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lianabrooks · 7 months
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'tis spooky season in North America and that means it is time for another All I Want For Christmas book, your horror for the holidays!
Pack your bags and come with Iris Muhly to stunning Seoul! She's an American ingenue way out of place and about to lose her job. Can the resident villain save the day? Maybe!
Watch this space for pre-order links and news!
https://www.lianabrooks.com/all-i-want-for-christmas-is-a-gargoyle/
Opening pages below the break...
Need a book to read right now? All I Want For Christmas Is A Werewolf All I Want For Christmas Is A Reaper
Opening pages from the unproofed ARC (because my editor is still fixing things and I wanted to share today!).
Everi1/ShatteredEndings: Longtime lurker, first time poster, I’m really torn on how to vote for Shattered 5. I’m a Z-wysh shipper, but I don’t know if I can forgive Iris for dumping Jihun! - @ValL0vesM3 @MaxIsBae53 – You can’t come back from that. @xxUwUxx23 – SAME @EveriReader – Jihun would tell you to follow your heart. Until Our Darling says he wants Iris gone, don’t believe the gossip. The eighth reel is the one set up by the original author, and that means keeping Iris.
A decade or two ago my dark, chocolate brown hair might have drawn some attention as I got off the bus near Gongdeok Station in Seoul. My skin was a little too pink to be native, my height still a few centimeters taller than the average Korean woman's, my eyes double-lidded and noticeably western European. Today, no one seemed to notice. A few teens glanced at the bedraggled black and purple wig in my hand and the water-damaged fan sign for the hit TV show Shattered, but if they thought anything it was probably that I was a fan who'd gone to see the cast in their final appearance of the penultimate season four.
Absolutely no one shouted out "Wysha!" as I passed, even though that was the name of the purple-haired, mortal-turned-immortal I'd played since the season three finale. Even fans would have struggled to remember my legal name - Iris Muhly - simply because I was, as they said in Hollywood, an ingenue.
Unknown.
A random extra who wound up playing a major character for one season and was destined for a gruesome on-screen death if I didn't get things fixed.
Bitter cold winds rushed ruffled overhead holiday banners lining the alley as I hurried to my Yeonnam-dong apartment. It had been another very long day, with a four am call time so the principles of the cast could do a six am morning show followed by the teaser trailer for the upcoming fan vote. I'd escaped that at ten and rushed to the salon to get my poor, bleached hair treated, re-colored back its natural brown, and then headed home as the sky turned dark. It was only a little after five in the evening, but it was a bitingly cold December day and the sun was setting.
Somewhere over the sound of rushing cars I could hear someone learning that sound doesn’t carry well when it’s -20C outside. No, not even for cheery Christmas carols or romantic pop ballads about first kisses stolen between snowflakes. The winter weather this year consisted of a freezing drought, brutal winds, and none of the romantic snow the Koreans were all expecting.
"Fine by me," I muttered as I eyed the frozen blue sky. I had a plane ticket for a red-eye out of Incheon airport heading straight back to the good 'ol US of A. Home sweet... spawn point?
It was less about going home to somewhere good or safe and more about being in a place where my work visa wouldn't expire as soon as I was fired. Because my first acting gig was rapidly going from Going To Get Fired to Going To Get Fired And Blacklisted.
Hugging my black coat around myself against the cold I glanced both ways along a narrow street and dashed across the street in a way most likely to 1) get me hit by a passing car and 2) get me fined if any of the CCTV cams were working. Which, they weren't. The agency I'd signed a twelve-month contract with was paying for the apartment here in Seoul and they weren't springing for a luxury penthouse for someone who wasn't an actual star.
I ducked past the shops lining the ground floor - convenience stores, noodle shops, and pharmacies - fighting the wind with each step. Plastering myself to the side of the building I tugged off a thin gray glove long enough to punch in the six-digit door code.
The tinted glass door slid open with a soft whoosh of warmer air.
For the first time all day I could almost breathe easy. Granted, there were fourteen CCTV cams pointed along the entry way for the apartment building and two more doors to get through to get to the communal mail hall, but at least I was safe-ish when the doors locked behind me with a click.
It sounded delusional, but for the past week or more I'd felt like someone was watching me.
I'd pushed it off as a delayed response to eighteen-hour work days on set in front of cameras. Compared to the last fourteen months of filming and promotions this past week had been comparatively easy. The cast had split the interviews and appearances, I'd only been in six of the fourteen live things, done four signings, and only been physically threatened, oh, maybe a few thousand times.
With a glance at the heavily tinted windows I went through the next set of doors to the common area where a bank of TVs displayed everything from the local weather channel and the stock exchange to the celebrity news.
The same picture was on half the TVs: a Korean man so handsome my breath caught even though I’d spent the past fourteen months in close proximity with him. “Michyeosseo,” the word slipped past my lips in an angry huff and I wasn’t sure who was crazier, me or the fans on screen screaming  "J'aime Max!" and "Max Kang, je suis délicieux! Épouse-moi!" and the old stand-by, “Sauve-moi, roi des gargouille!”
I wouldn’t stand out in the cold to wave purple and black dragons at a camera for an anyone. Not even in Paris where all the rosy-cheeked teens were. Not even for pay.
Okay, well, that was a lie. Because I could unreservedly cheer for Max Kang for pay and absolutely had during at least one alternate-universe scene this season.
Shattered, the multinational television show that let viewers write the ending to the universally acclaimed series that started with the novel All These Broken Seasons, was all about merging alternate universe and looking at what could have been. The whole premise was two realities collided and the death of some fey[1] princess meant the people in normal Earth suddenly were confronting the people from a magical Earth.
Max Kang, easily one of the hottest men on the planet, played the big, bad villain: Zjarr Aabo. On the screen of the lobby TV Max was seated right next to the breathlessly hungry host who was eyeing his thin, black silk shirt with the undone buttons as if she could make the others fall off by wishing alone. He probably wasn’t currently sporting the chiseled Abs of Treason he flashed at least once a season, because getting that definition involved extreme dieting and dehydration that wasn’t healthy to maintain, but most of the audience didn’t know that.
Not that Max needed chiseled muscle to make him delicious.
He was a man who’d built his fame playing classic bad guys, and one of the highest grossing Korean actors. Black hair that somehow always looked sexily tousled, wide set black eyes, heavy eyebrows, a broad and expressive face, and the muscles of a man who spent every spare hour in the gym or with the show’s fight trainer. The fact that he could dance and sing was just icing on the slice of Hallyu Wave perfection that was Max Kang.
Light loved him.
There was a glow, and a natural presence that survived even the camera’s harsh glare. When Max stepped into a room every head turned. His dramatic baritone voice was rich and low enough to send a shiver up anyone’s spine.
The evil demon of a man certainly didn't need to look directly into the camera with his ridiculously incomparable dark eyes and wink as his lips curled into a perfect come hither smile that all but melted everyone in his line of sight. 
No, he didn't need to do any of that. 
But he did.
I rolled my eyes as I pushed the button and waited for the elevator. All of this was to sway the vote. No, make it The Vote. With sparkly letters and fancy fonts and everything.
All These Broken Seasons was the best selling fantasy series of the mid-21st century but it had a little problem... the ending didn’t exist.   
Years ago the author had rudely died, or run away, or been kidnapped by Bigfoot. Something like that. One day they were in full contact and posting daily teasers for the untitled final fifth novel, and then they vanished. The jury was still out on what really happened.
Shattered was the answer.
Some studio had the rights, the author’s sudden disappearance gave them an opening, and they ran with it. Four, big budget seasons followed the books with a gratifying amount of accuracy[2] and now the fans got to vote on which ending we would shoot.
Since most the fans currently wanted to shoot me, the ending that promised my brutal death on screen was winning with eighty percent of the votes. Angel Xi, Shattered’s leading lady and the primary love interest of the hero, had oh-so-not-kindly told me that in Cantonese the word Four sounds like the word Death. Angel’s a sweetie like that.
The elevator opened and was empty, thank goodness. I stepped in and stabbed the close button before anyone could hop on.
Most of the building’s residents were polite enough to pretend they didn’t know me. Koreans weren’t fans of small talk as a rule, especially in Seoul, but things had been tense since the tabloids snapped pictures of Kim Jihun crying.
Tears weren’t the problem. Men could cry, and Jihun often did as the tortured, lovelorn hero of Shattered. The problem was that the tabloids had been snapping pics of me and Jihun hanging out for the past year and the world was convinced we were dating. If Jihun was smiling, I’d done something to make him happy. If Jihun was angry, it was my fault. If he was crying, I ought to die for hurting The World’s Darling.
Despite all the tabloid rumors, Jihun and I had never shared more than heartfelt glances on screen. He was my type, but I wasn’t his, and I was smart enough not to chase a man who didn’t want me.
[1] Fae? Fairy? Whatever. She was the typical All Powerful Magic Girl and she died at the end of the first book.
[2] I hadn’t read the books until after I’d been cast, and I really didn’t appreciate how much work went into adapting a book into a screenplay until I met some of the script writers. Suffice it to say, they deserved all the awards they kept winning and the full adoration of the fandom. Other fandoms wish they were this lucky.
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bonelessgoblin · 1 year
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oh my god. i (me) am writing. writing words. on paper. about the fic I've been thinking for so long. and. i (me) am now learning. for the amount of time I've been thinking. that i (me) have know idea what anything is anymore. plot? i (me) do not remember. characters? don't even know the main main character (literally just thinks of good jokes or nods to other people). actual world building? TOO MUCH FOR THE LACK OF ANYTHING ELSE. did you know that you can use sugar as a kind of lighter fluid? i (me) do. because. i (me) was writing about a relatively small characteristic about one of the characters (they work at a café).
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jewfrogs · 9 months
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the problem with autism is sometimes you want to do something (brave) but you need someone to gently walk you through each step so you know what will happen. and people don’t like doing that
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ryan-sometimes · 10 months
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Saw this tweet and had to collect Ryan Gosling’s best PR quotes for Barbie
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bretzkysbs · 4 months
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It turns out the cookies are real — sort of.
They are baked at the home of Lara MacLean, who has been a “puppet wrangler” for the Jim Henson Company for almost three decades. MacLean started as an intern for Sesame Workshop in 1992 and has been working for the team ever since.
The recipe, roughly: Pancake mix, puffed rice, Grape-Nuts and instant coffee, with water in the mixture. The chocolate chips are made using hot glue sticks — essentially colored gobs of glue.
The cookies do not have oils, fats or sugars. Those would stain Cookie Monster. They’re edible, but barely. “Kind of like a dog treat,” MacLean says.
Before she reinvented the recipe in the 2000s, the creative team behind “Sesame Street” used versions of rice crackers and foams to make the cookies. The challenge was that the rice crackers would make more of a mess and get stuck in Cookie’s fur. And the foams didn’t look like cookies once they broke apart.
Cookie has been portrayed since 2001 by David Rudman, who took over the role from Frank Oz. Rudman’s right hand moves the mouth, which is eating, and his left hand holds the cookies. Both work in concert to break the cookies, which means they have to be soft enough to fall apart.
Rudman said soft cookies are best, adding, “The more crumbs, the funnier it is. If he eats the cookie, and it only breaks into two pieces if it’s too hard, it’s just not funny,” he said. “It looks almost painful. But if he eats a cookie and it explodes into a hundred crumbs, that’s where the comedy comes from.”
MacLean has perfected a recipe that is “thin enough that it’ll explode into a hundred crumbs,” Rudman said. “But it’s not too thin that it’ll break in my hand when I’m holding it.”
Not every (human) guest realizes that the cookies aren’t meant to be eaten. Adam Sandler appeared on an episode and decided to share in the muppet's delight by spontaneously eating a cookie with him on set.
“As soon as the cameras cut, he was like, ‘Blech!' ” MacLean said.
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moregraceful · 3 months
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Bought my uncle a burger and milkshake in exchange for letting me disrupt the holiest day of the week, NFL Sunday Football, so I could install a Pi-hole and free the household of ads...the thing abt the specific boomers I live with is they told me not to trust people on the Internet but they do not understand the algorithm or online advertising and think that Facebook has their best interests at heart. And every time I have tried to explain to them that no, blorbo from my dashboard is not selling my kidneys on the dark web but Google from your capitalism is definitely selling your web searches to every advertising company on the planet, they think I am paranoid. How could their personal friend Mark Zuckerberg want anything bad to happen to them etc. I am fighting battles I did not know existed!!!
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give-soup-please · 9 months
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raise a glass to the posts you love that end up deleted. to the fanart and fanfics you lose track of and can't locate. to the blogs you used to look through that ended up unexpectedly disappearing. to the things you didn't archive because you always assumed they'd be there.
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vikingfunerals · 1 year
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the commodification of friendship is the most annoying thing to come out of the internet in ages. like actually i love to break this to you but you're supposed to help your friends move even if it's hard work. or stay up with them when they're sad even if you're gonna lose sleep. you're supposed to listen to their fears and sorrows even if it means your own mind takes on a little bit of that weight. that's how you know that you care. they will drive you to the airport and then you will make them soup when they're sick. you're supposed to make small sacrifices for them and they are supposed to do that for you. and there's actually gonna be rough patches for both of you where the balance will be uneven and you will still be friends and it will not be unhealthy and they will not be abusive. life is not meant to be an endless prioritization of our own comfort if it was we would literally never get anywhere ever. jesus.
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oocsydney · 5 months
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hbomberguy highlighting all of the parts where james somerton plagiarized from other queer creators:
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potato-gay · 9 months
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shinobicyrus · 2 months
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Why do you need your earbuds to have a wire so badly?
I am assuming this is about a post I reblogged like six months ago when I went off on forced technological enshitification and the slow erosion of consumer options. But sure, I'll bite.
Why do I "need" my earbuds to have a wire? I dunno, Anon, maybe I:
Don't want to have to worry about recharging my earbuds.
Don't want my earbuds to be even easier to lose.
Don't want my earbuds to need separate accessories that are as easy to lose as the earbuds.
Prefer to have bluetooth turned off on my devices for security and safety reasons.
Like being able to seamlessly plug my earbuds into my computer, my MP3 player, or any other device with a headphone jack.
Don't want to spend 50 dollars on decent wireless earbuds when I can do all the above things with a pair of solid earbuds that cost me like $12 during the Obama administration.
Don't care about what kinds of headphones or earbuds people wear but don't like what it says about our society when other people apparently care what kind of earbuds I'm wearing so much they have send an Anonymous ask to interrogate me about it.
And I guess, more abstractly, because fuck Apple. That's why.
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heritageposts · 3 months
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🇵🇸 From Friends of Al-Aqsa (FOA):
This Ramadan make sure you’re not breaking your fast with the taste of apartheid. All you need to do is check the label to avoid buying dates from apartheid Israel. This includes dates labelled from Israel, the West Bank and the Jordan Valley or if the country of origin is not shown. Ramadan is a time of reflection and self-improvement. During this month we are more conscious of our actions and how they affect others. Israel is the world’s largest producer of Medjoul dates. Let's be conscious of not buying dates that support Israel’s illegal occupation of Palestine and apartheid regime. * Major UK supermarkets like ASDA, Tesco, Iceland and Waitrose all sell dates from apartheid Israel as well as local grocery stores * The UK is the second-biggest importer of Israeli dates in Europe 50% of Israeli dates are exported to Europe, where the UK, Netherlands, France, Spain and Italy import huge quantities of the dried fruit. In 2020 the UK imported over 3000 tonnes of dates from Israel, worth roughly 7.5 million pounds. There are two peaks of date consumption in Europe. One is during the month of Ramadan and the other is during New Year’s Eve and Christmas. Boycotting Israeli dates in Ramadan is a concerted community effort that can show we are not powerless. It would be brilliant to see all Israeli dates still left on shelves across the UK and Europe at the end of the blessed month. This would reflect our strength as a community to stand together with a very important message: We will not support the oppression of Palestinians and we will not be complicit in Israeli apartheid. So, this Ramadan #CheckTheLabel and boycott Israeli dates.
With Ramadan approaching, please consider sharing!
If you're in the UK, they also have leaflets available for order on their webpage. These tie into their upcoming campaign #CheckTheLabel, with a national day of action on the 16th of February.
Again, check their webpage for more info.
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endusviolence · 1 month
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Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?
I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?
In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".
Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.
This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.
Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.
The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.
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[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]
There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.
This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.
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[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]
As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.
But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?
Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.
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nocturnal-birb · 4 months
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"Set them on fire" wrong. BIRD ATTACK 🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦🐦
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captainjonnitkessler · 3 months
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You know I used to think "tumblr's absolute refusal to actually engage with the Trolley Problem in favor of insisting that there must be a third, morally pure option that doesn't require them to make a hard decision and anyone who asks them to make a binary choice is just a short-sighted idiot is really fucking annoying, but I guess it's not actually doing any harm".
Anyway that was before we asked tumblr at large to decide between "guy aiding a genocide but making progress elsewhere" and "guy who would actively and enthusiastically participate in a genocide and would also make everything else much, much worse for everyone elsewhere" and the response was that there must be a third, morally pure option that doesn't require them to make a hard decision and that anyone who asks them to make a binary choice is a short-sighted idiot.
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arsenicpanda · 6 months
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FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S (2023)
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