 1 and June 30, his gross earnings totalled $1,053.69, according to a statement from the Ford paymaster's office, which was read in court,

After reviewing the testimony Magistrate J. A. Hanrahan dismissed the charge against Mr. Sutton, found Mrs. Sutton guilty and remanded her in custody until Saturday morning for sentence. In the meantime she will remain in the county jail. The magistrate found Mrs. Sutton's interest in a former boarder in their household at the bottom of her neglect of her children.

Mr. and Mrs. Sutton both pleaded not guilty and were defended in court by Alan C. Bell. On the witness stand Mr. Sutton sought to defend his wife and to assume some of the blame himself, but the testimony of neighbors was chiefly centred on Mrs. Sutton's neglect of the children.

MRS. WARREN TESTIFIES Mrs. Kathleen Warren, investigator for the Children's Aid Society, told of conditions she found in the home when she visited there on June 17 while Mrs. Sutton was out of the city with the three oldest children. She stated that a 14-year-old neighbor boy had been delegated by Mrs. Sutton to look after the household while Mr. Sutton was working, but had refused to sleep there nights because of the "stench in the house."

Mrs. Sutton had been away two days when she visited the house on June 17, stated Mrs. Warren. She found the three little children dirty and the 15-month-old baby, Victoria, on a dirty mattress on an upper floor. The baby was pale, her abdomen bloated, and her arms very thin. A bottle of cold sour milk stood by the bed. The baby was taken to Faith Haven, Salvation Army institution, for treatment.

The other Sutton children were identified by Mrs. Warren as Carmen Edward, nine years old; Matilda, seven years; Betty, six years; Peter, five years, and Elaine, three years.

In conversation with Mr. Sutton, the witness testified that he told her he had consented to his wife going away on a vacation because "her nerves were bad," that he had sold a $90 bond to finance her trip.

DR. G. W. DUFFIN Dr. G. W. Duffin, who attended little Victoria at Faith Haven, testified that the baby weighed 12 pounds when brought there, whereas a normal child of the same age should weigh 21 pounds, that her skin was pale, loose and dry, her abdomen protruded, there were sores on her neck, and she was lacking in the number of teeth she should have when a year old. Since being at Faith Haven, the doctor said the baby had been fed properly on milk and vegetables and had gained 10 ounces in weight.

MRS. ZONA WILCOX Mrs. Zona Wilcox, of 1657 Central avenue, stated that often she had found two of the Sutton children, Peter and Matilda, eating out of her garbage pail. The first time she heard them she said she thought a dog was rummaging out of the pail, When she investigated she found the two children devouring orange peelings. In winter she said she saw the children sometimes without stockings and wearing shoes with holes in them.

The witness stated that the children had occasionally come to her door at 3 o'clock in the afternoon complaining of being hungry, saying they hadn't had anything to eat. She stated that she always fed them at such times.

When counsel for the defence suggested that even well fed children had big appetites between meals and it was not unknown for children to rummage in garbage pails, Mrs. Wilcox replied: "There are between 50 and 60 children in our neighborhood and the Sutton children are the only ones who come to my garbage pail. They were very hungry."

MRS. MARY MCCORMICK Mrs. Mary McCormick, of 1653 Central avenue, the mother of six children, testified that the older Sutton children in winter wore worn- out shoes with their toes sticking through holes. She had given them two pairs of shoes which her own children had outgrown. She said: "Mrs. Sutton goes out all the time and lots of times at night. She beats them with straps and once locked them indoors on a hot day."

Mr. Bell asked Mrs. McCormick if it were not true that Mrs. Sutton had offered her $5 to look after her children while she was out of town on a holiday. Mrs. McCormick denied this - he admitted that her 14-year-old son had undertaken the job, but had refused to sleep in the Sutton house at night "because of the stench."

PRIVATE ELI KOSIWOSKY Private Ell Kosdwosky, of 1673 Central avenue, a soldier stationed at St. Luke Road Barracks, told the court of how he had seen Mrs. Sutton chase one of her children and strike the child twice across the back on the street corner. He had remonstrated with Mrs. Sutton at the time. He said the oldest Sutton child, nine-year-old Carman Edward, a cripple, went around in winter without stockings wearing rubber boots.

MISS NANCY CLARK Miss Nancy Clark, of the Children's Aid Society, told of how she had gone with Mr. Sutton to the house on June 19 to look for clothing for six-year-old Betty and five-year-old Peter, after they had been taken to Faith Haven, but couldn't find anything but some worn garments. They had no summer underwear and their shoes were torn, said Miss Clark.

MES. ALINE WALD Mrs. Aline Wald, of 1669 Central avenue, a mother of three children and a trained nurse, said that when she first visited the Sutton home last October there was "a terrible odor" in the house and the rooms were cold at a time she had heat in her own home. She said the Sutton children had eaten scraps out of her garbage pail and she had fed them sometimes in her own home. "I could tell by the way they grabbed at the food how hungry they were." She added, "I have seen Mrs. Sutton beat one of the children across the bare back with a fly swatter." She said the children werepoorly clad in winter, but one of them did have a windbreaker.

Mrs. Wald testified that she was the one who notified the Children's Aid Society of Conditions at the Sutton home, after Mrs. Sutton had gone away on a vacation. After the society had taken charge of the children she said she had a conversation with Mr. Sutton.

"He broke down and cried, and told me what a wonderful wife Mrs. Sutton had been before they came to Windsor," said Mrs. Wald. He blamed a man who had boarded at their house for breaking up his home. I have seen Mrs. Sutton leave the house and go away in a car at 1:15 am. Mr. Sutton told me that his wife had promised that if he let her go on a vacation she would return to him and be a good wife." "He put in two telephone calls to his wife while she was away and he told me she had agreed to return if she would be allowed to retain the friendship of the other man."

While Mrs. Wald was giving her testimony, Mrs. Sutton, who was seated beside her husband, reddened and turned her face away from him.

MR. SUTTON Taking the stand in defence of himself and his wife, Mr. Sutton testified that he earned around $2,300 a year, adding: "Practically all my money goes into my home." He said his wife looked after the groceries and he gave her money whenever she asked for it. He spoke of "a gentleman friend"of his wife's who had boarded with them for a month.

He had agreed to his wife going on a vacation to Nova Scotia when he felt satisfied that she would not be with the former boarder while she was away. He said his wife had taken the three oldest children to her mother's and then had visited "girl friends" in Stratford and Tillsonburg, and had not gone to Nova Scotia.

Denying that the baby had been neglected, Mr. Sutton said a doctor had been called in to attend the baby last winter and that his wife had followed the doctor's prescriptions in feeding the baby milk and prepared vegetables and other preparations for infants.

Dealing with the condition of the baby while his wife was away, Mr. Sutton said: "I gave the baby milk but I guess I gave her too much."

DENIES PUNISHMENT SEVERE Mr. Sutton denied that his wife had ever punished the children severely. "She never left a mark on them. I'm the only one who ever left a mark and that was once when a red mark was left on the skin of one of the children after he had been spanked." He said that his wife provided adequate meals and put plenty of food on the table. He got 870 In wages every two weeks and his wife never lacked for funds. He said he had reprimanded his children for taking food scraps from the neighbors garbage pails. As for the children being fed by the neighbors between meals he said: "So have we given the neighbors kids stuff to eat."

On the question of clothing Mr. But ton said, "My wife makes lots of clothing for the children. My oldest boy had shoes to wear in the winter, but he insisted on wearing his rubber boots." MRS. SUTTON Mrs. Sutton, a buxom young woman, next took the stand and made and made a general denial of neglecting the children. She said she bought three quarts of milk and four loaves of bread daily for them. She said the baby had been in poor health for some time following an attack of chickenpox and had suffered from an an abscess as a result. She had given the baby prepared cereals. She said she asked Mrs. McCormick to look after the children at nights while she was on vacation, but Mrs. McCormick did not agree to do this but consented to have her 14-year-old boy stay at the Sutton house at night, Mr. Sutton being a night worker and away from home overnight. She said the former boarder in their home was "just a friend."

COUNSEL ARGUMENTS In summing up the case on behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Sutton, Mr. Bell said that if there had been been any any neglect on their parts, his clients had learned a good lesson and he was certain that in the future there would be no cause for complaint about them. If there had been neglect he was not prepared to say who was responsible, but he was certain that in the future, under strict supervision, conditions at the house would be entirely different.

The Crown, in summation, said that the circumstances of the mother going away on vacation and leaving the three youngest children at home were at sufficient in themselves for a verdict of guilty. It was very unusual for children to eat out of garbage cans, the Crown submitted, and indicated that children were not properly fed. A mother was usually held responsible how for the care of the youngest children and it was the duty of a father to see that money was properly spent. In giving his verdict, Magistrate Hanrahan said he could not find enough evidence to convict the husband, and he thought the story told by one of the witnesses of Mr. Sutton's remarks about his wife represented a true picture. Undoubtedly the lack of care of the children, said the magistrate, was the result of Mrs. Sutton's interest in another man who had been a boarder in their home.

In remanding Mrs. Sutton in custody until Saturday morning, Magistrate Hanrahan said that he would be glad to hear at that time what she intended to do in the future about looking after her children.

[project1939]

Day 77: “Why aren’t you Somebody?” 

50s slang of the day: “Oh, didn’t you hear about him? He’s in the pokey!” (Didn’t you hear about him? He’s in jail!) 

Best/worst quote of the day: Adlai Stevenson on losing the election, quoting Abraham Lincoln after his first loss- “It reminded me of a story of a boy who stubbed his toe and thought, I'm too old to cry, but it hurts too much to laugh.” When Stevenson was then asked if he’d run again in ‘56, he quipped, “Examine this man’s head!” 

Song of the day: “Meet Mr. Callaghan,” by Les Paul and Mary Ford. This is another song that seemed to be everywhere in 1952. Many different artists covered it- there was even a version on Westinghouse Studio One today. Of all the versions I’ve heard, I like Les Paul and Mary Ford’s the best. It’s a catchy little tune, and once you’ve heard it, it really sticks in your head. I don’t especially love it, but it’s very 1952.  

Highlights: 

14 days left! There are only two weeks to go! Week 12 starts tomorrow. I can’t quite believe how close I’m getting to the end! Especially after hitting such a wall of despair around the 50th day.  

Betty Furness! She was selling TWO new Westinghouse products today! I heart her so much, I’ll even forgive that she suggested hooking a sunlamp up to the headboard of a child’s bed! 

Lowlights: 

Jello mold number 11. Yikes, I was bound to have at least one mold not really come out right, and this one is a candidate. It wasn’t a total failure, it just didn’t thicken quite enough. And it didn't taste very good.

Now there are only two episodes of Westinghouse Studio One left, and only one of those episodes has Betty’s commercials in it. That means there’s only one more chance to see Betty Furness in Project 1952. Crying emoji. 

[lindamathewblog]

20 Best Thriller Movies Of The 1980s according to their IMDb ratings

Keep scrolling for the ultimate list of the 20 best thriller movies of all time listed according to their IMDb ratings. 

The '80s have been known for their biggest cinematic hits. While there were movie releases of all kinds, thriller was the genre of the year. That is precisely why this time we have curated a list of the top 20 thriller movies released in the 1980s that managed to leave the biggest impact. While it is cinematic hits or underrated gems we have carefully curated a list of best mega-hits like those released in the ‘80s. So what are you waiting for? Scroll on for a list of top ‘80s thrillers listed according to their IMDb ratings that made a  lasting impression. 

The biggest thriller movies in the ‘80s listed according to IMDb ratings:

1. Mississippi Burning (1988)

This 1988 crime drama has just the right blend of mystery and thriller. The movie is directed by Alan Parker and features the best of Gene Hackman, Willem Dafoe, Frances McDormand, and Brad Dourif. It is available on Amazon Prime Video. 

2. Witness (1985)

Another thriller romance released in the ‘80s is Witness. The movie about a young Amish boy is directed by Peter Weir and features Harrison Ford, Kelly McGillis, Lukas Haas, and Josef Sommer.

3. Blow Out (1981)

This 1981 movie is a blend of crime, drama, and mystery. The movie about a sound recordist is directed by Brian De Palma and features the best of John Travolta, Nancy Allen, John Lithgow, and Dennis Franz. 

4. The Salamander (1971)

The comedy-drama titled The Salamander is a story of Pierre and Paul. The movie is helmed by Alain Tanner and features the best of Bulle Ogier, Jean-Luc Bideau, Jacques Denis, and Véronique Alain. 

5. Dead Ringers (1988)

This horror thriller drama released in 1988 features a story of twin gynecologists. The movie is led by David Cronenberg and stars the best of actors including Jeremy Irons, Geneviève Bujold, Heidi von Palleske, and Barbara Gordon. 

6. Runaway Train (1985)

This action-adventure thriller drama features the story of two escaped convicts and a railway worker. The movie is directed by Andrey Konchalovskiy and features the best of Jon Voight, Eric Roberts, Rebecca De Mornay, and Kyle T. Heffner. 

7. No Way Out (1987)

This action, crime, thriller drama features the story of a politician who accidentally kills his mistress. The movie is directed by Roger Donaldson and features the best of  Kevin Costner, Gene Hackman, Sean Young, and Will Patton. 

8. Sword of Gideon (1986 TV Movie)

The action thriller drama features a story of terrorists in the 1972 Munich Olympic massacre. The movie is directed by Michael Anderson and features the best of Steven Bauer, Michael York, Robert Joy, and Laurent Malet. 

9. Deadly Intentions (1985)

This crime drama thriller features the tale of a woman named Katherine and Dr. Charles Raynor who is a tormenting sadist. The movie is directed by Noel Black and features the best of Michael Biehn, Madolyn Smith Osborne, Morgana King, and Jack Kruschen. 

10. White Dog (1982)

This thriller horror drama is the story of a trailer and a dog who has been trained to attack black people. The movie is directed by Samuel Fuller and features the best of Kristy McNichol, Christa Lang, Vernon Weddle, and Jameson Parker. It’s available on Amazon Prime Video to stream. 

11. Fatal Attraction (1987)

This thriller drama features a tale of a married guy’s one-night stand. The movie is directed by Adrian Lyne and features the best of stars including Michael Douglas, Glenn Close, Anne Archer, and Ellen Latzen. 

12. Frantic (1988)

The crime-thriller drama features a tale set in a Paris hotel room. It’s directed by Roman Polanski and features Harrison Ford, Betty Buckley, Emmanuelle Seigner, and Djiby Soumare. 

13. Absence of Malice (1981)

Another ‘80 romantic thriller on our list of top 20 thriller movies of all time. The movie is directed by Sydney Pollack and features the best of Paul Newman, Sally Field, Bob Balaban, and Melinda Dillon. 

14. Bad Timing: A Sensual Obsession (1980)

This thriller mystery drama features a tale of a Vienna-based psychiatrist and his personal life. The movie is directed by Nicolas Roeg and features the best of Art Garfunkel, Theresa Russell, Harvey Keitel, and Denholm Elliott. 

15. Body Double (1984)

This mystery crime drama features the story of a young actor who has been spying on a stunning woman. The movie is directed by Brian De Palma and features the best of Craig Wasson, Melanie Griffith, Gregg Henry, and Deborah Shelton. 

16. Dead Calm (1989) 

This horror thriller features a tale followed by a tragedy. The movie is directed by Phillip Noyce and stars Nicole Kidman, Sam Neill, Billy Zane, and Rod Mullinar. 

17. Sea of Love (1989)

This crime mystery drama features the story of a detective who investigates a series of murders. Directed by Harold Becker the movie features the best of Al Pacino, Ellen Barkin, John Goodman, and Michael Rooker. It’s available on Amazon Prime Video to stream. 

18. The Ninth Configuration (1980)

This horror-thriller drama follows the story of a former marine. The movie is directed by William Peter Blatty and features the best of Stacy Keach, Scott Wilson, Jason Miller, and Ed Flanders. It is available on Plex to stream.

19. The Stepfather (1987)

This horror thriller features the story of a man who murders his family. The movie is directed by  Joseph Ruben and features the best of Terry O'Quinn, Jill Schoelen, Shelley Hack, and Charles Lanyer. 

20. Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983)

This thriller is filled with fantasy and mystery. The story of the movie revolves around a plot where a diabolical circus and a demonic proprietor prey. It’s directed by Jack Clayton and features the best of Jason Robards, Jonathan Pryce, Diane Ladd, and Royal Dano. 

The above list of best thrillers released in the ’80s rightly features the top 20 movies released in the 1980s. The list is a collection of only the great thriller movies that also revolve around different genres like comedy, romance, and horror. 

[mcbastardsmausoleum]

Lucky McKee's 'May' & Xavier Gens' Frontier(s) arrive on Limited Edition Blu-ray 7/24 from Second Sights Films

MAY Make a date with May – for an unforgettable, uncomfortable, weird and wild experience. Lucky McKee’s wickedly wry body horror featuring outstanding performances, stunning cinematography and a stellar soundtrack, is back for a new release this July. Second Sight Films has it all sewn up with a brand-new Limited Edition and Standard Edition Blu-ray version, both complete with a fantastic slew of special features. Meet May Dove Candy, the socially awkward veterinary assistant, who was bullied as a child for her lazy eye, and has developed an obsession with perfection. Desperate for connection, May struggles to make friends and is desperately searching for a perfect boyfriend. Then she meets Adam, the boy with the flawless hands… could he be the one? But the path of love never runs smoothly, especially with May’s inability to connect with people. As her dream of perfection unravels, she becomes increasingly detached from reality and descends into the depths of depravity. The brand-new Limited Edition is set for release on July 24 and is presented in a stunning box with new artwork by Bella Grace, alongside a 70 page book, with new essays. Both editions come complete with a host of brilliant extras including new audio commentaries and new interviews with the stars, director, composer and editors and much more, see full details below. Don’t miss May Limited Edition, a devilish delight that’s a cut above the rest.

Special Features:  - New audio commentary with Alexandra Heller-Nicholas - Audio commentary with director Lucky McKee, cinematographer Steve Yedlin, editor Chris Sivertson and actors Angela Bettis, Nichole Hiltz, and Bret Roberts - Audio commentary with director Lucky McKee, Editor Rian Johnson, Composer Jammes Luckett (formerly credited as Jaye Barnes Luckett), production designer Leslie Keel, and Craft Services guy Benji - The Toymaker: a new interview with director Lucky McKee  -Perfect Hands: a new interview with actor Jeremy Sisto - Blankety Blank: a new interview with actor James Duval - How to Execute a Murder: a new interview with cinematographer Steve Yedlin • Peeling Back the Layers: a new interview with editor Rian Johnson - Jack and Jill: a new interview with editor Chris Sivertson - In the Cut: a new interview with editor Kevin Ford - Blood, Gore and Rock ‘n’ Roll: a new interview with composer Jammes Luckett • From Frankenstein to May: Miranda Corcoran on May - Bits and Pieces: on the set of May Limited Edition Contents:   -Rigid slipcase with new artwork by Bella Grace - 70 page book with new essays by Joseph Dwyer, Rachel Knightley, Mary Beth McAndrews and Heather Wixson - Six collectors' art cards

FRONTIER(S) 

Dare you cross Frontier(s)? The shockingly violent and darkly disturbing horror from Xavier Gens(Hitman, Gangs of London)  in his 2007 directorial debut, is set for a brand-new Limited Edition Blu-ray Box set release alongside a Standard Edition version from experts in the field Second Sight Films on July 24 2023. 

Shocking and thrilling audiences and offending (some) critics on its original release, French helmer Gens’ blood-fueled,  brutal feature is set for a stunning new Limited Edition outing. The box set is presented in a rigid slipcase with new artwork  by James Neal and a 70 page book featuring new essays and comes complete with a bucket load of special features. These  will be available on both versions and include: an audio commentary with Zoë Rose Smith and Kelly Gredner, new interviews  with cast and crew, the 'Making of’, a short film and more! Please see full list below. 

It’s a time of severe political unrest in Paris, an extreme right-wing party has come to power and violent protests soon turn  into full scale riots. As the streets burn, a group of young reprobates use the chaos to their advantage, robbing anything  and everything they can. But as they get in too deep, tragedy strikes and with the police on their tail, they’re forced to split  up and flee the city. 

Their situation goes from bad to worse as they end up holed up in a remote countryside guesthouse, where they come face  to face with a strange clan, the Von Geislers – a ruthlessly and violently oppressive father, his fiercely sexual daughters,  and brutish sons – who soon reveal themselves as neo-Nazis. The debauched family’s fantasy of starting a new Aryan race  could soon be realized as Yasmine (Karina Testa, Budapest), could be the key to the fresh bloodline they’ve been waiting  for. Can she and her friends survive the human abattoir, or will she become 'one of the family'? 

Enter the depraved and debauched Frontier(s) for a twisted, stomach-churning, thrilling horror experience. 

Special Features: 

- Audio Commentary with Zoë Rose Smith and Kelly Gredner 

- Reinventing the Extreme: a new interview with director Xavier Gens • Going Method: a new interview with actor Karina Testa 

- A Light in the Dark: a new interview with actor Maud Forget - Lights, Camera... Fear: a new interview with cinematographer Laurent Barès • Sounds of Violence: a new interview with composer Jean-Piere Taïeb • The Making of Frontier(s) 

- Fotografik Short Film 

- Xavier Gens Highschool Trailers 

- Frontier(s) Trailers 

- Storyboard Comparisons 

- Behind-the-Scenes Photos with commentary by Xavier Gens and Karina Testa 

- Deleted Scenes with optional commentary by Xavier Gens and Karina Testa 

Limited Edition Contents: 

- Rigid slipcase with new artwork by James Neal 

 -70 page book with new essays by Dr Sarah Cleary, Mark H Harris, Carolyn Mauricette and  Alexandra West 

- Six collectors' art cards 

[xperfectlite]

Pause

This was as much as he could take. Tears pooled in his eyes, but he kept blinking them back as he shoved handfuls of clothes into a duffle bag. With a solid swipe, his hairbrush, deodorant, and other various personal effects found a place in the bag. A picture frame looked up at the boy, a frozen smile peering out from behind the glass. After a beat, the picture found itself face down as a sob loosened itself from the distraught boy. Why, how, and when, had he become such a disappointment?

((Yes hello, I've been working on this for like seven years now. It's my pride and joy and I haven't completed it, but I want to put some of it out there for the world to see. If you like it, I hope you share it or leave a little love behind <3 Thanks!))

CW: talk of sex work and drug use, I personally would imagine this to be more of an 18+ story even though no mature themes are explicitly discussed/described.

The summer sun bore down onto the dry, cracked gravel road as tires kicked up dust above it. An aged '95 Ford F150 was the cause, driving through the old empty highway, muffler crackling all the while. Ezekiel had been meaning to trade in his old beat up farm truck for something more modern or chic, but he had never gotten around to it. Part of it just reminded him of home - the good parts, that is.

It had been close to four years since Ezekiel had decided to leave his hometown. While most recent high school graduates were making plans to go off and either begin their working lives or continue their education, the young man had chosen a different option entirely. Briefly, his brain flicked through the many nights he had spent road-tripping and partying, doing anything he could to get someone to look at him, to prove that he was worth any amount of energy they would spare. Honestly, it was a little pathetic and he couldn't help but feel ashamed.

Ezekiel shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he crossed the county line, right into Regal County, Nebraska. With more solid resolve, he kept up his drive towards his childhood home, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. Though he had been through a lot in the past few years, the roads outside of Otterval were still imprinted into his mind like instinct. It wasn’t that big of a shock, as he had only spent four years abroad compared to the nineteen years he had spent growing up and exploring the countryside surrounding the small town.

Still, Zeke had been driving for quite awhile in order to make it to the town. It probably wouldn’t hurt to see how the local restaurants were doing and maybe take a chance to stretch. He had to drive through the community anyway to get to the opposite side, where his family had always been.

Soon enough, a "decrease speed" sign popped up on the right side of the road over the horizon. As Zeke crossed into the forty-five mile an hour zone, he eased his foot on and off the break. The old truck had been through a lot, so it wasn't very surprising to see that the temperature gauge was starting to climb higher than it normally did.

"I promise you, Betty Lou, we'll get ya checked out once we get there." Ezekiel muttered, patting the hot dashboard. It had been on his mind for a few months now. The idea of coming back here, seeing his father, the old farmhouse, the animals, even the fields. Initially, he punched back at the thoughts. He considered how much he was enjoying himself compared to the dull life Otterval held for him. However, the nights of one-night-stands and the mornings of waking up alone started really driving home the overwhelming loneliness that was beginning to crush him. It wasn’t even a partner he really craved. Ezekiel just wanted to know that there was someone around who actually knew he existed and would at least acknowledge him as something more than a way to get what they wanted.

At the same time, he wasn’t exactly sure that that’s what would happen when he mysteriously showed up at his father’s home with no notice. The man could just as easily not let him in, force him to realize that there wasn’t anything left for him in the tiny town. For the past four years, that’s all he had wanted - the realization that he was free from this place. Now, though, the idea of not having a place to refer to as home settled heavily in his chest.

“Enough.” Zeke muttered to himself, forcing his focus back to the road that was turning into pavement. It wouldn’t be long before he hit Main Street, where he once frequented a quaint restaurant, equally due to the fact that it was owned by his godmother and the food was good. His mouth automatically began to water as he remembered the cheese frenchies and fries he would always get, a dark soda on the side. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to indulge in an unhealthy meal, but he figured this could be a little present to himself.

Zeke coasted into town, allowing the old truck to slow itself down to prevent any further pushing on the temperature gauge. He observed the old-school appearance of the little shops on Main Street, marveling at some new places and remembering the old as he turned his truck into a spot in front of the strip-mall-like structures. A clothing store caught his eye, causing him to wonder why someone would set up such a shop in a town with less than three thousand people. They even called it a ‘boutique’, making the man shake his head. Ezekiel knew that a lot of the small-town kids he had grown up with were kind of stuck-up when it came to fashion or matters that they could use to “prove how worldly” they were. The brunet held back a derisive snort, biting the inside of his cheek. He told himself that when he came back, he would keep an open mind and avoid the old cynicism that liked to follow him when he got remotely close to thinking about Otterval.

Putting aside his thoughts, he decided instead to think about his meal that was just so close. His hands found the glove box, opening it and grabbing his wallet before he shoved his door open and got out. Before walking up, Ezekiel shoved his key in the lock, twisting it into security. As he was heading up the sidewalk, he realized that he had grown up never having to lock anything. However, traveling across the country and staying in city after city taught him he could never be too careful, so he figured his new habit wasn’t entirely a bad thing.

He reached the building he was headed for in the strip, an old place called the Wagon Wheel. Through the glass front of the restaurant, he could see a few of the tables were already full with families. Before Zeke’s eyes could process the faces, his stomach flipped, reminding him that he probably didn’t want to see someone he used to know anyway. He pulled the glass door open, the bell ringing above his head just adding to the din of diners, faint kitchen noises, and the wait staff chatting and laughing while allowing their tables time to enjoy their food. Ezekiel smiled faintly at the familiar smell of both fried food and protein heavy dishes, adding to the comforting aesthetic of the place. He slid himself into a corner booth, not wanting to be too out in the open. The menus were already on the table, the laminate peeling on the sharp edges of the double sided cardstock. Zeke was almost certain his godmother had never changed the menus since he had started frequenting the establishment as a teenager. Sneakers cut into the edge of his eyesight as a waiter approached.

“Hi there, stranger. What can I getcha?” a peppy voice asked. The distinct sound froze Zeke. He quickly looked up, locking eyes with the other man.

He was about as tall as Ezekiel, a similar build too, if not a little more lithe. The other man’s hair was shorter than his, though, a dark brown crew cut. Recognition flashed in blue-grey eyes as his smile faltered for a second.

“Paul?” Zeke asked. The man held his order pad over his mouth.

“Holy shit, that really is Ezekiel fucking Miller.” the waiter muttered. “Oh my God. I didn’t- When did you-? Diane-” Zeke held up his hand and stood as Paul turned his head to look at the door to the kitchen.

“Hey, calm down dude. No one knows I’m back yet.” they stared at each other for a split second before they latched onto each other in a tight hug. The moment of comfort only lasted as long as their stare had before Paul shoved the slightly taller man back, pulling an angry face.

“You big jerk! You didn’t call, text, nothing! I would have even accepted snail mail, dude!” he scolded. Ezekiel smiled shyly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I mean, if it makes you feel better, I did that to everyone.” the waiter sighed and shook his head.

“It really doesn’t. We were best friends, man.” what Zeke said earlier finally registered in his mind and he gasped. “You haven’t even gone to see Jim yet?” the brunet bit his lip, looking up at his former friend and shaking his head. “Fuck, so you don’t know shit.” the former farm boy quirked an eyebrow.

“What’s there to know? I’m sure my dad couldn’t have done much in four years.” It was the waiter’s turn to bite his lip as he glanced back at the kitchen again.

“You’d be surprised. Hey, let me take a break with you? Let’s catch up.” Ezekiel smiled and nodded.

“Uh, yeah, definitely man. I’d love to. Can I, uh, place an order first?” Paul laughed and held up his forgotten pad.

“Ugh, yes, of course. Wait - let me guess! Cheese frenchie, fries, and.. It’s warm today, so I’m going to guess Coke.” Zeke felt his heart swell with comfort at his best friend still remembering his favorites.

“Please? You are amazing.” the waiter’s smile softened, putting his things into his apron around his waist.

“We were practically joined at the hip for nineteen years. It’s impossible to forget stuff like that.” with that, Paul turned, waving over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen. Ezekiel watched him go before he lowered himself back into the booth, sighing.

How could he have forgotten his best friend? Paul Dake had been the closest thing he had ever gotten to a sibling. Hell, at one point they could have even passed as twins.

"Oh look at you two! I almost don't remember which one's mine," a sweet whisper shot through his memory and he cringed at the sound, shoving it and the accompanying feeling of playfulness and fun he had felt in that moment further back into his mind. He wasn't ready to think about his mom yet.

Instead, Ezekiel busied himself with examining the Wagon Wheel. It hadn't changed at all, which wasn't too shocking. Otterval was a sleepy town and the residents loved their routines to a fault. The brunet was sure that if there was so much as a new knickknack on the wall, the old farmers that liked to meet for breakfast would riot. Still, he took it all in anyway. Booths lined both sides of the restaurant, with a couple round tables and chairs sitting in the empty space between them. The decor was definitely a down-home country theme with an actual wagon wheel adorning the wall across from the doorway. Various black and white historical pictures of Otterval and replicas of obsolete farm tools filled what empty space was left. Vaguely, Ezekiel's mind provided the fact that the museum on the outskirts of town actually provided copies of the photos to his godmother for the ten year anniversary of the restaurant.

The brunet turned in his seat slightly to look in the corner of the front of the restaurant on the other side of the establishment. The corner of his mouth ticked up slightly, seeing the familiar jukebox still glowing peacefully. It held numerous CDs, though the patrons and staff really only played the musical stylings of old crooners like John Denver and Johnny Cash. Occasionally, someone would play KISS or Led Zeppelin. Even if the other genres were more popular, Zeke was certain the CDs hadn't been updated since the mid 90s. Still, the man found himself wandering over to the machine, scrolling through the songs that were still imprinted into his mind. The faint clicking of the machine blended in with the noise of the restaurant and faintly, Zeke heard the bell above the door ring.

There were a lot of people at the Wagon Wheel today. The brunet was almost certain everyone who wasn't making sure the town was running was here. Ezekiel and Paul had a group of their friends with them, all enjoying some sort of ice cream or soda. Other cliques from their high school were around as well, all nodding or waving to Ezekiel whenever they made eye contact. The conversation among his friends was nothing special, but Zeke laughed at someone's joke before he stood, making his way over to the jukebox while digging quarters out of his pocket. The faint clicking of the song book moving as he scrolled through the selections joined the din of the cozy restaurant. Even with the noise, the distinct sound of the bell above the door caught Ezekiel's attention, causing him to glance over his shoulder. His turquoise eyes met pure hazel ones, belonging to a boy a little taller than him. His crew cut black hair stuck up a little over his forehead in an endearing way and a smirk crossed his face. He nodded at Zeke. The farm boy felt a blush rise to his cheeks, causing him to quickly look away, his stomach doing flips.

"Hey mister, are you going to pick a song?" Zeke shot out of his thoughts, looking around quickly. He could have sworn he heard the bell of the door, but no one had come in or left. "Mister?" Ezekiel looked down at a grade school child that had approached him, giving him a weird look.

"Uh, no, go ahead kid. All yours." he mumbled with a faint smile before making his way back to his table. The brunet held his head, closing his eyes. Briefly, the same, beautiful hazel eyes crossed his mind. He pulled at his long hair lightly, forcing the memory back down. He definitely didn't want to think about him right now.

"Alrighty, here we are! Hey, you okay?" a generic white dinner plate slid over the table towards Zeke, a plastic glass accompanying it as Paul took a seat across from him. The man looked up at his friend and smiled, nodding.

"Yeah, I'm great. Just tired. Been driving for a while." Zeke looked down at his plate and bit the inside of his lip. "Ugh, it's been so long since I've eaten something like this. Totally gonna mess me up later." Paul hummed and sipped on his own drink. The brunet picked up a fry and took a tentative bite, worried about how fresh they were. Thankfully, they weren't scorching hot, but he knew the frenchie would be. He continued eating the fries while he waited for the sandwich to cool.

"So, talk to me. I don't know anything." Paul pressed. Ezekiel looked up at him and took a drink from his soda.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Okay. Uhm." the former farm kid stuttered, fingers absently tapping the table. "Well, I guess, what do you want to know?" Paul bit his lip and examined his friend's face for a bit before speaking softly, as if he would spook the man.

"Well, when you left.. Jim said that something had happened at your graduation party." the brown-haired man glanced around and leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Something that outed you and -"

"Yeah, I know why I left, thanks." Zeke cut him off quickly, a slight edge to his voice. Paul leaned back, looking away from him. Ezekiel sighed and shook his head. "Sorry, I just - I don't want to think about that." the brunet cleared his throat and took another drink as Paul nodded softly. 

“Alright, then take me through that night. What did you do?” 

"Well.. Y’know, I packed my bag at like two in the morning. Just shoved a bunch of stuff into my old gym bag. Mostly essentials, figured I could get new clothes and stuff. Then, I went to the ATM and withdrew a good chunk of my money. I left enough to use as a credit line for the first week or so, but beyond that, I really planned on disappearing. I didn't want to risk my dad trying to trace my card or something." the brown-haired man frowned.

"Why would that have been so bad? Jim's never been the violent type. If he would track you, it would have been just to make sure you were safe." Zeke sighed and shook his head, fiddling with his last couple of fries.

"Honestly, I don't know. I was just.. emotional, I guess. I was thinking that I just wanted to drop off the face of the earth and not inconvenience anyone or have them worry." he knew that the words sounded as ridiculous as he felt about the whole situation. It was impossible to explain beyond blaming his overactive teen hormones for blowing everything out of proportion. Really, though, he had been nineteen and while his brain definitely wasn't fully developed, he still had enough sense to know that that wasn't the right way to handle the situation.

"So, where'd you go?" Zeke glanced up at Paul and finished off his fries, testing his sandwich.

"Big cities, mostly. First one was Omaha, but I really wanted to get out of Nebraska. When I called Jim, about a couple weeks or so after I left, just to let him know I was alive and surviving, y'know, I was down in Kansas City. After that, it was just wherever I felt like going whenever I felt like going." Ezekiel took a bite out of his cheese frenchie and closed his eyes, groaning at the taste of the deep fried bread, cheese, and mayonnaise perfectly combined. "Ugh, I forgot how good unhealthy food was." his friend smiled fondly, sitting back and crossing his legs.

"What made you change your diet? You used to inhale things like this." Zeke frowned and took another bite to give him time to think about his answer.

"I just.. wanted to look good." he shrugged, not looking at his friend. Paul examined him and his smile turned into a smirk.

"You must have gotten pretty busy." Ezekiel's cheeks immediately flushed and he hunched over his plate a little more, eating a little faster to keep him from having to answer. "Hey, I get it. The only man you ever really got to be with was-" Paul cut himself off with a warning glance from Zeke. "I don't blame you. If I was as sexually frustrated as you had to have been, I would have done it."

In reality, whether Ezekiel had been promiscuous or not wasn't the problem the brunet was facing in this conversation. Truthfully, road tripping around the continental United States wasn't cheap. While he had a few thousand in savings from his chores and jobs through high school, it started to dwindle pretty quickly. He was able to get a few under-the-table jobs at no-name diners waiting tables or washing dishes, but there wasn't a decent enough balance between the amount of work he put in and the money he got in return. So, while at a club one night, when a man approached Zeke and asked how much he charged, he rolled with it. From there, he got a newfound confidence, allowing him to work for an escort app and do some stripping on the side. He even managed to score a couple solid sugar daddies through his escort work, but he hated abusing their generosity just for his frivolous wants. Instead, he would hoard his 'allowances' into a savings account, one he had opened after leaving to avoid his paranoid thoughts of his dad tracking him. He was by no means rich, but he had a decent safety net if his return home didn't go as smoothly as he was hoping.

"Hello? Earth to Zee?" Paul huffed, snapping his fingers in the brunet's face. Ezekiel looked back at him.

"Sorry - what?"

"I said that I have to go, but I'm really not done talking to you yet. Maybe we could meet at the Breakdown tomorrow night? I would say tonight, but I imagine Jim and Diane will want to see you." Zeke felt his brow furrow.

"Why would Diane want to see me? She probably won't even know I'm back until tomorrow." Paul was silent. He stood and grabbed Zeke's empty plate and cup.

"Go home, Ezekiel. A lot has changed." the man said softly as he turned to make his way back to the kitchen. The brunet watched him go, frowning. Diane Abbott was a close family friend and, last he knew, the sole owner of the Wagon Wheel. She had never married or had her own family, instead focusing on her career and supporting Zeke at his events. Still, she had been his mother's childhood best friend. There would be no real reason for her to be so close to Jim that she would know Zeke was home by the end of the day.

Instead of thinking over it any longer, Ezekiel dug out his wallet and laid some cash on the table. He glanced around for a napkin to scribble his number on before noticing that Paul had already beat him to it, an order sheet with the other man's number on it sitting in the middle of the table. Briefly, he thanked whatever powers were at work for giving him such a thoughtful friend. It was already starting to feel more like home.

[the-firebird69]

Who's the guy and he was shooting at people earlier today in another I mean earlier the other day yesterday in a different town and you came here to threaten us to try and hit us and to threaten our friend and he's a morlock and he's the person shown in the picture and he's dead and he's gone. You look normal in the video. And he is not a friend of ours and he was shooting at us is one of Trump's generals. Well a regent was in charge of the East Coast. Is losing control and his people are checking out and he came down to try and loosen her gripper something and it was a matter of time. He would not give it up or surrender and he died when we put it up like he looked to show they can look like us. Huge numbers of us went after them these idiots who had him put up there that's why the same stuff and I think they're clever about getting rid of themselves they know which way it goes and they think their program is being held up by idiots who are not programmers. There's a Segway but really we think that's what he's thinking and is wrong he didn't care that his head guy died he will. Huge numbers of them died today so far the main battle group hasn't even been hit Trump needs to go he's not helping us for himself or friends in danger of the guys are vegetable. Then said we needed that guy Trump said why you know the math and then said you're not a mathematician and you're wrong we're screwed who says this to that they can't reach us from there there's a beam is a threat and it's in programmed humans and other and it's impacts to other computers that you don't have access to cuz you're a Horking loser. He almost jumped out of his skin but then said don't worry you're invincible and we can't get there without those people you're holding and you want to grab him but we're going to grab them and we're going to grab you and Dan saw it. Do you have fear because this guy is stupid as hell and what's going on and you know those people and he and the girls start talking and got the pipes there and Dan was blessed for it then these times it's very important and John remillard is shunned and he should be put out person and he fell and doesn't want to get up and the lady told him you know what the boy really thinks about you is you're an addict and you fell and you belong the Betty Ford clinic. So he went to town trying to annoy her son she showed up a few times and other people and said don't do that and he tried to put him into some kind of clinic and he said I won't go and they said you have to and several people are trying to do that and you got motivated and you start attacking and he got his ass kicked and we don't want this guy next door to our son he's a loser and he's out and screwed everything up very soon it's going to be his turn to try and get people here or he's going to sit here and harass our son until somebody finally puts him down and what we think happens is he goes on a mission and just can't get back here and that is what happens but stuff in between is important and we need to work I'm putting our effort in now and our nose to the grindstone and we think our son for advertising for us even though we're forcing it he did it because it will advertise all of them people are starting to get bigger let me see if these little amps and they're going after them for the Prilosec stuff and more of water

Thor Freya

[x-heesy]

УΞДH

Two by Betty Ford Boys