#murphy's advice column

[faunusrights]

murphy's guide to uuuuuh writing objects/places/locations and things (because two whole people asked)

greetings. this guide may or may not help you, as is true of all guides and advice and tips and tricks. but it helped me, and since i'm the protagonist of this blog this is my definitive guide. it shrimply may not be yours. mileage may vary. that said, allow me to give you said advice in the hopes that it does, in fact, aid you,

so when i was a tiny tater tot you know what i hated writing? descriptions. a lot of people really hate it and so did i, because descriptions were just these big blocks of text that got in the way of the FUN STUFF. you know; the plot! the dialogue! the characters! and i see a lot of writers who, to this day, find themselves writing reams and reams of dialogue with no way of knowing where characters are or what they're doing/holding/interacting with, and even if they do explain, it tends to be a few lines like 'they're in the living room' or 'they're sitting on a chair' like we're directing a film.

[INT. CAFE] they are sitting in some chairs by a table. i'll let the props department decide what kind.

the reality is, you are trying to weave a world in which your reader can step into, and a big part of that is writing the uh. the world. and a few years ago i had a revelation that made writing scenes and descriptions so much fun that it's honestly now my favourite part of writing, and a huge part of this realisation comes from my work as a visual artist. so, i'm going to explain The Box.

now, i want to stress that The Box was not my creation. rather, that honour goes to eric hibbeler and his tutorial eric's thoughts on drawing backgrounds and props, which i'll add a link to in a reblog/reply so tumblr doesn't cast this post into the shadow realm (thanks, tumblr!) but the guide he made also applies to writing with just a bit of tweaking, and i'm gonna explain how.

this cardboard box is just a cardboard box, and it's likely the sort of box you're imagining if i say the words a cardboard box. it's nondescript and pretty generic, and in a scene that calls for a cardboard box, it'll do the job! when we write, describing stuff like the chair or the window or the carpet is vague enough that the reader will, usually, just fill in the visual gap with what their interpretation of the chair or the window or the carpet is. for all you know, their mental image of the scene uses the carpet from the shining! but the thing is, YOU, the writer, may have a WILDLY different vision on the carpet (or chair/window/box etc.) and that's where you need to step in and get SPECIFIC about details.

here is a different take on the same box. we've gotten much more specific about the box's history here; it's been used in a move or for storage at some point, it's been kicked around, taped up, taped down, put a in puddle at one point, had a cat give it a few scratches... it's not that many changes, not really, but the box has--say it with me--character.

character, by definition, means the aggregate of features and traits that form the individual nature of some person or thing. what some writers tend to do, however, is forget this word applies just as much to inanimate objects as it does to the people in their stories. we give characters a lot of, well... character, and forget entirely about the things around them having just as (much if not more) to define them.

in essence, what changed my approach to writing places and locations and backgrounds was the realisation was these are also characters in my scene, with just as much contribution to the plot and the information being provided as any individual person in the same instance. it was only when i realised how important adding such character in visual art was that i realised the same applied to writing!

let's take, for instance, a bedroom in which two characters are holding a conversation. you may be tempted to keep your details sparse except for things that are directly plot relevant because you want to get on with the good bits, i.e. the talk itself, but what you can use the bedroom for is to tell information about the owner or resident without having to outline it in exposition. this is where getting good at giving character to spaces becomes very powerful as a tool.

Velvet's bedroom wasn't much to look at; a double-bed, a desk to edit her photos at, and a few pictures of her family and friends on the walls. Still, she sits down on her bed and invites Blake to do the same.

In this instance, a reader gets the general gist of the location--it's a bedroom with bedroom-typical things in it--but the room lacks any characters or specificity, which sticks out for narrative reasons because velvet is full of character; her bedroom would be the same! so, we have to build on what her bedroom would actually be like in order to build its character and define velvet without directly saying what she's like as a person:

Velvet's bedroom was in disarray, as ever; she hadn't made her bed because she wasn't really expecting guests, and her desk was littered with all her photography gear from SD cards to lenses to all her cleaning supplies. A few last-ditch attempts to make the place look a little more organised took the form of straightening out all her framed pictures of her family and friends that took up all the wall space she could spare, dusting off her big pride flag over her bed before she plopped herself down, straightening out her duvet before inviting Blake to sit next to her with a smile.

now, the bedroom has prominence as its own source of information: we understand that velvet isn't really a tidy person by nature; photography is a big enough part of her life to dominate her personal space; her family and her friends are important to her; her identity is also a large component of her personality; she likes to try and give her guests a better impression even if it's half-assed. and we covered all that without velvet actually having to say any of that information out loud! wow!

normally, of course, i'd lace that information in a little more subtly and over a few paragraphs rather than in one big dump, but the effect is the same; when a space has character, you can treat it as a character that has just as much importance to a scene as the dialogue or the interactions two people have.

this concept can be applied to a single prop, like a box or a camera or a desk or the like, and can also be applied to a much bigger location, like a park or a school or a house or more. the idea is that often, things are never just in their generic form, but have history that impacts the way it looks or defines the person or people who interact with it.

you wouldn't write these two playgrounds in exactly the same way; they both have a swing, a slide, a bench, a sign, and a tree... but depending on how you write it, one has a kind of character for a setting, narrative, or larger location that's way different to the other! this ends up defining your wider world, too; maybe one playground is nice and new because the council got the funding they asked for, but the other is in an area known for having little investment? in the end, were these two parks humanised, they'd likely be people with very different personalities; that's the sort of approach you should have!

the TL;DR of this whole thing is that description is not the part where you start listing off items in the room or the building or the location just so your reader has a vague idea of where they are, but an opportunity to turn that space into a person who has a whole bunch to say about the people who are frequently present. you can even see this in action by writing the differences between, say, your bedroom and the bedroom of your sibling/parent/friend; chances are, they're VERY different spaces that represent two very different people! this is also true of a kitchen, your home, your school, your campus, or your workplace; the office of someone who works in IT won't look like the office of someone who works in accounting, even if they share a lot of qualities and items.

ultimately, think of the humble Box; sure, a regular cardboard box might suffice to give the reader an idea of what's in a scene, but when we give that Box a personality of its own, suddenly that Box has a lot to say about the person who owns it--and not all of them may be good!

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 13)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Two weeks had passed and you had almost moved on with your life which did not involve your family. 

Your mother had kicked you out of her own house following your tryst with Cillian. But as luck would have it, your cousin Lukas had offered you a place to stay after Emma's parents too would not allow you to remain at their family home for more than a week.

You had to find a job quickly to sustain yourself and fortunately, you managed to secure employment at a local bookstore. The hours were flexible, and they paid decently, making your living situation somewhat manageable under these circumstances.

School, however, had to give way to your new lifestyle and you chose to transfer to college in the evening in an attempt to finish your education.

As far as Cillian was concerned, you had not heard from him since that afternoon, leaving you in a state of limbo regarding your relationship status with him.

From the local papers, you since learned that he had finally left Danielle and was now publicly fighting for custody of his son Max who the columns claimed was not his actual son at all.

Yet none of this mattered as you sat there staring blankly into space, haunted by memories and regret. Overwhelmed by guilt and confusion, you tried to block out the past few months - how you became entangled in such a mess with no future, only moments spent locked away from the world. But, it wasn’t easy. It felt as though the entire universe conspired to punish you for daring to experience passion beyond societal norms, yet you continued searching deep inside yourself for answers that wouldn't come easily.

You were pregnant with Cillian's child and an abortion was not currently something you could afford emotionally nor financially, forcing you to confront your reality alone. For the first time in years, the choices you made seemed to echo hollowly in your ears as you attempted to navigate this complex web of deceit, betrayal, and self-discovery.

"Em, I do not know what to do," you admitted honestly, breaking down in tears as she visited you, just like she did every day after you finished work. 

Emma pulled you close, offering comfort as she held you tight.

"We're going to figure this out together," she assured you reassuringly, wiping away your tears. "But I honestly think that you need to tell Cillian," Emma added cautiously. "He has a right to know."

Her advice struck a chord in you, causing you to sit upright and nod thoughtfully.

"I asked him if he could meet, about a week ago, and he never got back to me, Em!" you said, feeling worthless and unwanted.

"He is going through a lot himself and he doesn't know about you carrying his child. Maybe you should try and give him a call again?" Emma interjected, attempting to mediate.

Despite Emma's suggestion, you remained hesitant, unsure whether reaching out to Cillian was the right decision. Nevertheless, you decided to pick up your phone and call him regardless of the consequences.

After a series of rings, someone else picked up on the other end – a stranger.

“Hello, can I speak to Cillian please?” you asked politely, trying hard to maintain composure amidst growing anxiety.

"Who am I speaking to?" replied the unfamiliar voice, curiosity evident in her tone.

”This is Y/N and I really need to speak with him,” you introduced yourself, taking a deep breath in preparation for what might follow. “Is Cillian available, please?” you begged and, just after you did, there was silence on the line for several seconds before the woman spoke up again.

"So, you are the homewrecker?" she snarled bitterly, anger radiating from her voice.

You flinched upon hearing those harsh words directed at you. You didn't expect the person answering Cillian's phone to actually know who you were, but then again, you did not know about the woman on the other line either.

"Listen, my brother isn't available. Don't call again. Please don't bother him anymore," came the venomous reply. Taken aback by the hostility, you couldn't understand why she reacted so aggressively when you hadn't even spoken poorly of Cillian. After a momentary pause, you found your voice.

"Actually, it's important we talk, whether you like it or not," you stated resolutely, ignoring the sharp edge in her voice. There was another brief silence followed by a mocking laughter that broke the air.

"Listen sweetheart, Cillian is going through legal proceedings against his wife, Danielle, because of you. He should not be speaking to you and if you call this phone again, I will provide you with a cease-and-desist letter on my brother's behalf. Any further contact will be considered as harassment, " she threatened ominously making you realise that the woman on the other end of the line was not only Cillian's sister, but also his solicitor, handling his custody case. 

You recalled having met her at the funeral a few weeks ago. Her name was Alison and she worked at one of the largest law firms in Dublin. 

As the conversation progressed, it became apparent that she despised you with an intensity that took you off guard. To make matters worse, she insisted you ceased communication with Cillian altogether. This was problematic considering she served as both Cillian's attorney and sister, putting her in a unique and potentially influential position.

You struggled to comprehend the full extent of your predicament until now. How were you supposed to inform Cillian about the child growing inside you without incurring the wrath of his sister?

It appeared impossible. Nonetheless, you had to reach out somehow, eventually, and hope for understanding from both sides despite their conflicted history.

As days turned into weeks, you grew increasingly anxious and restless, worrying constantly about how you were going to break the news to Cillian as the dire three-month mark drew nearer and you had yet another appointment with a local social worker to discuss your situation.

She offered you both, a community funded loan to carry out the procedure you needed or the option of putting you in touch with an adoption agency so that, further down the track, you could give up your child if you desired to do so.

Although it may seem cruel, it seemed practical and logical in light of your situation and, in the end, even Emma agreed with you on that front. The idea that you could choose whether or not to become a parent appealed to your desire for control over your destiny. However, this was easier said than done. Having a baby meant drastically altering your course forever, but you also knew that, not having the baby, might cause you regret. 

The choice loomed large, casting its shadow over your daily existence. You frequently found yourself pondering the gravity of your options while walking along the quiet streets surrounding your temporary residence late at night. You often stopped in your tracks, contemplating your fate as a result of your irresponsible actions.

Life seemed determined to play itself out according to the chaos you created. Every passing day brought you closer to facing the inevitable truth and this truth was now something you had to confront by yourself. Without the man who caused all this by your site. 

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[pretty-bluebird]

Hi, My name is Bluebird.

I realise I haven't done an introduction which is probably why people don't know to follow me or not, so here are some of my interests.

I love Lana Del Rey !!!!, web weaving, poetry, Cillian Murphy, May Jailer, Fleabag, Sally Rooney, Movies (La La Land #1), art, quotes, reading and many many more.

I blog about intimate thoughts, advice, missing lovers and loved ones, movies, music, Lana Del Rey.

I have an advice column I have started where u guys can ask question for advice or just to say something and I will do my best to respond 🫶

You can find me on Instagram (@dhurg4 (for me) @blu3b1rdie (for my art)), my Pinterest (Linked on profile) my Landing

[waywardimpalawriter]

“Kissing me breaks the promise… remember?" with Javier and can I please have a happy ending, I know it's angst prompts but.... :D Thank you!

Crazy Love

Pairing: Javier Peña x Plus Size Female Reader

Characters: Javier Peña, Steve Murphy, mentions Connie Murphy

Setting: After season one episode 7 ‘You will cry tears of blood’, five months after the events in ‘Heels’,

Rating: M (Mature), E (Explicit), NSFW, 18+ only please

Warnings: mentions of gun violence, almost killing a child, self hatred, smut, unprotected sex, Angry Javier (yes he needs a warning), angst, slight fluff at the end,

Summary: One slip up, reacting too quickly he could’ve ended the life of one way too young to fight the wars of old men. Thoughts filled with darkness, what if’s and self degradation. Wanting to loose himself in the only way he knows. To find because of you he can brave the dawn and the coming war.

Word count: 5,985 (with lyrics)

Notes: Thank you so much for the request sweetie, @autumnleaves1991-blog I hope you enjoy. Prompt in bold. The song used is ‘Crazy Love’ written by Van Morrison and preformed by various artists. This also a sequel to “Heel’s part 1” written some months back.

Tag List:

Forever’s: @chickensarentcheap @jedi-mando

Knuckles white with the grip he’s got on the steer wheel, eyes darting between the thin packed streets and Murphy with the baby in his arms. “What about the kid? Any ideas where to take her?”

Missing the shrug, with his eyes back on the road, “For now I’ll take her with us.” Smirk twitching his dark blond mustache with the look Javier pins him with at a stop light. “Don’t worry Javi she ain’t gonna stay with you. Poor darlin can’t live on whiskey and cigarettes. Though the parade of women might slow with her at your apartment.”

“There’s no parade jackass,” trying to focus on the road ahead and off what almost occurred three hours ago.

Subtle tick to his jaw knowing something’s bothering his partner about what went down. More to the point of how it went to shit and letting two high ranking Sicario slip through their fingers. “Wanna spill what’s eaten at you?”

“No just take care of the kid don’t need you play shrink in my head,” pulling up to the embassy, Javier kills the engine turning fully to look at Steve. “Care to share your explanation to Noonan or will you wing it?”

Shrugging Steve glances down into her sleepy eyes trying to figure out just what he’ll say. More importantly what he’s going to tell Connie. “I’m not,” looking back over at Peña seeing a raised brow. “I’ll take her home to Connie, figure out this shit as we go.”

“I’m sure Y/N would babysit,” mentioning you name cut deeply as the last month he’s put distance between the two of you. Continuing the relationship based solely on your sexual needs instead of the feeling he keeps buried.

“Doubtful, she’s working on transferring out. Packing I’m sure takes her time up right now,” seeing the scowling confusion drawing his brows down. “You knew she asked for a transfer right?”

“When?” Curses fill his mind. Directed fully at himself for letting the situation spiral out of control to the point you’ve become that notch on his bed post. Telling himself he’s going to let you go but never finding the courage to actually cut the strings. “She never mentioned taking a transfer. ”

The nights spent together you never mentioned a transfer. But then words rarely left either of your lips that’s not in passionate pleas wanting more or demands for completion. Conversations the first to go in the crumbling relationship, embraces followed not long after and the final straw added a month and a half ago. No kisses on the mouth anyway a promise you made him invoke to separate the past pleasures from the present stalemate.

Revisiting those thoughts often, Javier understood why you made the decision. One he hated but respected. Wondering most nights why you still let him inside your soft plush body instead of putting up a wall between the two of you. Shoving him out of your life fully. But then the transfer you didn’t speak of talked louder than any uttered words could.

“Two weeks ago, something about returning back to the States. Damn shame Y/N’s a fucking amazing secretary even better person. Why’d you go fuck things up for us both?” Wanting to knock some sense into Javier but a part of Steve understood the other man’s reasons for pushing you away. “Just let her go man this job she’s not fit nor can put up with the stress. I know I pushed at first but whatever you did to shover her away it’s for the best.”

“She’s a lot stronger than you know,” said more to himself than Steve. Other mans words hitting deeper than Javier would say, his fingers tightening around the leather steering wheel. “You don’t know shit Murphy.”

“I know a month ago things changed between the two of you.” Switching the baby to his other arm cradling her close to his chest. “Whatever happened she become withdrawn, stopped smiling as much,” piercing him with a hard stare. “Reverting back to the woman I first met when coming Bogota.” Glancing out the windshield Steve drag a hand over his face exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “ piece of advice either fess up explain what’s eaten at you or let her go.”

Selfishness claws at his mind wanting to keep you from leaving. From getting away not only from Columbia it’s self but from him. The realistic half needing you safe a world removed from the war starting to build back up. This afternoon’s events flash through his mind of how he almost killed a kid. A fucking kid who tried to protect the Sicario scum he chased and cornered. Would’ve had him had the kid not pulled a gun on him. The decision not to pull the trigger an easy one this time. But what about the next? Making him no better than the men he chases if he decided to take the shot so easily. Affirming those thoughts to let you go for your greater good and health.

“Javi?” Snapping fingers to gain his attention. “Deep in thought or just swimming the shallow waters?”

Scowl taking up home over his features, “Don’t worry about it doesn’t concern you.”

“Fuck you say, she’s my friend to Javi.” Shaking his blond head wondering how much pushing it’ll take before Peña would break. “Besides I think Connie has a good chance at kicking your ass if you do anymore damaged. She’s wanted to get her hooks into you for a while now.”

Almost chuckling at those words though it’s mirthless and self deprecating. “She’s next in line,” tossing the words out while starting the Jeep. Silence reigns on the drive over to their apartment, pulling up to the curb and letting Steve out.

Who pauses in the open door, “Heading to Y/N’s? Or back to the Embassy?”

“Paperwork,” impatiently waiting for Steve to shut the door.

Eager for some peace and time to think. He sees you standing in the doorway arms crossed under your generous breasts. For once actually studying your features taking in the fact you look somber, dressed in well loved jeans and baggy T-shirt. No makeup, though Javi told you a thousand times how beautiful you look without all those cosmetics painted on your face. Heart kicking up at the way your staring at him. Barely seen with you so far away but he knows there’s a softness shining in your eyes. Emotions he’s never tried to decipher in other women till you. Thoughts now run into each other, fears chasing after wanting so much but feeling undeserving.

Soft chuckle echos around the Jeep’s cabin making Javi glance at Steve, “Time better served explaining than useless paperwork.” Looking over his shoulder to find you gone, “Before it’s to late and she’s gone.” Door slamming shut, Steve leans in through the open window with a meaningful expression on his handsome face. Patting the inside slight nod of his blond head before turning to go inside leaving Javier with to many thoughts.

Pulling away from the curb happening to glance back towards the apartments catching you standing at the window. Hand pressed to the glass unreadable look on your face one he’s sure shows signs of displeasure and anger. With a blink your silhouette disappears heart clenching at the thought he’s just imagined you standing there. Another curse flies from his lip, palm forcefully slamming down on the steering column doing nothing to temper the anger boiling inside his mind. Instead Javier guns the engine taking off at a high rate of speed receiving numerous honks in irritated warning.

*************************

Letting the curtain fall back in place wild thumping of your heart pulsing out a rhythm that aches with every pound. Partly hating yourself for getting involved with a man incapable of having any kind of relationship other than sexual. Asking yourself why you keep letting him back into your bed, into your heart knowing it’ll just break in the end. Only one answer comes to mind and you push it firmly back into the dark abyss. Focusing on what you needed to done. Having struggled for the last two months with the decision to finally put in for a transfer home, away from Columbia and Javier Peña. Never an easy choice especially when you’ve fallen in love with a man who would never love you back.

Heavy knocking makes you jump in spot leaning against the wall by the window. Hand coming to rest against the quickly beating organ threatening to thump right outta your chest. Taking a breath trying to calm down from the freight you take small steps to eat up the distance towards the door. Another round of pounding has a scowl appearing wondering who would beat your door down at this time of evening.

“Hold your horses I’m comin’ already,” raising you voice loud enough to at least pause the noise.

Grasping the doorknob right when, “Hermosa,” his voice pulls your hand back almost as if the knob burned you with that very endearment. “Open up you can’t hide I know your there.”

“Go away Javier I’m not in the mood,” arms crossed glaring at the door. Pivoting on bare feet to track towards the kitchen going back to sorting through what your keeping and leaving behind. Freezing in place the unmistakeable sound of a key sliding into lock. Cursing the fact you never asked for the spare back and giving him one in the first place. Try as you might to make your feet move instead there rooted in spot when the door opens. “I didn't invite you in Javi turn your ass around and leave.”

Breath escaping quickly, eyes narrowing after searching the apartment he’s spent the last months in. Catching sight of half filled boxes, newspaper scattered over the coffee table, before landing on your furious features. Hands gripping wide hips, soft chin jutted out in annoyance while eyes spit anger burying the true feelings deep. “It’s true?”

“Why do you care?” Countering his words biting the inside of your cheek to keep tears from sliding coldly down your cooling skin. “Leave Javier,” exasperated and tired just wanting to move on, putting the relationship in the past.

Not two steps away his warm gun callused hand incloses around your wrist tugging and turning your plush body around to face him. “Not till you answer me.”

“We don’t talk about feelings remember Peña, your rules,” yanking your wrist free glare firmly in place.

Flinching at the harsh tone eyes scorching him with there intensity, his own somber and filled with regret. Deserving of those very words no matter how much they hurt. He moves forward for you to take one back reaching to grasp both shoulders. Taking another step out of his reach slow two step pattern finds your back pressed against the bar counter. Reminiscent of the first time you made love all those months ago. Except this time you’d stand strong push him away and not fall prey to those warm russet eyes filled with so many indescribable emotions.

“Stupid rule I never should’ve put in our relationship,” three feet of space between the two of you. Both chests heaving breaths eyes locked and searching. His eyes close drawing in your familiar scent letting it wash all the days stress clean for a single moment in time. Ear’s picking up the quick beating of your heart wishing as his eyes open a smile would bloom over those kissably soft lips.

“But you did and there’s no taking it back now,” firm stance starting to crumble under the weight of emotions filtering through his dark eyes.

Half way to reaching out his hands drop back to fist at his sides, “I’m sorry hermosa I didn’t mean…” unsure how to fix what’s broken. Never good at speaking his feelings even when the need presents its self.

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles

And the heavens open every time she smiles

And when I come to her that's where I belong

Yet I'm running to her like a river's song

“What’d want from me Javier?” Pleading tone arms crossed to close your body off. Putting up a defense against the one man who’s managed to crumble every wall surround your heart. To starve off the bubbling emotions threatening to spill over and consume you.

Closing the small gap, callused hands cup both cheeks, fingers spread from apples to jawlines. Brushing his thumbs under your eyes his own pleading and soft ‘the puppy’ look you nicknamed it two weeks into the relationship. “To kiss you.”

Swallowing harshly, “Kissing me breaks the promise… remember?" Willing your body not to react, not to turn and place kisses to his palm. Nuzzling the warmth drawing peace from his comforting touch. “We made rules you know how I feel about kissing Javi.”

Almost two months ago things started to fall apart. Always asking yourself why you still let him into your bed and body. Part of you knowing the space carved Javier hole in your heart will never close. Not even denying the both of you those intimate kisses could change the fact he’s wormed his way through defenses long held too fall in love with your DEA agent.

“I know mi amor,” sliding one hand down from your face to wrap his arm around your thick waist. Pulling you flush into his embrace and against his body. Turning the both of you so it’s his back pressed into the counter. Savoring the softness wishing you’d hold him. Run your fingers through his hair and chase away the stress currently resurfacing with your tense posture. “I don’t want you to leave.” No truer words spoken ones that cut his very soul with the implications of what could happen if he didn’t take Steve’s advice.

Agony rips a new hole in your heart at his words, at the endearment dripping from those sinful lips. “You don’t mean that.” Eyes close to keep from staring into russet browns. Trying not to give in and foolishly hope he means what he speaks.

“I do hermosa,” eyes popping open at the barest brush of his chapped lips against yours, widen orbs find his shut, brow furrowed. “I don’t want to loose you.”

“Javier,” breathlessly whispering his name. The intensity of Javi’s declaration scares you not wanting to believe for a second his words ring true. Not when so many broken promises lay at your feet. Yet, if there’s one thing you know about Javier Peña he’s honest, never lying to you about what he wanted. Holding back sure, not letting you in those tightly held defenses of his own fuck yes, but lie to you never. Those thoughts make others chase after. Ones that scare you into thinking you’ve made a huge mistake by asking for the transfer. Could you leave his man who holds your heart? Walk away from a relationship that’s possibly just hitting a rough patch? So engrossed in those thoughts you don’t realize he’s tipping your chin up to angle your head in the prefect position to slot his mouth over yours.

Javier’s restraint having snapped with his name slipping from your bitten lips, wanting to meld the two of you together in the only way he knows how. Showing you with his body what his words couldn’t express. Javier captures your mouth in a bruising kiss filled with demands. Teeth biting at your lips, dragging plump bottom in to abuse with nibbles and soothing over with his tongue. Harsh gasp blown from your mouth giving him access to the warm cavern. Drinking from your well, tasting your flavor on his tongue always returning for more. Tangling together as his arm tightens around your soft waist.

Garnering a moan of need from deep within your chest. Attacking his mouth with your own, fingers coming into play by carding through those thick mahogany strands tugging harshly. Receiving a growl in return that vibrates down to your very core clit throbbing in response to his rough actions.

Mouths parting to gather air, “I need you hermosa please,” desperation coloring his tone foreheads resting together. The hand still cupping your cheek slides around to gently cup the back of your head. “I need…” swallowing hard, fighting to keep from taking you hard and fast right there. Burying the fear and pain, the anger and worry into your soft gentle body. Letting you sooth the demons threatening to consume his soul. But he couldn’t, promising to never show that side of himself to you.

Those thoughts in mind Javier moves in to kiss you only to chase your mouth till you place fingers over his searching lips. Seeing a spark of need in he eyes that’s closed away before fully blooming. Leading you to remember a conversation the two of you had at the on set of your relationship. Knowing what he needed and how, you step back watching his features fall with his arms to the side.

Only to have confusion replace the crestfallen expression as you tug the t-shirt up and off your body. Standing in just your panties and jeans, “I told you a long time ago Javier I’m not made of glass this body…” hands gliding up from your waist to soft tummy and generous breasts. “Won’t break if your rough with me.” Heat sparking in eyes that will him to listen, give in and take you. “If I’m staying and we work this out you’ll have to let me in.”

Each word hits him hard square in the heart, “I don’t want to hurt you cariño.”

“You already have Javier,” head dropping you go to tug your shirt back on. Only to have it ripped from your hand and tossed somewhere unseen. That soft gasp making his heart beat triple time. Strong arms wrap around your body to bring you back into his warmth. “Fix what you broke.”

There’s no gentleness to the possessive kiss Javier captures your mouth with. Large warm hands grip your plush ass to press into your tummy the thick ridge of his jeans covered erection. Low growl slipping passed parted gasping lips that angle for the right spot to draw those whimpers and moans he can never get enough of. Separating long enough to have you rip his tan button up open, little plastic disks pinging off the wall and tiled floor. Scoring your short nails over his soft tummy, toying with the button of his jeans.

“Fuck,” hissing through kiss swollen lips that attack your neck with bitting teeth. Wanting to mark each inch of you in reminder to himself of who you derive your pleasure from. “Do that again,” demanding cadence gets a soft smirk to spread over your bitten lips.

Keeping your eyes lock, breath existing quickly because of the passionate kiss. Short nails rake up his chest and leave little red lines behind. Detouring to pinch his pebbled tight nipples receiving another low growl against the skin of your collarbone. Where his mouth sucks a purpling mark laving his tongue over the bruising skin. Enjoying the shutter he feels race down your spine.

Pushing the shirt from his shoulders Javier raises his head to stare into your desire darken eyes. “Fuck me Javier till I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Simple words ignite a passion and deep seated need inside his body to claim and wreak you. Clothing becomes nothing more than obstacles in the way of having naked skin against his own. The two of your fumbling with buttons and zippers. His parting on a sigh of relief as you push the fabric to pool around his ankles. Nimble fingers brushing through course little hairs. Leading your hand to wrap around his shaft. Thick girth barely covered by your hand that you pump along heated velvet skin.

Smirking at the groaning string of Spanish curses falling from his lips. Only replaced by the pout, when he brushes your hand away. Mouth still just inches from yours brushing taking another sip from your lips. Drowning in the taste of your mouth, the feel of your plump lips against his. Devouring the pout and only breaking to whisper, “Later princesa.” Toeing off boots and soak covered feet pressing out of jeans, naked as on his born day for your eyes to devour.

Becoming insnared with his beauty far too long for Javier’s liking. Lips licked slowly watching the bob of his jutting cock. Mouth watering in want of a taste. Quick breaths expanded his soft covered muscular chest your hands itch to dust over. His handsomeness distracting you to the point a squeal issues from the back of your throat when he pulls you by the belt loops towards the couch. Skilled fingers making quick work of getting your jeans undone warm palms sliding the fabric down your body.

Javier drops back into the couch bringing you between his spread knees and placing kisses to your tummy. Nuzzling the underside of your breasts. Looking up to ensnare your vision with his own desire filled gaze. Strong arms holding you in place while eyes close, nose rubbing into your soft scantly skin resting his head on your tummy. Hands coming up to card through his hair gently this time tugging the locks and wrapping his shoulders with your arms. Emotions clogging your throat burning with the need to release the tears of mixed feelings.

Moaning head tossing back when his warm tongue peeking out to teasing the taut nipples his hands tug your panties down. Becoming impatient and ripping the thin cotton from your body. Making you gasp and look down into those desire blacken eyes you choose happily to drown in. “You’ll…” swallowing your words on a moan as those thick skilled fingers draw through your folds. Tapping your clit several times and retreating to slide inside your clinching walls.

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She's got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down

And when I come to her when the sun goes down

Take away my trouble, take away my grief

Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

“I’ll buy you more cariño and go with you to help pick out certain ones,” giving you a cheeky wink. Groaning with the feel of slick coating his fingers, smirk in place when your hands brace on his shoulders to keep from tipping over into his arms. Pulling his fingers out to suck them clean making sure your watching his every move. The resounding whimper he draws out brings the same smug grin too tug at his lips. Gripping the back of your thick thighs to spread your stance and slot his own knees between.

Pulling you down against him knees on either side of his thighs. Hiss issued at the contact of your dripping folds coating his shaft trapped between your bodies. Rolling hips to tease your own hands gripping the back of the couch to brace yourself while raising up. Deep moan breaks from your chest when Javier draws the fat cock head through your folds. Circling your clit as your hips match the movements. Waiting till he’s notched himself at your entrance before slamming down against him.

Head tossing back at the stretch and burn of him splitting you open gasps of delight echo and play with the groans from Javier. Who grips your hips, holding you against him for a time face buried in your chest. Hot mouth searching out blindly latching onto your right nipple to bite down just hard enough to make your quivering channel squeeze him tightly.

“Fuck,” single word mumbled against your skin. When you start to move setting a quick pace that’s hard and demanding. Head dropping back between your gripping hands. String of curses and praise leave his lips. “Just like that hermosa, so fucking wet for me,” grunting into your mouth that came to fuss to his. Sharing breaths while you move against his body.

Taking possession of his pleasure with a kiss that’s deep and hungry. Devouring the sounds he makes with each quick roll of your hips. Pressing your generous breasts against the hard plains of his chest, nipples brushing his skin as his own hands grip your thick soft waist. Leaving behind bruises with how tightly he holds you. One hand gliding over sweat slicked skin to cup a full ass cheek giving a squeeze before landing a hard slap.

Movements falter with the stinging pleasure coursing through your veins, “Javi.” Kiss breaking breathlessly to catch his eyes. Seeing the indecision clearly written, you nod leaning to brushing your lips over his ear, “Again please.”

Mouth buries against the spot where shoulder and neck meet, planting his feet firmly to thrust into your welcoming cunt quicker. Letting a moment pass till he lands another smack to the other ass cheek. Soothing the pain with his warm palm, “Like that princesa?” Drawing his nose over the sweaty expanse of his throat tossed back on a gasp. Bearing your neck to his hungry gaze and mouth.

Taking advantage to bite and suck, thick mustache abrading your skin in the most delicious of ways. Sending tingles to dance across your skin making your clit throb with each hard pound of his cock deep inside your quivering walls. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders for leverage as your knees sink into the couch and you bounce on Javier’s cock. Thick thighs shaking as orgasm builds quicker than you thought possible.

“Yes,” whimpering out in answer. Both hands cup your ass helping you move against him. Sweat slicked shoulders make for a tough grip movements becoming choppy and sloppy. Low whine bubbles from the back of your throat needing more but unsure how to say.

Javier picks up on the destress, pulling out making the whine lengthen. “Lay back on the couch for me hermosa,” seeing the confusion in your gaze. Javi tugs you to sit in the corner of the couch, pulling till your almost flat and he crawls between those thick thighs he wants wrapped around his waist.

Sliding back inside of you on a groan, “Still so tight for me princesa I could stay buried in your pretty pussy forever never growing tired of having your surround me.”

“Javi,” heat flares across your body at his words, face buried in your palms. Only to have them pulled and placed on his chest. Shocked yet pleased with his sentiments, the way he growls out the words setting off tingles dancing down your spine.

Gasping when he pulls out resting just the tip before surging back angling to hit that little spot only he’s managed to discover inside you. Right leg draped over his hip left dangling off the couch as your hands scrap and grope at his shoulders. Strong arms press on either side of you holding himself up while rocking his hips into yours. Setting a fast and hard pace that has you gasping, moans of incoherent words tumble from your mouth that hangs open trying to gather breath.

Watching with hooded eyes, drinking in the way you look, the passion morphing your features never wanting to let you go. To always see you in the throws of pleasure he delivers to your body. Praying to whoever will listen that you’ll stay. Those thoughts creating a fire inside his body that moves quicker.

Wanting to show you his feelings by repeatedly burying his cock deep inside your throbbing cunt. Loving your soft thick body with his mouth latching onto a breast. Nipping skin and taunt nipples, curling his tongue before biting down and switching to the twin. Feeling your nails score his back and shoulders only driving on his own pleasure.

Needing you to cum first though, Javier slides one hand between your slick bodies to caress your clit with tight circles of pressure. Smirking into your flesh when you gasp and squirm under him. His name breathlessly spoken to the heavens your back arching off the couch. “That’s my girl cum for me amor soak my cock.”

“Javier,” fingers card through his hair pulling his mouth back to yours. Tender and sweet nothing like the previous kisses as you pour your heart out to the man pounding you into the couch. Foreheads rest together, moans dripping from your lips brushing against his trying to hold back to draw out the pleasure. Afraid of the final moment he finds completion and walks out of your life maybe for good this time. “I love you,” unable to stop those three words from tumbling out. Orgasm slamming through your body with the hard thrusts of Javier’s hips. Crying out his name, arching against him breath stuck along with tears in your throat.

Swearing he heard things, Javier’s pace stuttered but his heart pounds quicker. Hips having a mind of their own as his body rushes to completion. Cumming harder than he’s ever in his life, filling your clinching walls with hot stick seed. Strength evaporated from his arms collapsing into your embrace. Burying his face in your neck, hot moist breath fanning out over your skin. Small after shocks roll through both your bodies garnering whimpers and moans from both of you.

Time, unsure of how much passes while you card fingers through his sweat slicked hair. Enjoying this moment, basking in the after glow of your love making while praying it’s not the end.

“Don’t leave,” words whispered into your skin so low there barely caught. Wondering if you’ve heard things your fingers pause watching on stuttering breath as Javier raises his head to stare into your eyes. Wondering if you meant what you said or just caught up in the pleasurable sex and let it out. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask when you beat him to the punch.

“I… I…” words lost in the jumble of your mind unsure what to say. Fearful your passionate declaration went unheard or worse ignored.

Cupping your cheek surprised to find tears tracking down your cheek, “Don’t leave me Y/N please.”

Searching his bright russet eyes confused till you see what he’s really saying. Realization blooming across your mind your own hand coming up to embrace his cheek. Thumb swiping over the apple, “I’ll speak to Noonan.” Bringing his mouth down to yours for a soft sweet kiss.

“Do you really love me?” Foreheads resting together breath held, his eyes closed tightly fearing the answer.

Shocked he’s asking. Remembering the times you tried to get him to talk about his feelings becoming shut down pushing the conversation away or distracting you with kisses and sex. With the lengthening silence Javier dares to open his eyes catching the soft expression in yours that cracks his frozen heart.

“I wouldn’t say those words if I didn’t mean them Javi you know that,” continuing to brush your fingers over his stubbled jaw. Up into his soft sweaty hair to gently scratch his scalp knowing how much he enjoys when you do. Rewarded with a low purr from the back of his throat. “What happened today baby?”

Fear keeps him quiet for a moment till, “I almost killed a kid.” Lowering his stare to map your skin with his eyes adding the marks he left behind to his memory. Fear returning now that you’ve heard how much of a monster he’s turning into.

“Did you shoot?” There’s no accusations or incrimination, voice softly seeking a way to help sooth the demons you saw when he first arrived.

Carefully pulling from your warm depths and embrace to sit on the edge of the couch face buried in his hands. Missing the whimper at loosing his touch. You grab for the blanket draped over the back to cover yourself in self consciousness. Moving carefully to sit up and lean against his shoulder. Fingers carding through his hair slowly while placing the other around his waist. Waiting till he’s ready to start speaking not wanting to push.

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

Yes I need her in the daytime

Yes I need her in the night

Yes I want to throw my arms around her

Kiss her hug her kiss her hug her tight

Welcoming warmth enveloping his body that cleaves into you. Baritone rough with emotions, “No I couldn’t pull the tigger, didn’t want to shoot some kid who’s stupidly following the orders of a man who doesn’t care about him.”

“Listen to me Javi you’re not Escobar you’ll never have that narcissistic attitude.” Turning his face to look at you, brushing the stubble with your fingertips. “Yes you’ve done some questionable things for good reasons to take down this asshole who would gladly see all of Columbia burn just to get and keep what he wants.” Leaning in to brush your nose against his, “I couldn’t love a man who killed people for kicks Javier. That’s not what you do. You save people, protect them as best you can.”

Unworthiness filtering through his thoughts never expecting to find someone who loved him faults and all. Intertwining his fingers with the hand previously on his cheek bring the back to his lips to place a kiss. “I don’t deserve you hermosa,” swallowing harshly letting your hand go to stand. Unconcerned with his nakedness Javier stretches popping his back then looking down at you.

Worry etched in those beloved eyes that stare unblinkingly at the spot he just vacated. “Leaving now?” Biting off the words tears clouding your vision mistaking his declaration as rejection pulling the blanket tighter around your plush body.

Forefinger and thumb pinching the end of your soft chin raising your gaze to meet his, “Why would I leave when everything I want and love rests with you.”

“Javier?” Voice wobbling with unshed tears.

Pulling the blanket from your body taking in the curves and dips, the softness he’s itching to get his hands back on. But right now Javier brings the nearest hand to his lips, brushing the knuckles with his mouth mustache tickling your skin. Keeping your eyes locked as he tugs you up into his arms. “I’m serious Y/N I don’t deserve you but without you I’m a shell of a man,” bringing his free hand up to cup your cheek deep russet eyes burning with love staring into yours.

“What are you saying?” Fear coating the words, afraid it’s all a dream and you’ll wake without Javier beside you.

Drawing your mouth closer, strong arm wrapping around your thick waist, “I’m saying I love you Y/N and if you’ll have me I’m yours till you kick me out for driving you crazy.”

“You already do that Javi,” watery giggles escaping your lips that brush his twice. Reaching up to card fingers through the soft strands at the back of his head tugging just a little harder than normal. “Say it again.”

Grunting at the tugs sliding a hand down to cup a generous bare ass cheek to give a squeeze. “Drive you crazy.”

Just barely holding in the squeak, “No,” eyes rolling at his cheek. “You know what I mean Javier Peña.”

“I do,” slotting his mouth against yours stealing the breath from your lungs as he kisses you with a passion never felt before. Barely breaking to mumble those three simple words into your lips, “I love you.” Getting lost in your kiss while silently vowing to never let you go or break your heart.

And when I'm returning from so far away

She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day

Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole

Yes it makes me mellow down in to my soul

[jymsmediacenter]

Book of the Week: May 23

Dear Sweet Pea by Julie Murphy

Summary: Thirteen-year-old Patricia "Sweet Pea" DiMarco navigates her parents' divorce after they decide to live in nearly identical houses just two doors away from each other. Between them is eccentric advice columnist Miss Flora Mae who befriends the young Sweet Pea. One day, Flora goes on vacation and asks Sweet Pea to send out her letters for the column. However, Sweet Pea sees a letter with familiar handwriting, and what she does with that letter has unexpected consequences.

Why you should consider reading this book: This book is full of southern charm and friendship drama. You've probably had your fair share of friendship drama, so why not focus on someone else's for a while.

This title is available in Sora.

[phoebehalliwell]

Ok I’m curious, how would you fix season 8? Which is objectively the worst season IMO but had the most potential

i mean like there were a lot of things wrong with season eight but i think by far the worst thing was their villains like. for starters. making billie and christy our big bad was. bad. and then there was dumain? the triad? the source came back for a second? it was sloppy, at best. like. like!! i think s8 would have benefitted best from a clear-cut villain from the get go, something that was evil with an agenda, that offered a couple one-off plots rather than like. a girl who was kidnapped an emotionally manipulated into believing she's right by older powerful men exploiting her and wrapping up her plot by literally(!!) incinerating her. she burnt to death i'll never be over this she was literally human lmao what the Fuck. so instead of doing a billie manipulated by christy manipulated by dumain who's like. the triad's bitch. Don't. the underworld is currently in chaos what with the source dying and then the avatars stint and the zankou bit. they need leadership. have someone vy for the throne. forget the ultimate power. leave that shit in the dust. we could still potentially have billie, but billie was just a really bad character for charmed where we were. like we just watched the girls go thru endless shit for a near decade and now we have some knockoff buffy like i know more than you!! like it doesn't matter that in some cases, billie is right (hello?? scrying with a laptop????), like, we’ve been with the charmed ones so long like it's so hard to read billie as anything other than annoying. and then both henry and coop were done So Fast like. those could stand to marinate a shade longer. every tho paige and henry's wedding is my fav out of all the weddings on the show (bc it was the cutest) um. it's very ooc. like they can just be in a long term committed relationship. moving in together could be their big thing. maybe getting engaged. but like the speedrun in three months? two months? unbelievable. and then i've mentioned this before coop entering phoebe's story of his own volition as a passing cupid who senses a blocked heart and tries to fix it and then ends up in way over his head when phoebe summons him and threatens to vanquish him. like way more believable than the elders just sending coop down as a sorry present girl what. other people have also pitched work rivals to lovers phoebecoop as two rival pop culture cupids. there are options. skip over dex obvi. i will give a shout out to the way they got rid of leo. the um. mechanics of it were stupid, as previously stated. but i'm always a fan of bringing in death, and i thought it was a good loophole for getting rid of brian 2 save money. oh you know what else i didn't like? agent murphy. fuck that guy he was both boring uninteresting bland and also a dickwad. so. :\

okay. so to salvage s8 on a budget. here's what i'd proposed: focus on seats of power. sets you already have: magic school, the manor, the underworld (presumably). first thing under siege so 2 speak is the manor, now that the charmed ones are dead. paige keeps trying to help charges on the dl, phoebe still practices magic and intervenes in like. letters that warrant it from the advice column. piper and leo are living that domestic life and maybe we get a quote from wyatt just like from melinda in s2 don't worry mommy i promise not to use my magic and like all these girls kinda hit the conclusion hey. this is wrong. we are the charmed ones. let's own up to it. they're back!! we give paige two relevant charges: speed, a future whitelighter who just graduated high school in the spring. no he's not going to college, despite henry's insistence, and later paige's. he'll hit that epiphany later. billie. wicked smart, independant, freshman at berkeley with a tragic past. they r gonna be each other's love interests, giving us a plotline off the sisters so the actresses can have a break because evidently that was a requirement as well. speed's first 2 notice, but billie's first to put the pieces together: there's something demonic afoot in san francisco. and up-and-coming demon clan have been like. like giving mortals demonic powers, granting them magic in exchange for fealty. this can lead for kind of a big final battle, with the charmed ones vs like an army that can easily be disarmed once they find the necessary magical pathway. we can also have the sidequest of magic school, which will soon be falling into the hands of the charmed ones. in fact, we can have the demon clan going for a "magical seat of power" which the girls interpret as the manor but realize almost too late that it is magic school. from there, all the mortals who went demonic can like. be knocked unconscious have their memories wiped and place back in the world like nothing ever happened, wrapping that up in a neat bow. the girls finish the fortification of magic school, resealing its protections and confirming its place as a haven for the next generation of magic. speed almost dies and you think he's gonna die fr fr because he's a future whitelighter and you're like oh that's how we're gonna wrap that plot up but psych! billie saves him at the last minute. they get to stay in a healthy normal relationship together <3 piper gets leo back after the great battle, phoebe and coop get married in the manor and take the place of the paigehenry wedding because like. again they should also hold off on that (maybe we just include it in the flash forward montage) but we kinda do need at least one wedding to wrap this motherfucker up. and paige and henry get a domesticity beat and also maybe a roadtrip we give them a literal drive off into the sunset symbolizing how piper gets the domesticity the white picket fence life she's always wanted phoebe gets true love and the ability to feel whole again and paige gets freedom and independence symbolized by her road trip, which also shows us how magic has reached such a point of stability that each of the charmed ones can actually live on their own. paige drives off into the sunset And Then we get the flashforward montage of everyone's individual happy endings. fin <3

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Six

@rock-n-roll-fantasy I should probably warn you that I am definitely back on my angst-junkie bullshit with this one, but I promise there’s more to come after this! 😅 Not sure when I’ll be able to post the next parts but hopefully you enjoy these two in the meantime 😊

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

********************************

There’s something wrong with the Earth.

This isn’t necessarily a surprise. In the week since the quake that never was, the entire world has felt off; tilted on its axis to such a degree that Alex can’t even begin to fix it. The details of the hotel feel muted, the life slowly draining from his surroundings as empty husks are left in the wake of an unseen angel of death. Once pristine white walls look faded and beige beneath flickering lights. The usual buzz of activity emanating throughout scattered hotel rooms has quietened, as though a volume dial has been turned all the way down. Portraits which once hung proudly along the reception walls have tilted, and if Alex studies them closely enough, he can see the colours smudging as the paint melts, removing all nuance in the process. At this point it wouldn’t surprise him to find cracks creeping along the marble columns or dying lilies curling over themselves in neglected pots, although he supposes it’ll only be a matter of time before that sight greets him as well.  

It’s not just the hotel itself which has fallen prey to this lack of vitality. The guests have never been particularly fascinating company, but now they appear virtually soulless. Their numbers dwindle with each passing day despite no clear evidence of rockets carrying them towards home, and when scattered patrons do reveal themselves, Alex ends up eavesdropping on the same mundane conversations over and over again. Staff members offer the same monotonous greetings to him regardless of any attempts to lure them into conversation. Even Andrew, who can be quite amenable to a casual conversation over a pint, has little more to offer besides, “How are you enjoying your drink, sir?” when Alex forcibly drags himself to the bar.  

On the one occasion where he agrees to play a show, he finds himself gazing at a placid, unmoving crowd who deign to make as little noise as possible. There are no cheers, no attempts to sing along, no murmurs of approval. Alex doesn’t even have the energy to be startled when he notes that several faces in the crowd have been replaced with expressionless masks, as though an artist has erased their features entirely, leaving only a discoloured smudge in their wake.

The world appears to be winding down, crumbling at the seams with no end in sight. And to top it all off, he’s the only person alive who seems to have noticed.  

Even his weekly meetings with Murphy have halted without explanation. He’ll sit by the computer for hours on end, waiting for the dreaded ringing to invade his eardrums, but it never does. For the first time in his life, Alex would give anything to face that man and give him a piece of his mind, but God doesn’t appear to be answering his calls right now.  

And then there’s Jamie.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?”

Alex doesn’t pay him any heed, choosing instead to keep his gaze fixed on the alluring form of Earth above him. He cannot bear to look at Jamie right now; not when doing so will only unveil a lifeless expression marring his friend’s once kind face. He only wishes the man would say something – anything – else. It appears to be lost on Jamie that he’s uttered the same sentence three times in the last fifteen minutes, having said little else since drawing up beside Alex on the balcony. The fact that he never receives an answer doesn’t register with him either. He simply keeps asking, like a children’s toy with only one voice-clip, not realising that every time he asks, he only succeeds in adding a further crack to Alex’s thoroughly abused heart.  

Nick and Matt have fared little better. Playing a show with them the other night had been akin to playing with three ghosts who have yet to leave their bodies. All traces of humour and nuance and love have been stripped from them, leaving empty shells where his best friends once stood.  

Or rather, where convincing replicas of his friends once stood. Alex can’t pretend to understand how this version of reality works, and he’s still struggling to separate the splintered fragments of Mark’s false memories from his own recollections. The Jamie, Matt and Nick he has been living with are certainly modelled after the people he’s known and loved all his life, but there are enough subtle differences to make him question if they were ever real in the first place. The most glaring marker of all being the fact that when he’d insisted they call him Alex, the only response had been a lack of recognition which had almost broken him.

The only person who has ever referred to him as Alex in all the time he’s been here is Matthew, but even as his mad theories have become more and more plausible, the man himself has remained infuriatingly elusive.  

At least Alex knows why he seemed so familiar now. They’d only crossed paths occasionally in the past, exchanging pleasantries and compliments at various awards shows and festivals, but given their similar positions it would be impossible for him not to be familiar with a certain Matthew Bellamy. The man has always been more of a friend-of-a-friend to Alex than a proper acquaintance, but he likes him well enough to believe that Matt’s apparent fondness for him was also genuine. Granted, he doubts he’d ever have pictured the man as a planet-hopping outlaw, but then again, he imagines Matt must have been equally surprised to find him acting as the owner of a four-star establishment on the moon.

A disbelieving giggle erupts from him before he can stop it. He’s been doing that a lot lately. No doubt it’s an unconscious coping mechanism his brain has concocted while processing the impossible situation he’s stumbled into; he supposes his only options at this point are to laugh or sob like a child.

Pointedly ignoring Jamie’s lingering presence, Alex lets the Earth consume his attention once more. She’s as beautiful now as she always has been – her deep shades of greens and blues vibrant against a dense black sky – but that only adds to the sense of wrongness tugging at his heart. He shouldn’t even be capable of standing here, gazing towards home from this angle. Surely without proper protection and oxygen tanks, the air should have been sucked from his lungs and he should be gliding across the ground rather than standing still. Is there a force-field surrounding them, providing them with breathable air and simulated Earth-like gravity? If he concentrates hard enough, will he be able to spot the tell-tale shimmer of a shield embracing his tiny civilisation?

How odd that he’s never questioned such technicalities before.

As for the Earth itself, the more he studies it, the more it looks like someone has merely devised a painting of her against an endless black canvas, basing their work on ancient photographs from age-old Apollo missions. The image is too perfect. Too still and unaffected; a close approximation of how Earth must have appeared millions of years ago, before her surface was warped by humanity’s influence. The more he remembers of his final days on Earth, the less the image before him aligns with the truth. The clouds hovering beneath the atmosphere shouldn’t be a perfect white, they should be blackened by thick smoke. Those vibrant greens should have been burnt away to smouldering brown, as ash falls thick and heavy over once beautiful landscapes. No doubt even the oceans must have turned a grim, murky grey by now, rather than the striking blues he gazes upon now.

Alex gasps as a memory emerges unbidden, hands desperately grasping the balcony railing. These episodes have been coming thick and fast of late, and it takes all of his willpower not to collapse as faint echoes of screams pierce his ears and the foul taste of ash smothers his tastebuds.

He lets the memory carry him away, however, for he knows that stewing in his own ignorance is no longer an option he can indulge in.

The air is thick with acrid smoke as ash gathers on his tongue with every breath. His eyes draw upwards towards a tangerine sky; the sun obscured by thick smog which he can feel clogging his lungs, leaving him lightheaded and weak. Only hours ago the advice had been to stay inside, but the sirens now piercing his eardrums signal a change, and he knows with unexplainable certainty that if he’d stayed behind, he would have been consumed by the flames which lick their way across the landscape without mercy.

He doesn’t recall the events leading up to this moment, try as he might. Can’t recall if he’d been at home, or in the studio, or trapped within the confines of a hotel halfway around the world. The only instinctual memory he retains is that the catastrophe had crept up on them without warning, announcing itself with all the subtlety of an air-raid siren shooting panic into the veins of every human being on Earth. Only it hadn’t been sudden, had it? Not really. Humanity at large had known for years that the world was destined to burn unless something was done to stop it, but the warnings had been largely ignored, right up until the moment the fire was breathing down everyone’s necks.  

The crowd surrounding him is desperate and he whimpers as countless bodies shove against him. No doubt he could remain perfectly rigid and yet still find himself pushed forwards by the sheer force of the human wave. The claustrophobia is suffocating, and breathing provides little relief when the air is as poisoned as it is. He can feel his chest heaving and the constant shouts and screams are momentarily drowned out by his pulse pounding a steady rhythm in his ears, and he clings tightly to the hand wrapped securely around his own as he’s guided along the wide street by a steady anchor. He doesn’t need to look to know instinctively whose hand it belongs to. The calming influence as his guide squeezes back and pulls him in closer is unmistakable. He presses himself against the other man’s body as the cacophony is quickly drowned out by gentle reassurances of, “We’re okay Al, just stay close yeah? We’re nearly there, just a little bit further, you’re doing great...”

He must look a state to warrant such a commentary, but he cannot bring himself to care. As he allows himself to narrow his focus entirely onto that soft voice, he can feel his heartrate slowing and his rapid breathing starting to ease. He feels - rather than sees - a worried face turning in his direction, ensuring that he’s still locked in the present rather than lost in the grasp of his panicked mind, and he gives a shaky nod to indicate that he’s okay. The world is burning and there’s no guarantee that safety is as close as his friend insists it is, but he’s not alone and the flames are still far behind him, so for now he’s okay. His hand is caught in another gentle squeeze - it occurs to him that the action might be for the other’s benefit as much as it is his - and they push onwards as best they can through the hulking mass of bodies surrounding them.

There’s a scuffle behind him as someone utters a sharp cry. Perhaps the constant shoving of bodies has finally erupted into a full-blown fight; either that or someone has merely lost their balance and fallen to the ground. Either way it spells the end for him. A desperate hand clings to Alex’s forearm for support and he feels himself being jerked backwards, struggling to maintain his grip on the precious fingers clutching his hand as faceless bodies try to pull him away. Panic seizes his throat, tightening his airway to the point where he cannot so much as scream. As the force of the disorganised crowd pulls him backwards, the people in front keep advancing, still trying to escape the flames and the thick, cloying smog. Concerned brown eyes turn to look at him, having sensed his distress in the crushing grip of his hand, and Alex can only watch those eyes widen with naked fear as their owner is pulled in the opposite direction.  

Those pivotal seconds seem endless when replayed in Alex’s mind. The image repeats itself like a broken VHS tape - an unending loop of terror - but it must have taken no time at all for their connection to be severed with surgical precision. He remembers panicked, animalistic screams escaping his throat as he fought and clawed at the terrified masses surrounding him, his hand suddenly grasping nothing but air. He remembers the crowd in front pushing onwards, with one man among their ranks fighting tirelessly to stay behind, screaming Alex’s name over and over to the point where it must surely have torn his throat.  

Neither of their efforts work. Their hands never meet again, and Alex can only watch as his salvation is carried off like a life-raft on the ocean, leaving him behind to drown on his sinking ship. And even above the distant sirens and the roar of nearby flames, the frantic, hopeless scream of “Alex!” continues to ring in his ears long after his would-be savior has vanished from sight.    

“-ark?”

The crowded street blanketed in a thick, ashen haze vanishes from his mind’s eye and he blinks as Jamie’s voice pulls him back to the present. It takes a moment to fully reorientate himself, even as his eyes settle upon the pleasant mirage of Earth hanging above them. The air still feels unclean and the thick, cloying taste of ash still resides on his tongue. His throat still screams from the frantic cries that had been torn from it and his chest aches with the effort of breathing in filthy smog. His hand feels cold and empty, still grasping nothing but air in the place of warm flesh, and an overpowering sense of loss washes over him like a painful echo. If Jamie notices his distress, he makes no mention of it. His face is as blank and expressionless as it has been since his world became muted, and Alex thinks he would give his right hand in exchange for five minutes of his friend’s smothering concern.  

“Where’s Miles?” he croaks out eventually, turning to face Jamie with a damning sense of dread. Part of him suspects that he already knows what the reaction will be and he longs to tear his eyes away in order to spare himself the pain, but he has to look. He needs this final grain of proof.

Jamie barely reacts to the words despite the fact that they’ve come out of nowhere. The only reason Alex even registers the minute furrow of his brow and downwards tug of his lips is because he knows that face better than he knows his own, and even then, the impassive blankness is back within mere seconds.

“Who’s Miles?”  

Alex can’t look at him anymore. If he forces himself to look at that emotionless face then he knows his heart will crumble to dust and he’ll never be able to piece it back together. His eyes are drawn skyward and he keeps them there, unblinking, even when the growing sting becomes unbearable. His vision blurs with unshed tears and his chest shudders fitfully with the effort it takes not to break into animalistic sobs, but he forces himself to swallow down his grief before it can consume him. The pain is unbearable. It creeps over his mind like a specter, dragging its scythe wherever it goes without a care for the damage it leaves in its wake. The temptation to laugh as he realises that this has been the reason for his pervading sense of loneliness all along almost overwhelms him. Perhaps that would get a reaction out of the hollow shell that has taken Jamie’s place.  

In the end, however, he doesn’t have the energy to make the slightest sound.

Because it’s not just Miles he’s grieving. The Jamie he knows and loves would never have let those two words leave his mouth. He would never stand idly by while Alex falls apart, visibly struggling to piece himself back together despite knowing that his efforts are completely worthless. The Jamie he knows would have pulled him in for a hug and let him sob his heart out without judgement, before gently telling him to tidy himself up so they can go out to thoroughly drown their sorrows. No doubt the Jamie standing beside him now has always been nothing more than a façade; expertly written code and little else. The same applies to Nick and Matt and every other human being he’s interacted with since stepping foot on this godforsaken rock, perhaps with the exception of Matthew. They’d been rather convincing replicas, he’s loath to admit, but that’s all they’ve ever been.  

“Doesn’t matter,” he forces out in a choked whisper, in the full knowledge that that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He wonders if his real friends are still out there somewhere. Did they make it to safety while Alex was left behind and imprisoned within this lie? Have they been searching for him all this time, while he allowed his mind to be manipulated to the point where he forgot they existed? Are they mourning for him with the same all-consuming grief he finds himself overwhelmed by now?  

Or are they simply ghosts, lost long ago to a world that has become uninhabitable? Perhaps they’re even trapped in the same boat he is; so wrapped up in the blissful ignorance of a beautiful lie that they cannot remember their own names.

“Is it better to exist within a terrible reality or a beautiful lie?”

He recalls Matthew’s burning question with a new sense of clarity. Because it hadn’t been hypothetical had it? Matthew had uncovered their circumstances long before Alex had. In his own infuriating way, Matt had been trying to prepare Alex for the conundrum he would be forced to contend with once the curtain rose. Their entire conversation had been a warning, planting seeds in his head that would eventually result in his world collapsing at the seams.  

Had Matt also been crippled by an overwhelming sense of loss prior to stumbling into Alex’s makeshift life? Alex searches his mind for any random details he knows about Matthew Bellamy, but he cannot recall anything with great certainty. Miles had known him much better than Alex had; he vaguely remembers throw-away mentions of a wedding and a new baby, but nothing more concrete than that. For all he knows, Matthew is currently battling his way through an endless, synthetic maze to crawl back to the arms of the people he loves, or at the very least to be reunited with versions of his bandmates who haven’t been programmed to hunt him down and kill him.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?” Jamie asks once again, uncaring and toneless, as though trapped in an unending loop.

A huff of laughter escapes Alex’s mouth before he can stop it, and he bows his head as a tear finally slips from the corner of his eye. Rehearsals and playing live was once his only solace amongst the mundane goings-on of his daily life, but now the thought of facing the replicas of his friends and seeing them stripped of all personality is unbearable. Normality is nothing but a distant dream. There is no returning to the life that had been carefully carved out for him here regardless of what Jamie seems to think, and as the details of the hotel slowly fade around him, he doubts there’ll even be a crowd to play for by the time evening rolls around.  

Jamie seems utterly unaffected when Alex finally turns to him, a thousand-yard-stare emanating from deep blue eyes as though Alex is a mere phantom standing in his way. A sense of finality takes hold as Alex stares at his friend, memorising the details of his face with a pang of grief, and he offers a small smile which he knows provides little benefit to either of them.

“You go,” he says, in a flat voice he no longer recognises as his own. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

The lie rolls surprisingly easily off his tongue, and despite giving no indication that he intends to follow-through on his promise, Jamie doesn’t question him for an instant. Instead, he simply shrugs before shoving himself away from the barrier and moving in the direction of the hotel. Alex watches his retreating back as he strolls along the cobbled balcony, and it takes all of his willpower not to yell at him to stop. To request a proper farewell, or a hug, or even to run up alongside him and enjoy one last hurrah with the band before everything fades to black.  

However, as he watches Jamie vanish behind a set of automatic doors, he knows that running after him would be a mistake. There is no point in embracing the lie anymore. The avatars wearing his friends’ faces like intricate masks no longer have the power to replace the real thing in his heart, and having to reward them with false affection would surely destroy him.

Instead, he bids one final farewell to the Earth above him. For the first time he can remember, the clouds have cleared above the British Isles and he can see the tiny, shrunken form of England resting just above a narrow watery channel. Deep forest greens interspersed with tiny golden pinpricks amongst the well-lit cities are the only details he can make out, but yearning tugs at his heart regardless. He wonders what would happen if he took the initiative and made the trek to the space station now, requesting a ticket for the first flight back to Earth? Would the falsehood adapt around him and expand to include a detailed simulation of his home, from a time when everything was perfect and alive? Or would he simply hit a dead-end and be forever trapped within a tiny radius which encompasses the hotel and casino and little else? He has nothing left to lose by trying, but a nagging suspicion tugging at the back of his mind is enough to inform him what the outcome will be. Whoever designed his current reality didn’t deem Miles of all people to be a necessary addition - no doubt out of intentional cruelty - so the prospect of arriving home and throwing himself into the arms of his mum and dad is surely unthinkable.  

It’s impossible to tell how long he spends gazing at the planet above, committing every single detail to memory with a bittersweet smile, but when he finally pulls his eyes away he’s momentarily overcome by a wave of contentment. The yearning for home vanishes and a renewed sense of finality tugs at his heart, only this time he lets himself bask in it. It’s over. The sky above is as much an illusion as everything else within reach, and while he knows he could lose himself staring longingly at the stars like a hopeful child, he finds that he no longer has any desire to do so.

After all, what’s the point in yearning for something that isn’t real?  

******************************

Lilting piano notes resound through deserted, crumbling corridors; the echo bouncing off the ballroom walls, causing the delicate glass shards of the chandelier to tremble. All trace of life has vanished, with the exception of the lone musician on his humble stage, playing to a crowd of ghosts.  

Alex doesn’t mind. He’d expected to find the hotel empty upon his return – no doubt his mental embrace of that finality had banished all remnants of humanity from its walls – and the uninterrupted stroll to the stage had been an oddly calming one. For the first time in years, a song had popped into his head with little fanfare. There’d been no need to agonise over chords or second-guess lyrics; instead the music had come to him fully formed as though obtained through a dream, and the need to perform it had become his sole objective.

A guitar would have been preferable. He has never felt entirely comfortable on the piano, but the choice seems to have been snatched away from him as all of his stringed instruments have vanished in his absence. Similarly, the lone drumkit and various brass instruments which once rested upon the stage are now missing. Only the piano remains. Each note sounds dissonant beneath his fingers, reverberating through the hall in all directions, and he gets the distinct impression that the instrument hasn’t been turned in years despite it sounding perfect only one week prior. His voice also sounds raw to his ears, but that doesn’t stop him from baring his heart anyway.  

It’s a bittersweet song with an emphasis on the sweet, and he latches onto the topics of lost loves and friendships tied up with nostalgia for a golden age that no longer exists. No doubt he would have been proud of this one had he gotten the chance to write and record it on Earth, but at this rate he doubts anyone will hear it besides the ghosts haunting the fractured walls.

That’s okay though. This understated piece of music feels like the only genuine creation he’s produced in all the time he’s lived here, and for that reason alone he’d rather not be singing anything else.

While he refuses to give his surroundings much in the way of scrutiny, it isn’t lost on him that the ballroom is fading away with each passing second. Pristine white walls appear to be melting and cracks trail along the granite columns like lightning bolts stretching to the ceiling. The light from the chandelier is muted, emitting only the faintest golden glow through shards of glass which no longer shimmer, and the deserted dancefloor below has been swallowed whole by drab red carpet. The circular dining tables and bar are cloaked in shadow, their surfaces smothered by a thick layer of dust, and adorning the walls are empty frames where elegant portraits once gazed proudly upon the room.

Only one image remains. A small wooden frame sits on the wall directly within Alex’s eyeline, and though the photograph it displays sends an ache lancing through his heart, he finds it to be a pleasant ache. Captured for eternity is a shot of four young boys, barely out of primary school, with hair cropped short and arms wrapped lazily around each other. One curly-haired lad is looking away from the camera, eyes closed in a mistimed blink, while two others gape at the lens with deliberately widened eyes, baring all of their teeth in exaggerated grins. Only the smallest of the group is smiling in a fashion which can be considered normal, though the crinkling of his large brown eyes implies that he too is mere seconds away from bursting into uncontrollable giggles at his friends’ antics.  

Alex can’t remember the photo being taken. The unremarkable brick wall behind them suggests it was taken at his childhood home, but it would not surprise him if the photo itself is yet another falsehood on top of the myriad of illusions he has spent years of his life sleepwalking through. And yet, he cannot bring himself to mind. The photograph may not be real, but the memories of a happy childhood surrounded by friends certainly are, and the sweet nostalgia that warms has heart can never be taken away from him. His real friends may have been lost to him long ago and even the replicas have deserted him now, but so long as he focuses on that image and dedicates this song to them, they can never truly be gone.

A shiver creeps up the back of his neck and he has the distinct impression that a pair of eyes have landed upon him, but he banishes that suspicion before it can take hold. This song is not intended for anyone’s ears but his own. The melody is quickly approaching its coda as he recites the final verse. The piano has grown so soft he barely registers the sound of it, but he carries on with a sense of obligation he doesn’t entirely understand. Perhaps it’s the sense of approaching finality which has made him so determined. His world is fragmenting piece by piece and he cannot comprehend what will happen to him once it fades completely, but he imagines there will be no coming back from it. He should be terrified and desperate, battling with every breath in his lungs to remain solid and whole, but he no longer has the energy to fight. Besides, he has always found contentment in music and performing, even in this godforsaken place. Why fight the inevitable when he can embrace it in peace instead?

The final note sounds abruptly as the last word escapes his lips, but before he can figure out a proper ending, the piano dissolves into atoms beneath his fingertips and the world explodes in a flash of brilliant white, carrying him along with it as his mind goes blank.

[indemimonde-moved-blog]

I just decided I’m gonna add all my OC’s to this blog. I just want to write my own characters more so I can add on to their worlds. That means I will add the following muses:

Jet Leto - 25 - Male/Closeted Non-Binary - Human - Bi-sexual, pref for women - A singer, located in LA. He had one hit single. He is what they call a one day fly, a one-hit wonder. He made a lot of money from it and is now a millionaire, but he is lonely and doesn’t know who to trust. He drinks a lot, uses drugs and spends his money on nice things and girls. FC = Ezra Miller

Mara Cooper - 36 - Female - Non-diagnosed Autism & mood disorder - Pan-sexual, pref for women - Human - Supermarket manager. located in London. It seems she has her life in order, but on the inside, she is overwhelmed with everything, she hates her job but doesn’t know how to change it. For some reason, she can’t have meaningful relationships for a long period of time. She is stuck in a life she doesn’t want to have and doesn’t know how to change it. FC = Eva Green

Maria Vargas - 38 - Female - Human - Lesbian - Professor of molecular biology and genetics, located in Yonkers, New York. Bio - HERE - FC = Yara Martinez

May Storm - 35 - Female - Lesbian - Mutant/Human/not entirely sure - May has the ability to hide into the shadows, so much that she actually can become one at will. A shadow walker of sorts, she can also detect and walk through portals towards a different time or world. She is very quiet and her affiliation is neutral. To earn money she is into security and gives companies advice on leaks in their security systems. She travels around the world for her job. FC = Elodie Yung

Meghan O’Galagher - 23 - Female - Human - Bi-sexual - Journalist student, Eileen’s little sister.  Living in London above her sister’s club for an internship. She is outgoing, social and finds her family very important. FC = Saoirse Ronan

Rose Swartz - 663 - Female - Has PTSD - Elf - Pan-sexual -Tolkien OC - Rose is a strange one, she never fitted into the world of elves, she is seen as to wild and has problems with rules. She is a roamer, always on the move and a hunter. She has a ferret familiar, who has been with her a few days after she was born. Her family was killed in an attack by orcs when she was small since then she is trying to find Azog and kill him since he was the one who was the leader in the attack. FC = Jaime Murray

Shanon Lewis - 23 - Female - PTSD & Mood disorder - Human/part demon - Bi-sexual - IT student, part-time bartender from The Netherlands, she is on an internship of a year in NYC where she was possessed by a demon, even though she had an exorcism, a part of her is never the same and she has abilities she didn’t have before. Bio - HERE - FC = Hayley Law

Tom Harris - 41 - Male - Psychopath - Human - Pan-sexual - Weapon seller, asshole. He is a psychopath, enjoys manipulating people and using people for his own good. He hates most people and doesn’t discriminate, people are people and they are all not as good as he is. He abuses alcohol and drugs. This muse is very triggering on violence, abuse, alcohol abuse, drugs abuse, weapons! FC = Cillian Murphy

Trish Raak - 46 - Female - Human - Lesbian - Radio DJ & Columnist. She presents and thinks of programs at BBC Radio, writes columns and is writing her first book. Bio - HERE - FC = Naomi Watts

[coochiequeens]

I’m sure Leder is a qualified man but he’s already a respected leader and published author. The could have chosen a lesser known woman rabbi and given her a career boost.

JTA — For health content, the women who edit Women’s Day turn to a panel of 25 experts — all but one of them women.

When it comes to fitness, food, nutrition and homemaking, the 91-year-old magazine for American women relies on women as well, according to its website.

Now, the magazine has appointed its first-ever rabbi in residence, for its prominent faith coverage — but it has not turned to the growing numbers of women in the American rabbinate.

Instead, the magazine announced Sunday that Steven Leder, senior rabbi of Wilshire Boulevard Temple in Los Angeles, would hold the position. His columns about Jewish holidays and ideas will appear monthly.

The announcement, made on Instagram, immediately drew criticism from Jewish women who questioned why the magazine would elevate the voice of a male rabbi when there is no shortage of women rabbis who might want to speak to Woman’s Day readers.

“It feels to me that the role of women’s media, whether it’s traditional or progressive, should be — maybe it’s my dream — I would like it to be that it would uplift women’s voices,” said Rabbi Sari Laufer, who like Leder works at a Los Angeles synagogue, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. Laufer was one of the first people to call attention to Woman’s Day’s announcement Sunday.

Leder told JTA that the position came about after Woman’s Day content director Meaghan B. Murphy read “The Beauty of What Remains,” his book about grief and loss inspired by one of his popular sermons. Murphy invited him onto her podcast last September.

“I really have to credit Meaghan for her open-mindedness and open-heartedness to present this to a readership that is mostly non-Jewish and represents mostly women and is not a place where you would expect to see a rabbi in residence with a monthly column,” Leder said.

Murphy declined to comment to JTA, and the magazine did not respond to a request for comment by press time. Woman’s Day, which began as a supermarket marketing circular in 1931, has described itself as seeking to appeal to women who consider themselves the “chief health officers” for their family. Unlike other women’s magazines that have sought to broaden their coverage or audiences in recent years, Woman’s Day has maintained a more traditional profile, offering recipes, homemaking tips and relationship advice.

Its faith section contains lists of Bible verses for various occasions, explainers about Jewish and Muslim holidays and recommendations of “movies, books and media for Christians.”

Leder rebuffed criticism of his appointment and said he believed there was value in having a male rabbi speak to Woman’s Day’s audience.

“Do we really only want women writing for women’s magazines? And do we really only want men writing for men’s magazines? Don’t we have anything to learn from each other?” Leder said.

He added, “I would hope that we can all see each other as people first. I think that’s the goal of every religious leader, is that we first recognize the humanity and equality in every human being. So I would hope that every reader is able to do that.”

Laufer said she thought readers could benefit from Leder’s contributions. But she also described how a push over the last several years in Jewish professional circles to elevate the voices of women and end the practice of “manels,” or panel discussions that include only men, had elicited commitments from many men to cede opportunities that should or even could go to women.

Murphy declined to comment to JTA, and the magazine did not respond to a request for comment by press time. Woman’s Day, which began as a supermarket marketing circular in 1931, has described itself as seeking to appeal to women who consider themselves the “chief health officers” for their family. Unlike other women’s magazines that have sought to broaden their coverage or audiences in recent years, Woman’s Day has maintained a more traditional profile, offering recipes, homemaking tips and relationship advice.

Its faith section contains lists of Bible verses for various occasions, explainers about Jewish and Muslim holidays and recommendations of “movies, books and media for Christians.”

Leder rebuffed criticism of his appointment and said he believed there was value in having a male rabbi speak to Woman’s Day’s audience.

“Do we really only want women writing for women’s magazines? And do we really only want men writing for men’s magazines? Don’t we have anything to learn from each other?” Leder said.

He added, “I would hope that we can all see each other as people first. I think that’s the goal of every religious leader, is that we first recognize the humanity and equality in every human being. So I would hope that every reader is able to do that.”

Laufer said she thought readers could benefit from Leder’s contributions. But she also described how a push over the last several years in Jewish professional circles to elevate the voices of women and end the practice of “manels,” or panel discussions that include only men, had elicited commitments from many men to cede opportunities that should or even could go to women.

[faunusrights]

i keep seeing this happen in fanfic so i’m settling this once and for all:

its and it’s are really easy to differentiate, because it’s is ALWAYS a contraction of ‘it is’. its, on the other hand, is a possessive. we know it’s is a contraction because the ‘ represents a missing letter/sound/syllable (‘cannot’ becomes ‘can’t’, because we’ve dropped the ‘no’, same for ‘shan’t’ from ‘shall not’ or ‘forecastle’ into ‘fo’c’s’le’. the ‘ just means a couple letters are playing hooky and aren’t being pronounced)

if you’re writing a sentence and you are unsure if you need it’s or its, just expand it’s to the uncontracted form.

for instance:

“it’s for my peace of mind” becomes “it is for my peace of mind”, which makes logical sense so we use it’s

“that dog does not have it’s collar on” becomes “that dog does not have it is collar on”, which we know isn’t correct, so we use its (as we are referring to the dog [it] and what it possesses [the collar])

if you are ever ever ever in doubt about which to use, just drop the contraction entirely and test the full form. if it makes sense: you got it the first time. if it doesn’t: lose the apostrophe baby you got a possessive on your hands.

[jmsa1287]

In 'Dietland,' a Ferocious Feminist Tale with Some Issues

hi i wrote about the new AMC show “Dietland,” which starts tonight, from the one-and-only Marti Noxon! 

As Peak TV continues to grow and expand, giving voices to a number of creators from all different walks of life, the producers behind those programs - also called showrunners - start to become brands and celebrities themselves. Similar to the New Hollywood movement in cinema in the 70s and 80s, when directors like Martin Scorsese, Francis Ford Coppola, Steven Spielberg and Stanley Kubrick became well-known figures by general audiences, showrunners are also becoming household names. Most notably, Shonda Rhimes ("Grey's Anatomy," "Scandal") and Ryan Murphy ("American Horror Story, "American Crime Story") have gone on to create TV empires, launching groundbreaking series watched by millions. Many viewers will tune into a new program because it is developed by Rihmes or Murphy.

The veteran producer-writer-director Marti Noxon seems poised to be the next superstar showrunner. Starting her TV career in the late 90s with the cult hit "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," Noxon has gone on to work on and shape several popular series, including Rhimes' "Grey's Anatomy" and Murphy's "Glee." (Not to mention she's been a part of "Mad Men," "Angel" and much more). More recently, Noxon helped create Lifetime's critical darling, the "Bachelor"-style satire "UnREAL." Next month, her HBO miniseries "Sharp Objects," starring Amy Adams and Patricia Clarkson and directed by Jean Marc Valle ("Big Little Lies," "Dallas Buyers Club"), will bow.

It seems that all of the sensibilities Noxon has developed over her long run in TV are distilled in her new show "Dietland," debuting June 4 on AMC. And those who tuned into the producer's "UnREAL" will thoroughly enjoy her new biting satire.

Based on the 2015 novel of the same name by Sarai Walker, the dark hour-long comedy follows Plum Kettle (Joy Nash), a ghostwriter for a New York City-based magazine. Plum, who is also a reluctant baker, writes an advice column for her boss, the aloof and icy editor Kitty Montgomery (Julianna Margulies), while figuring out her own life. Plum wades through Kitty's inbox, answering hard questions from young woman who write in to ask Kitty about rape, cutting themselves, boyfriend advice and more. Throughout the three episodes provided for review, society makes it loud and clear to Plum that she is not a desirable woman because of her weight - she's labeled "morbidly obese" and Plum is planning on having gastric bypass surgery, much to the chagrin of her friends and family. But that's just one moving part of "Dietland."

While Plum is on her personal journey of self-acceptance and true happiness, a mysterious and murderous group is kidnapping and killing men who are known rapists and harassers. This group is seeking justice on their own terms from men who have apparently avoided the consequences of their actions and have managed to escape the law. This vigilante group is making national headlines and news reports pop up on TV screens in Plum's orbit. It's unclear how this group fits into the larger picture of "Dietland" and Plum but it ought to unfold in the coming episodes.

On top of that, Plum is also recruited by a disgruntled Kitty coworker named Julia (Tamara Tunie). Though she poses as Kitty's BFF, she's secretly working behind her back to take her down and push her off her beauty empire. Julia wants Plum's help in dismantling Kitty from the inside out. It doesn't end there. There's Serena Baptist (Robin Weigert), who also recruits Plum into her vague group (cult?) of sorts. Serena, whose mother is credited as the inventor of a popular diet that was later proven to be a scam, wants Plum to lose weight on her own terms and promises a big reward if she follows her advice.

It's a lot to take in. And "Dietland" is also a surreal drama, peppered with hilarious voice-over and animated segments, only adding to the show's fever dream quality (Think: What if David Lynch directed a remake of "The Devil Wears Prada" that was later edited by Nancy Meyers). Things reach an apex in the truly strange third episode in which Plum stops her anti-depressants cold turkey and suffers bizarre withdrawals, which includes a horny humanoid tiger.

Noxon's "UnREAL" started off as a smart satire that skewered popular dating reality TV shows, namely "The Bachelor." As the show went on (it's headed into its fourth and possibly final season), "UnREAL" devolved, biting off more than it can chew and becoming the very thing it was smartly mocking. There's a lot going on with "Dietland" - there's plenty of interesting ideas that, like "UnREAL," speak to today's biggest issues like the #MeToo movement that could probably be fleshed out over a few seasons. But instead, Noxon, who writes and directs the first episode, aims high and tries to cram together a bunch of salient ideas, burning through lots of plot. Though the show can be confusing and seems to be still finding what show it actually is, "Dietland" is undeniably a Noxon show. Whether you decide you're in for the ride or not will likely depend on how much you've enjoyed her previous work

[carruth00]

Dealing With It - Season 1 by John Bannon - A Review

This is the Ad Copy...

Bigblindmedia presents - John Bannon's Dealing With It Season 1

Love card tricks? Well then, you've come to the right place!

Dealing With It Season 1 features ALL the routines from John Bannon's acclaimed Genii Magazine column throughout 2017. Utilizing John Bannon's patented blend of clear and engaging presentations with easy but hugely effective methods, Dealing With It Season 1 is a feast of playing card chicanery. Six beautifully constructed card routines are featured, and each one is a powerhouse that will decimate any audience. Even better, all the featured tricks are easily achieved without resorting to difficult sleight of hand or complex moves!

The project features full, in-depth tutorial instructions on how to perform each of the routines - along with presentational tips, handling advice and Bannon's invaluable insight into construction.

Sit back, grab your cards, and get ready to spend some time with John Bannon... time to start DEALING WITH IT!

Featuring: Heart Of Glass Uprising Well Tempered Aces Cross Eyed Jacks Queenpins Rendezvous BONUS - also learn: Hybrid Holdout The Double Dutch False Cut

My Thoughts:

You can't help but like John Bannon. Watching him on one of his many videos.. he seems like one of the most amiable guys in all of magic. Low key and concise, you get the impression he spends every waking moment perfecting some obscure double     backflip fingertip lateral move... You're wrong. John is actually a highly respected Chicago lawyer.. someone who, when not sitting behind a card table, would be equally at ease in a conference room with 'The Good Wife' crowd...

John produced this DVD from season one of Dealing With It, a popular column he wrote for GENII magazine. This is the first of three DVD's.. covering the 2017 year. The other two DVD's cover 2018 and 2019.

The six effects on this DVD are all a complex mix of card effects, but not requiring complex handling. If you're familiar with any of John's other DVD's, you know he is very careful and deliberate.. but doesn't require difficult sleights to achieve the impossible. A couple of his latest releases are actually self-working effects, as it's becoming clear to distributors and magicians alike that the easier, but well-constructed effects are better received by the magic community. That's what they seem to want... and that's what John delivers... over and over.

The six effects on this DVD are:

Heart Of Glass - A Jack Carpenter and Peter Duffie transposition effect that is extremely visual and uses either a drop sleight (taught) or a standard double lift. Quick.. but definitely one of my favorites.

Uprising - A small packet elevator effect. You will need a bottom deal, but it's performed off a small packet.. and easily concealed. You also use a simple block push off. (taught)

Well Tempered Aces - Maybe my favorite effect. A type of Jazz Aces.. You'll learn a nice JK Hartman upside down Elmsley Count.

Cross Eyed Jacks - Another smooth transposition.. John uses his variation of Harry Lorayne's One Eyed Jack.

Queenpins - Yet another transposition built around a Chris Mayhew effect.. John teaches a sharp pickup move..

Rendezvous - Very interesting Mystery Card effect.. Learn John's Conflection Control and another Drop Sleight. Another of my favorite effects.

BONUS - Hybrid Holdout - You'll see how this can be immediately employed to UP your effects. I thoroughly enjoyed both of these bonus moves.. The Double Dutch False Cut - Looks SO good. You have to go back and watch it another time or two to see what you thought you saw...

There is one last section that is a collection of several performance-only videos from other DVD's. If you're in the mood to gloss over this.... don't. The first performance is actually a self-working effect I'll be using in a future ZOOM meeting. It works perfectly.

I have yet to see a Bigblindmedia presentation that wasn't a quality DVD or effect. This video is filmed with professional equipment, by professionals, and lighting and sound are equally as good. Props to whomever chose the music. I couldn't find a listing for the total time of the DVD.. only individual little segments. I'll take a guess and say total time is about one hour. I have no complaints..

Season 1 is $25.00.. and is available on either DVD or as a download. Season 2 and 3 are priced at $20.00 each.  

I will recommend DEALING WITH IT to all my friends and readers. Although it's listed as a beginner DVD, I would say it's probably on the advanced beginner level as it's not self working. The sleights aren't complicated. Beginners, with a little practice, can perform everything on this DVD. John is an excellent teacher, and will make you want to buy other of his DVD's or downloads. Enjoy !!

$25.00     From Murphy's Magic and dealers who carry their line of products.. https://www.murphysmagic.com/Product.aspx?id=61465

[weekendwarriorblog]

The Weekend Warrior 12/11/20 - MINARI, THE MIDNIGHT SKY, LET THEM ALL TALK, WILD MOUNTAIN THYME, PARALLEL, WANDER DARKLY and More!

Honestly, I almost didn’t write a column this week for reasons I’ll probably be ranting about for a few more months, but the long and short of it is that I’ve now been writing movie reviews for 19 years, as well as writing a weekly column through most of that time, and I’m kind of sick of working my ass off, usually for very little money, and just not getting anything out of it.

This mainly came as I crossed 200 reviews for the year a few weeks back. As I was preparing to write this week’s column, Rotten Tomatoes, where most of my reviews have been available as FREE content for the past 17 years, decided to upgrade a number of critics to be “Top Critics”… but not yours truly. I have a lot more to say about this but don’t want to waste any more of my time or anger right now. I will be wrapping this column up and taking some time off for a month in January and deciding whether I want to keep wasting my time every week for no money and little feedback. It really just isn’t worth it anymore.

Fortunately, I saw a few good movies this week, and more than a few bad, so let’s start with one of the good ones, shall we?

This week’s “Featured Flick” is Lee Isaac Chung’s MINARI (A24), which like Nomadland last week will get some sort of virtual cinema release in New York and L.A., presumably that can be seen across the country. It will then get its official release on February 12, 2021.

The movie stars Steven Yeun from The Walking Dead as Jacob, a Korean father who brings his family to an Arkansas house in the middle of nowhere in the ‘80s, hoping to start a farm. His wife Monica (Yeri Han) is not happy with this decision but their kids Anne (Noel Cho) and David (Alan S. Kim) try to adjust to the new life. Things aren’t going well but then Monica’s mother Soonja (Yuh-jung Youn) shows up, that just adds more pressure on Jacob, and the kids, especially David, who hates the quirky older woman who acts nothing like a grandmother.

I’d been hearing about Minari going all the way back to its debut at Sundance, and though I remained skeptical, I finally saw it a few months ago an again over the weekend, and it’s one of my favorite films of the year, probably Top 5. To me, it’s somewhat in the vein of The Farewell, my number 1 movie of 2019, vs. the Oscar Best Picture winner, Parasite. It’s a very personal story for Chung who based some of the experiences on his own childhood, which once again proves the adage that if you’re going to write a movie, make it personal since that’s the most likely to connect with others. (Not always true, but it was great advice when I was given it.)

It takes a little time to understand why Minari is so beloved, since Chung takes an interesting approach where we see various scenes that don’t necessarily seem to tie into some sort of plot. Characters like Will Patton’s ultra-religious zealot who seems to be a bit lost when Jacob takes him on to help with his farm. Otherwise, we see various character interactions as things get tenser and tenser between Jacob and Monica, who are fighting all the time. Although the drama does get intense at times, there’s a lot of joyful and fun moments, particularly those involving the wacky grandmother and her dysfunctional relationship with her grandson. I also enjoyed the relationship between the two kids where Anne is always protective of her younger brother, who has some sort of heart illness. 

It's a beautiful movie with an equally gorgeous score, but it’s really in the last 20 minutes or so when we start to see where Chung has been going with all these seemingly disparate elements, which builds up to a wonderful ending. Yeun is terrific, and the fact he reminded me of my own father -- we’re neither Korean nor have I ever been to Arkansas -- shows why his subdued performance is so effective. Overall, the film proves that however many awful things life might throw at you, your family can always fix things. I love that message, and I hope others will find and love this as well.

After its one week in virtual cinema, Minari will get an expanded theatrical release starting February 12… hopefully, New York City theaters will be open by then and I can see it in a theater.

Film at Lincoln Center in New York also is starting its 49th annual “New Directors/New Films” series, which was delayed from March, although being virtual, the movies in it can also be viewed nationwide for the first time. I feel like a lot of movies that were scheduled to play ND/NF ended up being released already but there should be some interesting things in there.

George Clooney’s latest film THE MIDNIGHT SKY is based on Lily Brooks-Dalton’s novel Good Morning, Midnight, in which he plays Augustine, a scientist dying on his own at the Barbeau Observatory in the Arctic, who has to warn a group of astronauts returning to earth that it’s no longer safe for them to return.

Clooney has made a lot of good and great movies over the years, so that I’m one of those people anxiously ≠waiting for him to make something great again after the disappointment of Suburbicon. Midnight Sky is definitely one step forward and a few steps back, as it’s impossible not to think of previous Clooney movies like Solaris and Gravity, as well as The Martian and Passengers and Ad Astra. Yes, we somehow have gotten to the point where every year there’s some sort of space movie, and while Midnight Sky at its best is better than Solaris or Ad Astra (sorry, but I was not a fan), there’s enough that’s so quizzical and confounding I’m not sure people will be able to follow what’s going on.

Much of the first half of the movie involves Clooney’s Augustine alone at the Artic base interacting with a little girl (Caoillin Springall) who is completely silent. If it’s ever explained what the girl represents, I must have missed it. There are also flashbacks to Augustine’s earlier career as a scientist and explorer played by a somewhat only semi-impressive Clooney kinda look-alike in Ethan Peck.

The best moments of the movie involve the crew of astronauts on the spaceship Ether, including Felicity Jones and David Oyelowo, who are in a relationship, Demián Bichir, Kyle Chandler and Tiffany Boone, as they deal with various issues. This is really where comparisons to Gravity and The Martian are earned, but that’s such a mighty quintet of actors that these sections are far more interesting than sullen bearded Clooney with his young ward. The production design and visual FX in these portions of the film are also quite impressive.

The Midnight Sky throws a lot at the viewer but then tries too hard to be quizzical and enigmatic about how all of it ties together until the very end. I feel that some of Clooney’s more mainstream fans will be quite confounded and possibly even disappointed. The Midnight Sky is Clooney taking a swing and only partially connecting, and it might require multiple viewings to feel like it’s a worthy addition to his filmography.

Either way, The Midnight Sky will open theatrically in select cities this week and then be on Netflix on December 23, just in time for depressing everyone on Christmas!

Also hitting Netflix streaming this week is Ryan Murphy’s musical THE PROM, which I reviewed last week. It’s great, I loved it, and can’t wait to watch it again!

Next up is Clooney’s pal Steven Soderbergh, whose new movie LET THEM ALL TALK, will premiere on HBO Max this Thursday, December 10. It stars Meryl Streep as renowned writer Alice who is called to England to receive a prestigious literary award. Since she doesn’t fly, she’s booked on a cross-Atlantic trip on the Queen Mary II ship. Alice decides to bring her old friend Roberta (Candice Bergen)—whom hasn’t spoken to her in three decades--and Susan (Dianne Wiest) as well as her nephew Tyler (Lucas Hedges) to serve as her assistant so she can focus on her writing. Little does she know that her young agent Karen (Gemma Chan) is also on the ship hoping to find out what Alice is writing about with the help of Tyler, who is quite smitten with her.  

I’m not sure where to begin with one of week’s films that I probably had the highest expectations and ended up leaving me with the most utter disappointment. I wasn’t really that crazy about last year’s The Laundromat, and I’ve generally found Soderbergh’s work to be hit or miss over the last few years. I loved his thriller Unsanefor instance, and the Magic Mike movies were fun. This one, written by author Deborah Eisenberg, is just plain boring for most of it, offering nothing particularly interesting or insightful, as it’s basically another movie where Streep is playing a character who moans about how difficult her life is and how much better everyone else has it. I mean, if I wanted that shit, I’d spend more time on Twitter than I already do. And then there’s Hedges, one of my favorite young actors over the past few years, who seems to have fallen into a niche playing

In fact, my favorite aspect of the film was Gemma Chan, who plays a character with far more depth and dimension than normal, although much of her role is just to spy on Alice and fend of the subtle advances by the much younger Tyler. The two actors have some fun scenes together, far more lively than anything involving the older actresses, but you always know where it’s going. It’s kind of awkward and painful to watch Hedges bomb so hard. (At least he fared better playing a similar role in French Exit, but in that one, his love interest was Danielle Macdonald.)

The movie looks good with Soderbergh handling his own camera duties and cinematography as usual, and it’s scored with the same hipster jazz he might have used in one of his Ocean movies, but the movie just goes on and on and on, and it hs one of the most “what the fuck?” moments you’ll see this year.

If you can imagine one of The Trip movies without any of the laughs or the delicious food porn…but on a ship, that’s basically what you end up with. More than once while watching Soderbergh’s movie, I was ready to abandon ship.

And from pretty bad, we go to much, MUCH worse. Do you know what thyme it is? It’s WILD MOUNTAIN THYME!!!

John Patrick Shanley adapts his own play Outside Mullingar into a film that will be released in theaters and On Demand by Bleeker Street this Friday, and believe me, its biggest problems isn’t some of the awful Irish accents on display, but they certainly don’t help. Emily Blunt plays Rosemary and Jamie Dornan is Anthony, childhood friends who live down the street from each other in their Irish farming community. When they grow up, Rosemary’s father dies leaving her with a plot of land that forces Anthony and his father Tony (Christopher Walken) to have to use a gate to get to their home. Remember this gate, because it’s going to be mentioned so much over the course of the movie, you’ll wonder why the movie wasn’t called “Wild Mountain Gate.” (It’s actually named after a song that Blunt’s character sings for no apparent reason.)

First, you’ll have to get past the odd choice of the very non-Irish Walken in a key role as the dead narrator of the story with that aforementioned horrid accent. It won’t take long for you to start scratching your head how a noted playwright like Shanley could write such a horrible screenplay. Soon after, you’ll wonder how he convinced someone to finance making it into a movie. I’m normally a pretty big fan of Blunt, but this movie and role might be one of her biggest missteps as an actor to date. As a child, Rosemary was told by her father that she was the White Swan in Swan Lake, so of course that will lead to

It’s not long before Jon Hamm shows up as one of Anthony’s distant relatives who also has interest in Rosemary’s plot of land – nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Pretty soon we’re thrust into awkward love triangle rom-com that falls somewhere between Leap Year and The Holiday. Not exactly something you’d expect from the filmmaker behind the drama Doubt that produced multiple Oscar nominations for the cast, eh?

Instead, Shanley ends up trying to foist the… I don’t want to call it chemistry. What is the exact opposite of chemistry? Between Blunt and Dorman with one long boring conversation after another. At one point, they’re having a romantic chat about suicide, the next Anthony is telling Rosemary that he thinks he’s a honeybee. I mean, what the holy fuck?

Honestly, the whole thing is just grueling to watch, because you wonder how so much talent could falter so badly, particularly Shanley? Even the recent Shane MacGowan doc was a far more romantic take on Irish farming than this could ever possibly be.

One of the nicer surprises of the week is the sci-fi thriller PARALLEL (Vertical), which will be in theaters and On Demand this Friday, and it’s likely to be missed by a lot of people who would enjoy it. Directed by Isaac Ezban from a screenplay by Scott Blaszak, it follows four young people working in the tech sector of Seattle who discover a mirror in a hidden section of the house they’re renting that apparently allows them to experience other dimensions and other versions of their lives. Soon, they’re experimenting with different ways they can make money and achieve fame, although not all of them are cool about how they’re doing it.

Although Parallel opens like a home invasion thriller featuring the great Kathleen Quinlan, we soon learn that it’s a red herring before we meet the quartet of young entepreneurs working on a parking app with an almost impossible deadline. When they find the mirror that leads into an alternative dimension, they immediately start to experiment with figuring out what is happening exactly, and once they do, they realize they can make money by stealing from “alts” i.e. other versions of themselves. Soon, their success starts driving them insane with a desire for even more money and power.

Ezban’s movie benefits from a talented mostly unknown cast, including Martin Wallstrom and Mark O’Brien as boisterous alpha males. Georgia King’s artist Leena is far more than a love interest, although she does become an obsession for one of them eventually – and man, does she remind me of a young Reese Witherspoon. British actor Aml Ameen plays Devin, whose father committed suicide after being accused of corruption, and he’s also wary of some of the activities his friends get up to. There’s also the quartet’s main competitor Seth who gets suspicious of their success as they start producing all sorts of incredible technical inventions.

Parallel is a pretty twisted sci-fi movie that in some way reminded me of the ‘90s thriller Flatliners and even Primer a little bit, but the mirror aspect to it also will draw comparisons to Oculus, one of Mike Flanagan’s cool earlier movies. It doesn’t take long for the twists to start flying at the viewer, and once they do, your mind will be boggled and not necessarily in a bad way. I wouldn’t want to even begin sharing some of the crazy places where the film goes, but even gore fans won’t be disappointed by some of it.

It’s a real shame this terrific movie has floundered without distribution or deserved attention for so long, because there’s absolutely no question in my mind that Jason Blum should be talking to Ezban and Blaszk about doing something together. Parallel is the type of quality high-concept thriller Blumhouse thrives upon.

Another nice surprise this week was Ekwa Msangi’s FAREWELL AMOR (IFC Films), which debuted at Sundance earlier this year and barely got any attention, which is a real shame. It’s expanded from her earlier short, and it’s about an Angolan immigrant named Walter (Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine), who is reunited with his wife Esther (Zainab Jah) and daughter Sylvia (Jayme Lawson) after 17 years. As they share a small New York apartment, Walter and Esther try to rekindle their romance while Sylvia tries to adjust to an American school.

Msangi’s film opens at Newark airport where the small family is reunited, Walter not having seen either wife or daughter in a decade and a half. He’s working as a cab driver, and he’s ready to rekindle the old flame and meet his daughter who was only a baby when he moved to the States. (Little does Esther know that Walter was in a relationship with another woman, a nurse who isn’t too happy about having to leave Walter’s life.)

One of the things Msangi does to keep things interesting is that she splits the film into three sections, one for each character that focuses specifically on them, and the story gets infinitely interesting as we learn more about each of them. Walter is somewhat at odds with doing the right thing by his wife and daughter, who is wanting to explore her love of dance that her ultra-religious mother forebids. For some reason, I thought Sylvia’s section would be the most interesting as she deals with the trials of being a teenager, but then Esther’s section shows her to be a far more layered character we might have assumed earlier. She also befriends a neighbor woman played by Joie Lee that helps her expand. The thing is that all three are clearly good people, and you never feel as if one is doing something bad in relation to the others.

Farewell Amor is a quiet but beautiful film that explores an immigrant story in a far different way than we’ve seen before. It’s a discovery film, and I hope people will not just presume it won’t hold their interest. It’s a wonderfully relatable human story, similar to Tom McCarthy’s The Visitor.

Sienna Miller and Diego Luna star in Tara Miele’s psychological drama WANDER DARKLY (Lionsgate), playing Adrienne and Matteo, a couple who recently had a baby. After they get into a horrible car accident while arguing, they end up revisiting the highs and lows of their relationship as Adrienne believes either she or Matteo or both are dead.

This is a surprisingly stranger film than I expected, delving into the supernatural not quite in the way as something like Wes Craven’s Serpent and the Rainbow or Jacob’s Ladder, but having a few elements in common. Although I haven’t seen Miele’s other films, this one feels very much like something Drake Doremus might have made to the point where I’m not sure I could say I fully understood what was happening from one moment to the next. The film seems to be exploring a couple’s relationship through a horrible tragedy but does in a strange way.

With the emotional performances by the two leads being enhanced by an amazing score by Alex Weston (who also scored The Farewell last year), Wander Darkly is more than anything, a performance piece with a decent script and further proof Miller continues to be one of the most underrated actresses working today. Despite those great performances, the movie’s strange premise might be too metaphysical and intense in execution for everyone to be along for the entire ride. In that sense, I probably liked last week’s Black Bear just slightly more.

I reviewed Steve McQueen’s ALEX WHEATLE (Amazon Prime Video) in last week’s column, and that will hit Amazon Prime this Friday, but I think I’m going to save Education, the last film in his “Small Axe Anthology” for next week’s column.  I was also hoping to review Tom Moore and Ross Stewart’s WOLFWALKERS (Apple+) this week, since it premieres on Apple TV+ on Friday, but I just couldn’t get to it. Story of my life.

I’m not sure if I could tell you how many of the Ip Man movies I’ve seen over the past 12 or so years, many of which I saw at the New York Asian Film Festival, but Ip Man is indeed back after last year’s Ip Man: The Finale, but that’s because IP MAN: KUNG FU MASTER (Magnet/Magnolia Pictures) is part of the spin-off prologue series starring Dennis (Yu-Hang) To, who looked enough like a younger Donnie Yen to start a whole sub-franchise. This one is directed by Liming Li, who is also directing a Young Ip Man: Crisis Time prequel movie that presumably stars someone younger than both Yen and To. Got it?

Okay, maybe this needs a little more explaining, although the nice thing about Kung Fu Master is that it works perfectly fine as a stand-alone in case you’ve never seen any of the other movies. This one takes place in the ‘40s as Man is a police captain in Foshan, dealing with the ever-present gang known as The Axes.  He’s framed for murder when the leader of the gang dies in prison, and his daughter, Miss Qingchuan (Wanliruo Xin), wanting revenge as she takes over the gang. Ip Man has other issues like being disgraced as a police officer and then the arrival of the Japanese army who have their own agenda. Ip Man ends up donning a mask to become the Black Knight to fight crime in another way.

I make no bones about my love of martial arts films when they’re not stupid or hoaky and sadly, the Donnie Yen franchise was getting by last year’s so-called “finale.” Kung Fu Master starts out with an amazing action scene of To fighting off what seems like hundred of axe-wielding gangsters, and it barely lets up, constantly throwing interesting and thoroughly entertaining fights at the viewer. Eventually, there’s a bounty on Ip Man’s head with whoever kills becoming leader of the Axes, but he has other issues, like his wife giving birth to their baby boy, just as the police chief and force shows up to arrest him. Cutting quickly between childbirth and kung fu action is just one of the interesting things Director Li does to make his Ip Man debut.

The resemblance between Dennis To and Donnie Yen is more than just facial as his wushu techniques are equally impressive, and sure, there’s a few more dramatic moments between Ip Man and his wife, but it’s Xin’s Miss Qingchuan who ends up being more of a formidable counter to To in just about every way, including a few fight scenes where axes are flying through the air.

Ip Man Kung Fu Master is fairly short, less than 90 minutes, but it still feels long because it feels like it finds a good ending, and then tacks on an epilogue and then another one. There were times I thought it might end on a cliffhanger to set up Ip Man’s inevitable next movie. The abundance of evil antagonists Ip Man must fight in this one tends to become a bit much, but it’s hard not to be thrilled by the martial arts on display and Li’s terrifically stylish visuals that keeps the movie interesting.

Ip Man Kung Fu Master will be available digitally Friday through a variety of platforms.

Filmmaker Adam Egypt Mortimer, who released Daniel Isn’t Real last year, returns with ARCHENEMY (RLJEfilms), starring Joe Manganiello as Max Fist, who claims to be a hero from another dimension that fell to earth. He ends up spending time with a teen brother and sister, Hamster (Skylan Brooks) and Indigo (Zelee Griggs) who want to clean the streets of the local drug syndicate, led by The Manager (Glenn Howerton from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia). It’s a strange and quirky dark superhero movie that includes appearances by the likes of Paul Scheer and Amy Seimetz, and though I ran out of time to review, I do have an interview with Mortimer at Below the Line.

Time to get to some docs, and there are definitely some you’ll want to check out, although I don’t have as much time to write that much about them, and some of them I wasn’t able to watch yet.

Another great doc out of the September festival circuit is Ryan White’s ASSASSINS (Greenwich Entertainment), which follows the assassination of Kim Jong-nam, half-brother to North Korean leader Kim Jon-un in 2017 at a busy airport in Malaysia by two young women. Although the two women had never met before, they were jointly charged with attacking the North Korean ex-pat with a lethal nerve gas called VX but White’s investigation takes him all over South-East Asia trying to get answers to how the two women were tricked into committing the assassination. This is a pretty masterful display of doc filmmaking by White, not just in the sense of the way the story is paced and edited like a good political thriller, but it’s one that keeps the viewer invested even as the last act deals with the trial of the two young women and the bond that forms between them.

I’ll have more about this film over on Below the Line sometime very soon, but it hits theaters and virtual cinema this Friday and then it will be on PVOD on January 15

I saw Seamus Murphy’s doc PJ HARVEY: A DOG CALLED MONEY way back in March when it was supposed to open at New York’s Film Forum, but it’s finally getting a virtual cinema release there. Murphy travelled across Afghanistan, Kosovo and Washington DC with singer/songwriter PJ Harvey as she prepared material for her 2015 album, The Hope Six Million Project, which she produced with Flood and John Parish as an installation at Somerset House where people can walk by and view the recording process.  This is an amazing doc that allows you into the process of writing for an amazing recording artist who has given Murphy and the viewer unprecedented access into her creativity. I had fully lost track of Harvey over the years, even though I was a huge fan of hers when she first hit these shores – in fact, I saw her play a concert where Radiohead opened for her… and there as another band (Gallon Drunk) after them! Because of that, I wasn’t familiar with the album, but I just love good music docs, especially ones that take us behind the scenes of a talented artist, and Murphy has created quite a fascinating film even outside the recording studio, whether it’s following Harvey around (narrated by her own poetic observations) but also with commentary by others they encounter. I found the Washington DC segments particularly interesting, since that’s the one place where I’ve spent the most time.  An absolutely fantastic doc whether you’re a fan of Harvey’s or not.

Also playing in the Film Forum’s Virtual Cinema this week is Thomas Balmés’ SING ME A SONG, the filmmaker’s second doc set in the Himalayan village of Bhutan that’s been isolated for centuries. He returns to update on Peyangki, the 8-year-old Buddhist monk from his 2014 film Happiness, now a teenager who has fallen under the sway of technology including pop music and smartphone games, as he begins a WeChat romance with a young singer, which makes him consider leaving the monastery.

Also premiering on Netflix this Friday is Jim Stern and Fernando Villena’s doc GIVING VOICE, tying into the streaming premiere of August Wilson’s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom next week. It follows six student actors auditioning for the August Wilson Monologue Competition, which brings thousands of students from twelve U.S. cities together to perform the Pulitzer Prize winner’s work.

Joshua Faudem’s doc THE LAST SERMON (Gravitas Ventures/Will Kennan) follows the director and Jack Baxter as they follow 14 years after making their 2004 documentary Blues by the Beach, in which the two ended up in a terrorist attack by British Nationals on Mike’s Place, a bar next door to the National Embassy on Tel Aviv. This event sends Baxter and Faudem across Europe to refugee camps and mosques in order to understand the essence of Islam and the truth about the international terrorists that almost killed them.

Drew Barrymore plays a dual role in THE STAND-IN (Saban Films), directed by Jamie Babbitt (But I’m a Cheerleader). While under normal circumstances, Wild Mountain Thyme would have been the dog of the week, then this movie came along. Yikes. Barrymore plays Candy Black, a comedy star best known for her pratfalls in bad movies (ala Melissa McCarthy). She also plays Paula, Candy’s much sweeter and almost identical stand-in. Candy is a nightmare to work with and after a fall from grace, she holes herself up in her Long Island Estate for five years, while Paula’s own fortunes falter without having that work. I’m sure you can figure out where it goes from there.

Yes, folks, we have what is now one of the worst iterations of a Tale of Two Cities not made by Barrymore’s frequent co-star Adam Sandler, although there are times where you wonder if she is actually playing a version of Sandler with Candy. Eventually, either Candy or Paula or both decide that Paula can take Candy’s place in her attempt to return to work, but the results are just far worse than The Hottie or the Nottie, as Paula also stands in for Candy on dates with the man she’s fallen in love with online through their love of woodworking. (I didn’t make that up.) You almost always know where it’s going and can’t help but groan when you’re right.

Basically, there’s one Drew that’s glammed-down and the other talking in an annoying wispy voice, so there really isn’t getting away from the awfulness even for a second.The thing is that, like the worst comedies, The Stand In is not funny, and it’s sad to see a decent director like Babbitt being dragged into this one. It’s just a terrible overused premise that’s executed quite poorly. Not only that, but the movie also co-stars TJ Miller, who has fallen so far from grace himself, that it’s shocking to see him in another movie.

Besides guaranteeing Barrymore a double-dose Razzie nomination, The Stand In also leaves her with cow shit on her face, much like her character.

Movies I just didn’t have time to get to this week:

Funny Boy (Array/Netflix) Gunda (NEON) Safety (Disney+) Bee Gees: How Can You Mend a Broken Heart (HBO Max) 40 Years a Prisoner (HBO Docs) Through the Night (Longshot Factory) To the Ends of the Earth (KimStim) Rompan Todo: The History of Rock in Latin America (Netflix) The Wilds (Prime Video) Nasrin (Virgil Films) Finding Ying Yin

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!

[denniscnolasco]

“Meeting new artists On the same path is a joy But when can I paint?” I had a hard time doing gradients until I figured it out in the rightmost column. I redid column 1 and 2 probably a half dozen times. After not getting the desired results (mostly due to it not being smooth and getting contamination), I asked a few people and they gave me tips about cleaning the brush and mixing admixtures thoroughly. The tip that helped me most was that my lights were too runny using 5 drops of linseed oil. Another student said the same thing about the lights. The advice was instead of using 5 drops of linseed, do 1 drop at a time and then mix until you get the desired consistency. Then I watched Kevin Murphy’s videos again—repeating a few sections a couple times. This helped a bunch as well. So I applied these tips when I did column 3 and I was able to do it exponentially quicker and it looks much better than column 2. Column 1 looks decent because the moderate light wasn't as runny as the extreme light. denniscnolasco.com 👨‍🎨 #oilpaintingclass #evolveartists #dailyhaiku #artistofinstagram (at San Francisco Bay Area) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEqbFfFs9u_/?igshid=uift28iul7kc

[readingjunky]

Most readers know Julie Murphy as the author of PUDDIN' and DUMPLIN' (a Netflix film). DEAR SWEET PEA is her first middle grade novel. It would be a good fit for any reader fifth grade and up.

Sweet Pea is adjusting to a lot. Her parents recently divorced, and she is now living between two houses on the same street. Her therapist mother decided the best thing for Sweet Pea was to have both her parents living in almost identical houses separated only by Miss Flora Mae, the neighborhood eccentric.

Another change Sweet Pea is still trying to come to terms with is the loss of her former friend, Kiera. Always best friends, Kiera and Sweet Pea went their separate ways when Kiera chose to hang out with a group of older girls, leaving Sweet Pea behind. Kiera didn't just move on to different friends; she also became a mean girl. Sweet Pea struggles to ignore Kiera's snide remarks about her weight and her parents' divorce. Little does she know, Kiera is dealing with struggles of her own. Oscar, Sweet Pea's true best friend, is also acting a bit weird lately.

Fortunately, Miss Flora Mae offers Sweet Pea a distraction when she asks Sweet Pea to gather her mail and water her plants while she is off helping her ailing sister. Sweet Pea has always been fascinated by Miss Flora Mae I, an advice column in the local newspaper. Having written many letters to Miss Flora Mae, Sweet Pea relishes the opportunity to sneak peeks at the letters she's been asked to forward on to the old columnist. She even tries her hand at answering a few and slipping them into the return delivery to the newspaper's editor. Seeing her advice letters printed is certainly a thrill.

DEAR SWEET PEA takes a look at friendship, family struggles, and secrets. Sweet Pea learns that dealing with relationships means being open, caring, and trustworthy. There's a little something for everyone in Julie Murphy's debut middle grade book.

[surejaya]

Dear Sweet Pea

Dear Sweet Pea by Julie Murphy

The first middle grade novel from Julie Murphy, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Dumplin’ (now a popular Netflix film), is a funny, heartwarming story perfect for fans of Rebecca Stead, Ali Benjamin, and Holly Goldberg Sloan. Patricia “Sweet Pea” DiMarco wasn’t sure what to expect when her parents announced they were getting a divorce. She never could have imagined that they would have the “brilliant” idea of living in nearly identical houses on the same street. In the one house between them lives their eccentric neighbor Miss Flora Mae, the famed local advice columnist behind “Miss Flora Mae I?” Dividing her time between two homes is not easy. And it doesn’t help that at school, Sweet Pea is now sitting right next to her ex–best friend, Kiera, a daily reminder of the friendship that once was. Things might be unbearable if Sweet Pea didn’t have Oscar—her new best friend—and her fifteen-pound cat, Cheese. Then one day Flora leaves for a trip and asks Sweet Pea to forward her the letters for the column. And Sweet Pea happens to recognize the handwriting on one of the envelopes. What she decides to do with that letter sets off a chain of events that will forever change the lives of Sweet Pea DiMarco, her family, and many of the readers of “Miss Flora Mae I?”

Download : Dear Sweet Pea Dear Sweet Pea More Book at: Zaqist Book