#v.f. thompson

[theweirdspacejellyfish]

trans book recs

trans rites by v.f. thompson, summary- a anthology, to embody transness is to change shape, to become something else. the theorist judith butler refers to the construction of gender as a process of ritual and naturalization. hear our screams, our howls, our primal gibbering, our moonlight dances and our bleeding guts.

your body is not your body by alex woodroe, summary- a anthology, the rules of conventional horror go out the fucking window in this collection of stories featuring cosmic malice, technological killing machines, murderous pleasure bots, acid filled alien cops, werid worm implants, witchcraft, mad science, proselytizing zombies, ghouls, sorcerers and cannibals and that just begins to scratch the grave dirt

hell followed with us by Andrew joseph white, summary- sixteen year old trans boy benji is on the run from the cult that raised him, the fundamentalist sect that unleashed armageddon and decimated the worlds population. desperately, he searches for a place where the cult cant get their hands on him, or more importantly, on the bioweapon they infected him with. but when cornered by monsters born from the destruction, benji is rescued by a group of teens from the local acheson lgbtq center, affectionately known as the alc. the alc leader, nick, is gorgeous, autistic, and a deadly shot, and he knows benjis darkest secret. the cults bioweapon is mutating him into a monster deadly enough to wipe humanity from the earth once and for all. still nick offers benji shelter among his ragtag group of queer teens, as long as benji can control the monster and use its power to defend the alc. benji accepts nicks terms.. until he discovers the alcs mysterious leader has a hidden agenda, and more than a few secrets of his own.

bound in flesh by lor gislason, summary- an anthology, 13 trans and non binary writers using horror to both explore the darkest depths of the genre and the boundaries of flesh

[vertigovault]

The Saga of the Swamp Thing #2

Story Title: “Something to Live For” (main story), “Soul on Fire” (back-up feature)

Writer: Martin Pasko (main story), Mike W. Barr (back-up feature)

Artist: Tom Yeates (main story), Dan Spiegle (back-up feature)

Editor: Len Wein

Colorist: Tatanja Wood (main story), Adrienne Roy (back-up feature)

Letterer: John Costanza

Release Date: June 1982

I’ve always had a strong and irrational aversion to movie-branded book covers. The only time I’ve ever actually shelled out cash for one of those monstrosities was when I needed a copy of I Am Legend for a class, and it was between paying fifteen dollars for a new copy or two bucks for Will Smith looking all dour and intense. Now, I want you to take a good long look at that cover, er… art? Really feel it. Let it seep into your soul. This is what movie-branded books look like in the Fifth Circle of Hell.

And yet… somehow I can’t find it in my jaded little heart to be mad at this. It’s almost adorable in how dated and inept it is, from the ridiculously stilted pose they chose to the blue-green gradient background. I wish I had a physical copy just for the novelty. Besides, as tacky as Dick Durock appears in what looks like the world’s most ill-conceived fetish gear, without a pre-Elm Street Wes Craven and his cinematic vision, there’s a good chance that the world of comic books would be a whole lot different.

Yeah, go on, yuk it up. When you’re done, I’ll explain.

So, how is it that a rubber-suited monster movie fundamentally changed the medium of comics? Well, without it, Saga wouldn’t exist. In one of the industry’s greatest bits of irony, what would come to be one of the most acclaimed comic series of all time was originally created to capitalize on the release of a souped up B-movie. Yes, Saga was originally nothing more than a cheap cash in on what could be considered another cheap cash in.

Ain’t comics grand?

Of course, the series quickly rose above that cash in status, and the second issue starts to prove it. While still a bit shaky and seemingly unsure of what direction it wants to go, its footing feels a bit firmer here. Yeates really starts to deliver the goods on the visual front, seeming to have a better feel for the world he’s portraying and imbuing it with more shadows and depth.

The story picks up right where the last issue ended, with Swampy protecting is his new friend Casey from a bunch of mobbed up townies. After escaping, a plane swoops out of nowhere, spraying Swampy with some sort of plant-tailored knock out gas. When he comes to, he finds that he and Casey are at the mercy of a man in a turtleneck, a purple blazer, and orange bell-bottoms, which explains why this is considered a horror comic. Oh, and he has robotic hands, but they distract from the orange bell-bottoms, which are obviously the most important part of his character. While Swampy is tied to a Frankenstein slab, Casey is watched over by the creepy scientist from the last issue, who speaks fifty percent in gratuitous cliches and fifty percent in gratuitous German. I think the implication is supposed to be that he’s an ex-Nazi, but his hairdo and yellow sunglasses make him seem more like an aged beatnik who got lost in a Salvation Army. The man with the robo-hands calls himself Grasp, and he wants the Bio-Restorative Formula. He’s a representative of the Sunderland Corporation, a military contractor who learned of Holland through the grapevine and wanted in on a piece of that Bio-Restorative pie. When Holland explains that he doesn’t have the recipe committed to memory, Grasp tries to cut him in half with a buzz saw, because his super cool lair is located in an old saw mill. Meanwhile, Casey escapes Dr. Salvo by using her psychic powers to attack him with a set of curtains. After using her head to free Swampy, the two flee into a cave, pursued by a Grasp and his handy dandy laser rifle. During the escape the mill catches on fire, and we see a hideous burned figure rising from the wreckage and swearing his revenge. Yes, it’s a tragedy that the creepy scientist suffered such pain, but the good news is that his terrible clothes are gone. Back in the cave, Grasp loses his footing, catching a stalactite as he falls—but alas, he loses his grasp when he accidentally lasers his robo-hand off (get it? GET IT???), and he plummets to his doom. We’re then treated to a brief aside of a teenager in a town called Rosewood, Illinois being murdered by a guy called “Stiv”, which is probably the predestined outcome for anyone named “Stiv”. The issue ends with our boggy hero and Casey riding the rails towards an uncertain future.

The Phantom Stranger back-up is a fun little diversion, about a firefighter being haunted by the spirit of his best friend who died during a fire. While he blames himself (and so does the vengeful ghost), the man really died because he was drunk on the job. The story has the cool gimmick of the ghost manifesting through fire, at one point even appearing in the flame of a cigarette lighter. These stories serve as a welcome foil to Swampy’s adventures at the front of the book, breaking up the overarching plot with enjoyable one shots. The one real flaw is that, since they’re back-up features and take up less space, they can end up feeling a little rushed.

Issue #2 is pure comic book schlock, delicious sci-fi horror camp. Grand literature it ain’t, but it wasn’t trying to be. The question of what exactly is the deal with Casey becomes more developed and intriguing, and this issue really draws you in compared to the last—that is, if you have the same appetite as me for B-grade pulp cheee.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

psst go buy my best friend's debut poetry collection

From the Dionysian Public Library comes shimmer, v.f. thompson's debut poetry collection. A meditation on change, transition, what it means to both be and become, thompson draws inspiration from psychedelic and anarchist philosophy, speculative fiction, and the natural world to weave a rich tapestry of imagery and emotion. Covering her year-and-a-half in a house that changed her mind and broke her spirit, it chronicles her journey from who she was to who she will become.

get it here!

[hotwraithbones]

“Solar Grief” — Digital Art (2021) by Ami J. Sanghvi

Published in Curi🅐sity Kills Anthology (Compiled & Edited by v.f. Thompson) // Cover Art for Curi🅐sity Kills Anthology — February 2022 (Published and distributed by the Dionysian Public Library)

[many-intimate-strangers]

“You go to sleep praying not to wake up. You wake up cursing God for another day.”

That is the opening line from my piece “Prayer for an End”. I have lived with suicidal ideation since I was a pre-teen. Call it a chemical imbalance, call it the result of an environment of religious abuse. Evangelicalism has shaped everything about who I am even after I left it behind. 

I’ve had the privilege of adding my voice to a group of remarkable people that are having a conversation about their experiences in the Evangelical church. In our book, “Out of Line: An Ex-Evangelical Anthology”, You will find a provocative and insightful collection of stories, essays, and poems. 

The collection includes:

"Sunflower" by Skylar Camp

“Good Order in Worship” by Lynn Caldwell

“Christian Living” by R. Justin Cole

“Finally Saved” by MJ Corkern

“To The Church” by D. Brian Craddock II

“My thoughts on appreciation after realizing my faith didn’t allow me to truly appreciate anything because there is no beauty except in god or whatever BS my religion used to say: a poem” by Jamin Ellis

“Paper Planes”, “Sidewalk Weeds”, “You Are Good” by d s edwards

“How Should I Say This?” by Anthony Ferreri

“I Remember” by S. G.

“Fearfully and Wonderfully Transgender” by Becca Hawkins

“Spanking Ministries Fail to Protect” by M. Dolon Hickmon

“Innocence”, “Seven”, “Dance”, “Reality” by Christian Cat Hill

“Wisdom and the War God” by Raine Hofmann

“It’s raining, or it’s not” by Colleen Jameson

“A Parent Invented God” by Erin Jameson

“You Will Know a New Freedom and a New Happiness” by Mark Kennedy

“Abraham & Isaac & Mike & Me” by Christy Lambertson

“bearing witness,” “Remembering Awana Verses,” and “how the demon stole innocence” by Rob Linsley

“Gone” and “The Lesson” by Rogue Maselo

“What Do We Do With Josh Harris? What Do We Do With Ourselves?” by R. Scott Okamoto

“WWJD” by Carolynn Poole

“Prayer for an End” by J. M. Ramkoff

“The Church of WTF?” by Ben Snow.

“Today's Revolution Brought to You by the Letter 'C'” by v.f. Thompson

“Portrait of A Lady: Fixing the Proverbs 31 Woman (A Blackout Poem)”, “Resurrected In Truth: A Blackout Poem (Ephesians 2)”, “Her Own Authority: Blackout Poem (1 Corinthians 11:2-16)”, “Body of Love: A Blackout Poem (Ephesians 5)” by Helen Webb

Get your copy here and use code: outoflinefreeshippingjmrk for free shipping on any order from the Renewelry store.

[argotmagazine-blog]

Dreaming in Silver

There is a figure at the edge of the playground, standing perfectly still and silent. Were it not for the little tells—the way the October wind teases her hair, ripples her dress—she very well might be part of the architecture, like the benches or the swing set. That’s the trouble with being human. There will always be little clues that reveal our humanity.

There is only one family remaining at the park. The time for visiting parks is nearly over; winter is just around the corner. Yet the children run, shouting and laughing while they skin their knees. At first, they do not pay the figure any mind. After a while, the oldest child, a girl of about ten, stops and stares.

“Holy shit,” she says. Her mother shouts “Young lady!” from the picnic table where she watches, wearily and warily. “Sorry, Momma!” the girl responds.

As she approaches the figure, there is wonder in her eyes. “You’re real,” she says. More a statement of fact, than a question.

The figure does not move, does not respond. She is tall, silver from head to toe, her face hidden behind a masquerade mask. A basket is clutched in her hands, and at her feet, a bowl with a few loose bills inside.

By this point, her three brothers have joined her. They stand in wonder around the figure.

“Move!” says the youngest, his pudgy cheeks flushed with excitement.

“She can’t move,” the sister responds. “She’s one of those statue things.”

“I’m gonna kick her,” says one of the middle children, matter-of-factly and without malice.

The sister shoots an arm out, glaring at her brother. “Don’t you touch her.”

“But she won’t move!”

“That’s her job, dummy!”

They stand around her for a while, debating the finer points of the statue’s existence, with particular focus on what kind of weirdo would go stand in an almost-empty park painted head-to-toe in silver? They lose interest after a while, and they return to the playground. That’s one of the joys of childhood; things may be transient, may hold attention for only a moment, but children lose none of their joy from the friction of brevity.

Soon enough with his siblings distracted, the youngest child approaches. He looks up at the silver woman. There is real wonder on his face.

“She’s a fairy,” he says to no one in particular, his voice painted with awe. His grubby fist unclenches, releasing a handful of pennies and one nickel hitting the bottom of the bowl.

Slowly, the statue lowers herself down to the boy’s level, reaching into her basket. There, on her outstretched palm, is a small scroll tied with a purple ribbon. He takes it in the greedily curious way of children. The statue smiles, putting a finger to her lips, and then returns to the same pose she has held all morning.

Of course, he does not heed her request for secrecy. He runs towards his older siblings, shouting, “She moved, she moved!”

“Bullshit!” says his sister, earning another “Young lady!” from their mother, this one more forceful. “Sorry, Momma, but he’s lyin’ again!”

“I ain’t lyin’, she moved!” he insists. “She gave me this!”

As the siblings gather around to look at the little scroll and she is sure that there are no wandering eyes to witness, the corners of the silver woman’s lips—my lips—turn into a smile once again.

***

When I was a little kid, I went to California for the first time. I remember two things about that trip. The first was I was told I would earn “my wings” on the flight. Three-year-old me was dazzled by visions of getting to run around San Francisco with full-size Buzz Lightyear wings. It was a bit of a blow to discover said “wings” comprised of a little metal pin. Nonetheless, I wore it with pride. Besides, I got to see inside the cockpit and even sit in the pilot’s seat, which was a pretty great consolation prize.

The second thing that I remember was the statue. There standing near a fountain, surrounded by pigeons, was a man. He was painted bronze from the tip of his top hat to the toes of his shoes, and he stood stock-still. One of my parents slid a dollar into my hand and told me to offer it to him.

Timidly, I held out my open palm, and the statue jolted to life. He smiled down at me, performed a robotic dance during which he plucked the dollar from my hand. Then he returned to his stationary pose.

I was enchanted standing there with the statue towering above me, once again silent and still. I was in love.

Love later found me sharing a bed with another woman for nearly five years.  I figured my life was as good as over when I suddenly found myself sleeping on my best friend’s couch instead. A three-year engagement had crumbled nearly overnight. Now I was living out of a backpack and stealing food from Western Michigan University. I had not attended Western in three years, but that didn’t stop me from smuggling gallon freezer bags into their dining halls and walking out with enough spaghetti and stir fry to feed the multitudes outside Bethsaida.

To say I was somewhat despondent for the first few days would be an understatement. But soon after I had a revelation. My life falling apart meant my life no longer had any boundaries. I had nothing to lose. I was free to do all of the stupid, wonderful bullshit I always wanted to do and never been able to due to domestic obligation. So, I ordered a silver wig and makeup online, took a trip to Goodwill for clothes which I then covered in silver spray paint. I was reborn.

I remember the odd looks I got the first day I dressed up; the bus driver looking at me with suspicion as I, silver from top to bottom, sat with a basket full of scrolls in my lap. Kalamazoo, Michigan is a pretty small city so far as cities go. While you see plenty of weird things on the buses—I once saw a woman carrying a stack of no less than five VCRs—my appearance was certainly novel.

For someone who’s always wormed her way into the spotlight, I’ve always had a hard time when it comes to being noticed. I used to hide those insecurities behind eccentricities, things like wearing a top hat casually. Oddness had always been a shield. However as I felt people’s eyes trying to peel back my metallic layers, I realized that this was different. This new face that I had painted on, this new identity, was no shield. It was a shelter. The only difference, I realized, between a bridge and a wall is the angle from which it is built. I was no longer a stranger in a strange land, but part of the architecture of our world. I was humbled.

The first day, I decided to establish myself on Western’s campus. There was a certain kind of cosmic rhyme, I thought, returning to the school I had left. Only this time, I returned not as a student but as part of the campus landscape.

One of the interesting things about standing completely still, your only interaction with the world in your direct line of sight, is that you realize how little other people notice. As I stood by the flagpoles in the center of campus, hundreds of students passed me. Only a handful noticed me. I even saw one of my friends, who passed by less than ten feet away. When I asked him later about the statue, his puzzled response was “What statue?”

There’s something about the lack of acknowledgment that makes any attention or response morph into a holy act, a kind of communion. I stood there on the first day for maybe four or five hours and earned about ten dollars. Each rumpled bill was worth far more than any paycheck I ever received.

On the way back to my friend’s apartment, I was accosted by a group of Jehovah's Witnesses who were apparently delighted by me. They laughed and tried to get me to talk. My silence only seemed to excite them more. They didn’t offer any change, but eventually they did give me some literature. The concern for my mortal soul did not go unappreciated.

When I arrived back at my friend’s apartment, I began to sob, my tears cutting streaks through my silver makeup. They were not the hard, razor-edged tears that I cried every night since the breakup, but a fountain of raw joy. It was, I realized, the first time I had really felt alive in more than a year.

And so she came to be.

The original name I came up with was “The Tarnished Poet.” But after my best friend posted a blurry picture of me walking through her backyard with no context online, the good people of Facebook bestowed upon me a much simpler (and far less pretentious) moniker. “The Silver Lady.”

My first name came from the core of my performance. I would go to the used bookstore in the basement of the library, find poetry books that looked as if they had been there the longest. I especially enjoyed finding local poetry collections that had been printed, and then forgotten, years ago. My favorite was a chapbook of poems by fifth graders that had been published sometime in the early Aughts. I would then gently tear out each poem, roll it into a scroll, and tie it with a ribbon. For everything that was placed in the bowl at my feet, be it a handful of bills or a single penny, I would hand the person a poem. One day, a child gave me a piece of candy. They received a poem in return.

Art does not exist in isolation. It is a metaphysical conversation. Acting as a gateway for these fragments of writing, the little pieces of themselves strangers poured onto paper, made me feel connected to everything around me in a new and humbling way. For as long as I could remember, it had been my dream to change the world. There in those moments handing out scrolls, I realized we change the world every day. It’s not the magnitude of our impact, but the grace with which we move.

On perhaps the second or third day, a girl timidly dropped a dollar into my bowl. She shuffled away quickly as soon as I handed her a poem. About a half hour or so later, she returned. Tears shone in her eyes as she smiled and met my gaze, which she had not done before. She said “thank you” before dropping a five dollar bill at my feet and scuttling off. It was the only money I made that afternoon. I never felt richer than I did that day.

However as nice as it would be to pretend the money didn’t matter at all, we unfortunately live in a reality where that is not the case. My attempts to find an actual job were fruitless. With no steady income, there was no way for me to get an apartment of my own. Ultimately, I ended up in the homeless shelter due to my presence in my best friend’s apartment causing conflicts with her roommate. The details of that stay are a tale for another day. Suffice it to say it was a nightmare. Yet there was a shimmer of hope even then. As I left the shelter each morning, I would don my true refuge, painting my face and putting on my mask and stepping out into the cold. Even as the first winds of winter whipped around me, I felt safe in my silver skin.

My body had long been a source of shame and fear for as far as my memory reaches back; a treacherous scrapyard I needed to navigate with care to avoid slicing myself open against my own sharp edges. The dysphoria flowing through my veins turned my body into a broken down carnival of fear and loathing.

But to stand there, silver, silent and still, my only purpose simply being, was an exercise in existence. I could feel my atoms touch those of everything around me. For the first time I did not feel apart from the world, but a part of it. I felt like a tiny grain of sand somewhere along the shores of time. That smallness did not make me feel worthless or insignificant. It made me feel humbled.

There were no screams of anguish from between my legs, no worries about how much I weighed or how my body occupied space. After all, a statue’s only purpose is to exist, to take up space, to be exactly what it is. For the first time, my body became not a straight-jacket but an instrument. I had been acting and performing since high school, but this was something different. It was a becoming, a transfiguration. I was not playing a statue. I was the statue, a sculpture I carved from my own flesh. I transformed the raw elements of my body into something that made me feel real and beautiful.

After I secured an actual job, I did not stop standing on street corners. When I eventually did, it was due to the weather when it became too frigid to perform safely. I’ll admit there were a few days where I should not have been out in the elements but gave myself freely to them nonetheless. It was my statueing, in conjunction with a fundraiser one of my friends set up, that allowed me to finally escape the shelter. At the shelter, we were required to relinquish our paychecks to the management. So I carefully kept the money I made performing in a folded sock. Eventually, I scraped together enough for a down payment on a place. Hand in hand with my silver lover, we broke free.

We made plans to take the bus to Chicago and perform there, but they were cut short by an accident. I landed in a wheelchair for about four months. As a result, I still walk with a cane, and it has left our future together an uncertain. I do not know if I will ever be able to stand unfettered the way I once did before. But I know that I trust her to guide me where I am supposed to go.

She is a part of me, of course. There is no Silver Lady without a V.F. Thompson. But she is also something far greater than an outward manifestation of myself. She is my savior. She danced my way in a metallic dream and offered her palm. It would be easy to say that she saved my life, but I think that’s only half-true. In many ways she killed me. I am not the woman I was when I first painted my face and stepped out into the world. Nor is the life I am living the life I lived then. She taught me that we live and die a thousand times before we leave this world. It’s how we come back to life that truly defines us.

The first time I dipped a sponge in silver powder and put it to my lips, her mouth pressed against mine and breathed the universe into my lungs. Every beat of my heart sends liquid metal swirling through my veins.

What a joy it is, she whispered to me, to simply be.

V.F. Thompson is a Mid Michigan-based writer of odd curiosities and curious oddities. Though she lives mostly in the realm of fantasy, she occasionally dabbles in real life. When not writing, she enjoys comic books, trying new recipes, and a well-brewed cup of Earl Grey. She currently resides in Kalamazoo, which she assures you is a real place. Follow her on Tumblr, Twitter, and Facebook.

[lecameleontv]

Titre V.O. : The Pretender [Official Website] Titre V.F. : Le Caméléon

Projet 2024. La série a été rediffusée à partir du lundi 27 juin 2022 sur 6ter à la TV française. à 16h20. Elle a été également rediffusée (2021/2022) à la TV U.S..

Créateurs : Steven Long Mitchell et Craig Van Sickle

Création Consultant :  Rick Wallace et  Chris Ruppenthal

Scénaristes : Tommy Thompson (13 épisodes), Javier Grillo-Marxuach (3 épisodes), Juan Carlos Coto (11 épisodes), Mark M. Dodson (7 épisodes), Harry Dunn (6 épisodes), Lawrence Meyers (6 épisodes), Daniel Trully (6 épisodes), Dave Alan Johnson, Andrew Dettmann (5 épisodes), Tony Blake (3 épisodes), Paul Jackson (3 épisodes), Kimberly Costello (2 épisodes), Tyler Bensiger (2 épisodes), Chris Ruppenthal (2 épisodes) ...

Réalisation : Frederick King Keller (20 épisodes), James Whitmore Jr (8 épisodes), Terrence O'Hara (7 épisodes), Chuck Bowman (6 épisodes), Rodney Charters (5 épisodes), Steven Long Mitchell (5 épisodes), Michael Lange (4 épisodes), Scott Lautanen (4 épisodes), Michael Zinberg (3 épisodes), Joe Napolitano (3 épisodes), Ian Toynton (2 épisodes), Vern Gillum (2 épisodes), Krishna Rao (2 épisodes), Michael Klick (2 épisodes), Rick Wallace (1 épisode),  Gabrielle Beaumont (1 épisode), Jon Koslowsky (1 épisode), Jesús Salvador Treviño (1 épisode), Thomas J. Wright, Jim Charleston, Oscar L. Costo, Charles Siebert, Anson Williams, David Jackson, ...

1er Assistant Réalisateur :  Michael Klick (25 épisodes)

Producteurs : Marianne Canepa (58 épisodes), Jan DeWitt (15 épisodes), Juan Carlos Coto (12 épisodes), Daniel Trully (12 épisodes), Andrew Dettmann (12 épisodes), Michael Klick (3 épisodes), Jon Koslowsky (3 épisodes), Rick Wallace (1 épisode) ...

Producteurs délégués : Steven Long Mitchell et Craig Van Sickle , Fred King Keller, Juan Carlos Coto (22 épisodes), Tommy Thompson (3 épisodes), Jan DeWitt (22 épisodes), Daniel Truly, Andrew Dettmann, Michael Klick (7 épisodes), Rick Wallace (1 épisode) ...

Producteur co-délégués : Tommy Thompson (55 épisodes), Ian Toynton (11 épisodes), Mark M. Dodson (3 épisodes)

Producteur superviseur : Kimberly Costello (7 épisodes), Juan Carlos Coto (3 épisodes), Daniel Trully (3 épisodes), Andrew Dettmann (3 épisodes)

Producteur consultant : Tony Blake (22 épisodes), Paul Jackson (22 épisodes)

Direction de la photographie : Rodney Charters (3 épisodes)

Edition : Scott Boyd (21 épisodes), Jon Koslowsky, Javier Grillo-Marxuach Editeur délégué :  Lawrence Meyers

Direction de la distribution : Tory Herald (saison 2), Sharon Bialy (saison 2 à 4), John A. Aiello (saison 4)...

Nb de saisons : 4 Incursions/Crossovers : Profiler (3) Nb de TVfilms : 2 (Caméléon contre Caméléon / L’Antre du Diable) Nb de romans : 2 (Renaissance / Saving Luke) Nb de roman graphique : 1

Où voir les acteurs cette semaine à la TV française ?

Distribution principale :  Michael T Weiss --- Jarod Andrea Parker --- Mlle Parker Patrick Bauchau --- Sydney Jon Gries --- Broots Richard Marcus --- Dr Raines Paul Dillon --- Angelo Ryan Merriman --- Jarod enfant/adolescent Ashley Peldon --- Mlle Parker enfant Harve Presnell --- M. Parker James Denton --- Lyle Pamela Gidley --- Brigitte

Distribution secondaire/Invités exceptionnels :  Alex Wexo --- Sydney jeune Willie Gault --- le nettoyeur Willie Sam Ayers --- le nettoyeur Sam Kim Myers --- Margaret, la mère de Jarod Jason Brooks --- Thomas Christopher Tyler --- Ethan Jeffrey Donovan --- Kyle Darren Kennedy --- George Stamatis George Lazenby --- le major Charles Zachary Brown --- Kyle enfant Jonathan Osser ---  Keene Curtis --- Fenigor Kelsey Mulrooney --- Debbie Amir AboulEla --- le nettoyeur Gar Leigh Taylor Young --- Michelle Stamatis Lenny Von Dohlen --- M. Cox Leland Orser --- Argyle Marisa Petroro --- Emily Jake Lloyd --- Timmy Haley Joel Osment --- Davey Simpkins

Le Centre -

Saison 1 : Épisodes 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 22.  Saison 2 : Episodes 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 09 - 10 - 11 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22. Saison 3 : Episodes 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 17 - 20 - 22. Saison 4 : Episodes 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 18 - 19 - 20. Téléfilm n°1 - Téléfilm n°2.

Rediffusion U.S. de la série sur H&I en 2019/2020/2021. Rediffusion Fr de la série sur 6ter en 2022, sur AB1 en 2021 et RTL9 de 2019 à 2021.

Culture Générale -

Date présentation 2001 : 41ème Festival de la Télévision de Monte-Carlo.

source : imdb

[v-f-thompson]

V.F. Thompson is a Mid Michigan-based writer of odd curiosities and curious oddities. Though she...

[shock-n-awe-book-blog]

☆☆☆ INSTAGRAM GIVEAWAY ☆☆☆ ➡ FOURTEEN Romances & $100 Amazon Gift Card could be yours! ENTER NOW ♥https://www.ellewoodspr.com/instaromancegiveaway All you have to do is follow the authors on instagram & sign up! Mountain Darkness by Vanessa Vale Calla's Kitchen by Teresa Crumpton Trapped by Alison Aimes Missed: Rafael and Lisa by Tess Thompson Bulletproof Butterfly by Anna Brooks Cyclone by Janie Crouch His Broken Princess by V.F. Mason In Too Deep by LK Shaw Kiss a Girl in the Rain by Nancy Warren Sol by Leslie McAdam Better With You by Gianna Gabriela Winter Eve by Lia Davis On His Six by Patricia D. Eddy Scorched by Misty Malloy  ENTRANTS WILL BE SIGNED UP FOR EACH AUTHORS' NEWSLETTER AND THE ROMANCE NEWSLETTER HOSTED BY L. WOODS PR. YOU CAN UNSUBSCRIBE AT ANY TIME. EBOOKS WILL BE SENT TO THE WINNER DIRECT TO KINDLE. WINNER MUST PROVIDE HIS/HER KINDLE ADDRESS AND APPROVE @ELLEWOODSPR.COM TO HIS/HER SAFE SENDERS LIST. CONTEST CLOSES ON FEBRUARY 16TH. https://www.instagram.com/p/B8RPZe2gY4F/?igshid=112vf2kmfgf4d

[bugheadistheendgame]

#Repost @mcadam_leslie with @get_repost ・・・ ➡ FOURTEEN Romances & $100 Amazon Gift Card could be yours! ENTER NOW ♥ https://www.ellewoodspr.com/instaromancegiveaway All you have to do is follow the authors on instagram & sign up! Mountain Darkness by Vanessa Vale Calla's Kitchen by Teresa Crumpton Trapped by Alison Aimes Missed: Rafael and Lisa by Tess Thompson Bulletproof Butterfly by Anna Brooks Cyclone by Janie Crouch His Broken Princess by V.F. Mason In Too Deep by LK Shaw Kiss a Girl in the Rain by Nancy Warren Sol by Leslie McAdam Better With You by Gianna Gabriela Winter Eve by Lia Davis On His Six by Patricia D. Eddy Scorched by Misty Malloy ENTRANTS WILL BE SIGNED UP FOR EACH AUTHORS' NEWSLETTER AND THE ROMANCE NEWSLETTER HOSTED BY L. WOODS PR. YOU CAN UNSUBSCRIBE AT ANY TIME. EBOOKS WILL BE SENT TO THE WINNER DIRECT TO KINDLE. WINNER MUST PROVIDE HIS/HER KINDLE ADDRESS AND APPROVE @ELLEWOODSPR.COM TO HIS/HER SAFE SENDERS LIST. CONTEST CLOSES ON FEBRUARY 16TH. https://www.instagram.com/p/B8K9TTOgLOw/?igshid=1okio0g0y6iwq

[dianaspa]

Yalitza Aparicio es nuevamente portada de una prestigiosa revista, sólo que en esta ocasión aparece acompañada de grandes actores de Hollywood, quienes muestran a la industria de hoy y de mañana.

    Además, no se trata de cualquier revista, pues en esta ocasión aparecerá en la edición especial por el aniversario 25 de Vanity Fair.

  En la portada, divulgada esta mañana a través de redes sociales, Yalitza aparece al lado de Nicholas Hoult, Regina King y��Rami Malek, en una de las fotografías principales.

    The 25th Vanity Fair Hollywood Issue is here. V.F. teamed up with three-time Academy Award–winning cinematographer Emmanuel “Chivo” Lubezki to capture, in eloquent motion, the Hollywood of today and tomorrow #VFHollywood https://t.co/pEz6DP8y06 pic.twitter.com/03MpkzHIZ9

— VANITY FAIR (@VanityFair) 24 de enero de 2019

    La edición por el 25 aniversario de Vanity Fair dedicada a Hollywood ha llegado. La revista tuvo la colaboración del tres veces ganador del Premio de la Academia por su trabajo fotográfico, Emmanuel el “Chivo” Lubeski, quien capturó con mucha elocuencia el movimiento y al Hollywood de hoy y de mañana.

  En las imágenes también puede verse a otros actores como Saoirse Ronan, Timothée Chalamet, Chadwick Boseman, John David Washington, Elizabeth Debick, Nicholas Hoult, Tessa Thompson y Henry Golding.

    “It has been a source of pride and hope for many people to see someone that looks like me —an indigenous person— starring in an Oscar-winning director’s film,” says Roma star Yalitza Aparicio. #VFHollywood https://t.co/pEz6DP8y06 pic.twitter.com/ulfzIdn9YD

— VANITY FAIR (@VanityFair) 24 de enero de 2019

    “Ha sido una fuerte de orgullo y esperanza para muchas personas ver a alguien que se ve como yo —una mujer indígena— protagonizar una película dirigida por un director que ha ganado el Oscar”, dijo la estrella de Roma, Yalitza Aparicio.

  Sin duda Yalitza sigue llenándonos de orgullo con todo el trabajo que está haciendo.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey I might've missed it but what's the name of your panel at mblgtacc?

yeah I’m p sure workshop names haven’t been dropped yet anyway but it’s called Better Than Normal: A Crash Course Guide to Sexual Self Worth

also key thing: not a panel!! I’m the only one talking lmao

also psst I don’t know what their titles are but you’re really going to want to look into the workshops facilitated by Nathan Nguyen, Vivian Thompson (or possibly V.F. Thompson, I’m not sure which she submitted it under), and Jaclyn Brett 

[themightyblogfr]

Mr & Mrs X #1

Critique de Mr & Mrs X #1 - lorsque deux X-Men s'en vont en lune de miel, forcément cela ne peut pas bien se passer !

Suite à la mini-série Rogue & Gambit naît cette série régulière basée sur le couple fraîchement marié. Kelly Thompson et Oscar Bazaldua nous racontent alors comment s’est déroulé leur mariage et leur lune de miel. En revanche, lecteurs et lectrices de V.F., je vous invite à ne pas en lire plus afin de ne pas vous gâcher certaines intrigues lues dans d’autres titres X-Men. (more…)

[mabelhub]

#MHXClusiveCelebrities:Let's give a warm welcome to @JuliaRoberts, who recently joined @Instagram! 🦋 Photograph by Michael Thompson for V.F. December 2007. #MabelHub #XclusiveCelebrities #celebrities #CelebrityLifestyles #CelebrityLife

[peachy-keen-glam-queen]

Strings by V.F. Thompson

[peachy-keen-glam-queen]

The Circus of Sin and Scintillation by V.F. Thompson