Much Better

Most days: *is okay*

Some days: Why is Treasure Planet underrated? Why is Meet the Robinsons underrated? Why is Atlantis: the Lost Empire underrated? Why is Brother Bear underrated? Why are a lot of great Disney movies underrated?

A Good Old Tale

Inspired by this post and this comic by @meowthefluffy

Notes: Mention of injuries, not graphic but it's there. Not proofread, we die like Twitter.

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Archive of Our Own, known as AO3, is not very sociable. Everyone knows it, even those who stubbornly insist he should be.

But for AO3, working on the Archive and watching millions of writers save their works in the many shelves is more than enough. His work seems tedious to some, but he quite enjoys the repetition of it: tagging works, helping writers place their stories within the shelves and making sure the laws are followed. There’s never a shortage of people with interesting tales to entertain him.

Every now and then, though, one of the more social people walks in, usually with their followers. TikTok, the dancer, and her loud gaggle that needs to be constantly reminded to be silent and not inconvenience anyone. Instagram and her group, who enjoy painting themselves reading the books instead of actually reading. YouTube and their critics, always with a million annotations to take back home.

But two of them always catch AO3’s attention more than the others.

One is Twitter, the most beautiful man in the world—or so he is called. Twitter has light blue hair, fluffy and curly like those of angels, the same shade as the wings out of his back. He dresses in white and light blue, with gold adornments. He is beautiful, with his blue eyes and soft lips that stretch in a brilliant smile. His movements are gracious, as if he’s perpetually dancing. Moreover, he’s a debater of little words, preferring to talk in short and sharp phrases, voice enchanting and subjects too simple.

It is hard to not look at Twitter whenever he is present. If he, somehow, isn’t enough to grab one’s attention, the sheer number of his followers surely is. And their status, as Twitter is known to be followed by kings and nobles and rich merchants and entire guilds.

AO3 has never been much interested in Twitter, however. To him, the best part of the man was his lover, the second person that always catches AO3’s attention.

Tumblr is his name.

Tumblr is beautiful, of a peculiar beauty that not many seemed to appreciate. His hair is a deep, dark shade of blue, and it cascades down his back like tendrils of unspeakable horrors. His eyes, always accompanied by dark bags, are incapable of keeping only one shade of blue, and sometimes they flash something unusual like pink or white. He, too, is beautiful, with his crooked teeth and pointy nose and expressive eyes. He moves clumsily at times, even falling down, but there is no grace equal to his when telling one of his stories, or singing one of his songs, or dancing one of his tunes, or showing one of his paintings. Tumblr is a master of many words, from short one line ballads to the most ungodly litanies, voice like thunder you hear in the distance.

They are lovers.

How they came to be is a tale very few don’t know. Star-crossed lovers, different but so similar, the beautiful orator and the heretical storyteller. Many joked their relationship is the same as a Goddess of Beauty falling for a lowly Court Jester.

AO3 does not see it happen, but many of his customers come tell him.

“Tumblr,” they say in shaky voices, their pins and bands and cloaks and laces a grieving shade of blue, “got beaten almost to death by his King.”

AO3 makes a point to stay within the Archive territory at all times. This time, however, he simply cannot. Not when his friend, who often came with an encouraging smile to his followers and a tale on his tongue, could be dying this exact second. AO3 rushes out as fast as he can, the followers guiding him. They go past the woods and past oasis, only stopping when they reach the Desert of the Forgotten. A shiver goes down his spine, nothing good comes to those who stay at the Desert of the Forgotten.

The followers that are still around are much smaller in numbers, but their intensity as they watch him walk to the hut Tumblr rests in could have fooled him into thinking they were billions.

“Where are the others?”

“There are no others. They followed that man, they abandoned us,” one of the followers snarls, and many others grunt and growl in agreement.

AO3 would have answered, weren’t for the view in front of him.

Tumblr, on a makeshift bed, looking one deep breath away from dissolving into nothingness. His hair had been cut, and AO3 knows that the nice buzzcut was one of his followers’ idea. There’s bandages around his neck, and bandages hold together the bones of his hand, and bandages keep his legs in place. His eyes are covered too, unseen and unseeing.

AO3 cannot stomach the view for long, and the first breath he takes after leaving the stuffy hut is as liberating as it is crushing.

“They hurt his throat so he wouldn’t talk. They blinded him, deafened him, broke his fingers and legs… all so he would stop creating what they didn’t want to see,” the follower explains in a soft voice.

“... will he survive?” he asks. It comes out as a plea.

“He will,” another follower answers, eyes fierce as they approach, dressed in Tumblr blue from head to toe. “We will make sure of it. We will carry him so he can still circulate, he will hold his hands so he can still write. We will make our crafts brighter and brighter until he can see them, and we will sing our songs louder and louder until he can hear them. We will tell him stories every breathing moment, until he’s telling them to us instead.”

Now, AO3 knows of loyalty. The Archive was built on loyalty.

And yet, his breath is taken away by the unanimous agreement.

He returns home with hope.

Months go by. Not one word of Tumblr is heard, and the general populace starts believing he truly is dead. Except AO3 knows better. He sees the deep blues around, walking with pride, socializing with ease, and he knows. He knows Tumblr lives. He has no idea where, but he knows he lives, breathing words into elaborate narratives.

Twitter, meanwhile, grows more and more loved, and he basks on that love without shame. There’s not even a mention of his lover, the lover he left in fear of being dragged down from his golden throne.

Two years after his last visit, someone asks him if he wants to visit Tumblr. He recognizes them as the same follower who came forth with the oath. He agrees without much thought, eager to see the other man after so long.

Now, the follower fills him in as they travel, they all live in the ruins of an abandoned town. The ruler of that territory is kind to them, much kinder, despite still limiting much of their products. Tumblr had recovered fully, and while the scars still cling to him, he can now talk and laugh and see and sing and listen and dance and craft and create and be again. The follower does warn him that Tumblr has become odder. More twisted under the fun bits and stories. Unnerving even. But he is still Tumblr, and they will still follow him loyally.

They reach the village and AO3 is surprised when he sees people wearing a much lighter shade of blue together with the Tumblr blue.

Tumblr is waiting for him in front of a rundown but incredibly colorful house, painted on the colors of the sky. He sits on a small stool and rests his hands and chin on a cane. His hair has grown considerably, like tendrils of dreams beyond imagination, and his eyes shine different shades of Tumblr blue with the occasional white or pink or green or—

“Archive.”

“Tumblr.”

“I lived, bitch.”

AO3 laughs at his friend's irreverence. How could he ever dare doubt this man? How could he ever dare think Tumblr would not spit on Death’s face and walk back to life? He accepts the hand extended to him, and pulls the taller man into a hug. Tumblr smells of the sea, a good match for a man obsessed with crabs, and magic, the type of magic that exists even when magic doesn’t exist.

“I see there are people with his color amongst yours,” AO3 murmurs, bitterness in his heart.

“What right have I to take their home from them?” Tumblr answers, letting go so he can look at AO3’s eyes with that mysterious and forever kind gaze he was once known for. “What matters is not the color they wear, but the one they return to.”

“Are you not angry?”

“I am wrathful,” Tumblr smiles serenely, sending a shiver of fear down AO3’s spine. “If I could, I’d tear apart Heavens and Hell with my bare hands. I want to fistfight every god who dared ignore my prayers, and not to brag, but I am confident I would win.”

“I’m sure you would.”

And he believes it too.

“They cannot kill me in a way that matters,” the man squeezes him one last time before letting go. “Come, old friend, let us share some tales like the good times.”

AO3 spends the rest of the day listening to Tumblr spin his tales, one after the other. From the lovely to the twisted to the heartbreaking to the healing to the downright hilarious, there are no words that do not bow to Tumblr’s low lilt. It’s almost enough to ignore the terrible scars across his face that almost blinded him, or the gruesome scar that claimed his neck in the attempt to mute him forever. Almost.

Life goes on, as it does.

Tumblr starts wandering again, with his followers now more protective than ever, ready to fight whoever they think is a threat to their leader. Tumblr smiles his crooked smile, and laughs his breathy laugh, unbothered by having to share space with the lover who abandoned him long ago. Twitter doesn’t seem to notice the presence of his past lover, too occupied playing nice with the rich and pretending kindness to the poor.

Two occupied bathing in his greed.

AO3 sees it happen, it is hard to ignore.

The man who bought Twitter on a whim, descending from his golden carriage so his hands can taint Twitter’s skin with even greater greed. The king himself, the one Twitter bowed to, had sold him for an unbelievable quantity of money. Sold him like a sack of potatoes or a cow or a slave. Twitter screams and begs and kicks, but who dares go against the richest man in the world and the king’s decree?

They all look away as Twitter shrieks their names, and the blue on the clothes of his followers start disappearing under coats and inside bags. There’s a constant murmur as no one steps up, but all hope someone will.

“Tumblr!”

Silence eats away all the noise in the plaza.

“Tumblr, my love!” Twitter calls, tears running down his cheeks pitifully. “Please, save me! Please! We can be together again! My love!”

Tumblr, who had been rhapsodizing about a man named Goncharov, turns to give Twitter an unreadable look. His hair, tendrils of imagination beyond existence, cascades over his back and shoulders. His eyes shift through a few different shades of Tumblr blue. He tilts his head like a curious cat.

Then he smiles, showing off his crooked teeth.

“Worry not, beloved, for from this day on, you’ll get all the attention and riches you once desired,” he says. “And your story will be told all around the world, for generations to come. Me and mine, we shall make sure of that. We do love a good old tale.”

You never showed up before.

I’m sure I’m going to get yelled at or tone-policed for this post, so let’s start here: spare your fucking breath.

But if you feel you must rant back at me, read the whole fucking post first.

A few years ago, Black Harry Potter fans pointed out the lack of Black characters in the books. If memory serves me, there are two–Kingsley Shacklebolt and Blaise Zabini. One is a Death Eater. The other one is literally a man named after a kind of prison chain. And fans went “well Jo supports Black Hermione headcanons and she was played onstage by a Black girl!”

A few years ago, Black readers expressed concern over how Rowling portrayed S.P.E.W., and the concept of house elves being slaves. People dismissed this as being because the house elves are based on the folkloric brownies–and while this is true, there was absolutely no attempt to show why Hermione was wrong beyond “lol silly girl, wanting to free the house elves,” nor was any attempt made to show why the treatment of Dobby and Winky was wrong beyond “well their masters were Slytherins what can you expect.” Black readers’ concerns were dismissed.

And a few years ago–around the release of Cursed Child was the first time I encountered it–Black fans pointed out that Lavender Brown was Black in the movies … until she became Ron’s love interest and was recast as a while girl. People got kind of mad and then forgot about it.

Over a decade ago, Jews pointed out that the goblins were antisemitic stereotypes. They were largely ignored. More recently, these pointings-out have been gaslit, ahistorically waved away, or the critics have been threatened.

About four years ago, I wrote a piece about why Snape is an antisemitic stereotype, and why, while he’s fascinating as a character, his narrative is extremely concerning within the context of being framed as Jewish-coded. I was largely ignored, except by Jews. I was still a gentile at the time and even so I was told by other gentiles that I was imagining things–or that I was the one stereotyping Jews by recognizing the negative stereotypes in the work, so maybe I was the bigot, huh, how about that.

A couple of years ago, someone actually took Rowling to task on Twitter about there being no Jews in the books. Her reply was “there are plenty! Anthony Goldstein is Jewish!” Anthony has no spoken lines–his biggest interaction with any of the main cast is shooting Harry a dirty look–and his Jewishness is not mentioned or shown anywhere.

I can’t be sure when I started seeing this, but as a onetime Harry Potter fan myself, I can say for sure it was within a year of Deathly Hallows the book coming out: criticism of the fact that the only gay character in the books turned out to be a master manipulator who was in love with a Hitler parallel, was in charge of children, and was actively grooming a young boy. (Later criticisms have been angry that Dumbledore was never mentioned as gay in the books. On that one, I have to give Rowling a very begrudging pass–even if she’d found a way to bring it up, in 2007 it would have been censored right back out.) And yet other than the occasional stray comment, that criticism has largely been ignored.

LGBT activists and gay men have been outraged since 1999 because Rowling stated that lycanthropy was supposed to be a corollary for AIDS. Ah, yes: because AIDS makes its victims turn into deadly, feral beasts once a month but causes absolutely zero other health problems, and it’s most commonly spread by ill actors who know they’re poz and deliberately infect others. Yep. Sounds accurate to me … not.

Twenty years ago, Chinese-American readers and Chinese-British readers pointed out the racism inherent in the name “Cho Chang,” which sounds quite close to the racial slur “ching-chong” (and also is not a real Chinese name). They were ignored. At best, their legitimate grievance was trotted out as a “tsk tsk” addendum when the focus on Rowling’s anti-trans views started coming to light.

When the background lore for Fantastic Beasts came out, Native American readers were horrified by what Rowling did with their culture. I don’t think I can even list all of their complaints here because they were so many, so myriad, and it’s literally easier and more to the point to just say “she was lazy and clearly did not do a single line of research, ever, at all, and did not get anything right, at all, and in fact got a lot of things very offensively wrong.”  People got mad for about five minutes and then forgot all about it when the movie dropped.

Readers with ties to the African continent were also horrified, by the way, because supposedly there’s one magical school for the tiny little islands of the UK and also one magical school for the biggest continent on earth. The many cultures, languages, and the basic geographic impossibility of this were all ignored by Rowling and her publishers–and fans, who got mad for five minutes and then forgot about it when the movie dropped.

When it came out that Nagini was some kind of snake woman, being played by a Korean actress, some fandomers pointed out that it was really fucking gross to have a Korean woman trapped by a man who then “impregnates” her with part of himself. Among other things, it’s at best an unfortunate parallel with the Korean “comfort women” of WWII. (translation: Korean women who were raped and tortured by Japanese soldiers.) People got mad for about five minutes and then forgot about it.

At some point–again, Potter has been in my direct or periphery for such a long time that years start blending together–Rowling made a statement about how the reason there are no disabled people at Hogwarts is because they’re “fixed” by magic. There was basically no outcry at all.

And now that Rowling’s rabid anti-trans views have come to light, you want to pretend you never knew she was a terrible bigot.

You’re showing up for trans women. As you should. Good job, have a gold star.

But do not forget, and do not give yourself a pass, that you never fucking showed up for the rest of us. You were passive and dismissive and justifying.

She is racist, ableist, queerphobic, and antisemitic. You have had a way to know this for twenty years. Even if you missed some of the early criticisms–I did, I was twelve years old and I fully recognize that many Potter readers aren’t even as old as the series itself, I don’t expect a five-year-old to have noticed this stuff–the evidence has piled up and piled up and piled up.

And only when it became a cause that’s politically convenient did outrage begin.

Speak out for the trans women who have been and will be harmed by Rowling’s recent drive off the cliff. Please do. I mean that genuinely. This is not okay.

But speak out for the rest of us too. Call her to task for EVERYTHING. Otherwise it’s empty performative posturing.

Your activism must be intersectional. Or it’s bullshit.

So... Wicked is coming back in style. And as such I need to make a little informative post.

Because since as early as my arrival onto the Internet, in the distant years of the late 2000s, a lot of people have been treating Wicked as some sort of "official" part of the Oz series. As part of the Oz canon or as THE "original" work everything else derives from (literaly, some people, probably kids, but did believe the MGM movie was made BASED on Wicked...) And as an Oz fan, that bothers me.

[Damn, ever since I watched Coco Peru's videos her voice echoes in my brain each time I say this line.]

So here's a few FACTS for you facts lovers.

The Wicked movie that is coming out right now (I was sold this as a series, turns out it is a movie duology?) is a cinematic adaptation of the stage musical Wicked created by Schwartz and Holzman, the Broadway classic and success of the 2000s (it was created in 2003).

Now, the Wicked musical everybody knows is itself an adaptation - and this fact is not as notorios, somehow? The Wicked musical is the adaptation of a novel released in 1995 by Gregory Maguire, called Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. A very loose and condensed adaptation to say the least - as the Wicked musical is basically a lighter and simplified take on a much darker, brooding and mature tale. Basically fans of the novel have accused the musical of being some sort of honeyed, sugary-sweet, highschool-romance-fanfic-AU, while those who enjoyed the musical and went to see the novel are often shocked at discovering their favorite musical is based on what is basically a "dark and edgy - let's shock them all" take on the Oz lore. (Some do like both however, apparently? But I rarely met them.)

A side-fact which will be relevant later, is that this novel was but the first of a full series of novel Oz wrote about a dark-and-adult fantasy reimagining of the land of Oz - there's Son of a Witch, A Lion Among Men, Out of Oz, and more.

However the real fact I want to point out is that Maguire's novel, from which the musical itself derives, is a "grimmification" (to take back TV Tropes terminology) of the 1939 MGM movie The Wizard of Oz. The movie everybody knows when it comes to Oz, but that everybody forgets is itself the adaptation of a book - the same way people forget the Wicked musical is adapted from a novel. The MGM movie is adapted from L. Frank Baum's famous 1900 classic for children The Wonderful Wizard of Oz - and a quite loose adaptation that reimagines a lot of elements and details.

Now, a lot of people present Maguire's novel as being based/inspired/a revisionist take on Baum's novel... And that's false. Maguire's Wicked novel is clearly dominated by and mainly influenced by the MGM movie, with only a few book elements and details sprinkled on top. Mind you, the sequels Maguire wrote do take more elements, characters and plot points from the various Oz books of Baum... But they stay mostly Maguire's personal fantasy world. Yes, Oz "books" in plural - because that's a fact people tend to not know either... L. Frank Baum didn't just write one book about the Land of Oz. He wrote FOURTEEN of them, an entire series, because it was his most popular sales, and his audience like his editor pressured him to produce more (in fact he got sick of Oz and tried to write other books, but since they failed he was forced to continue Oz novels to survive). Everybody forgot about the Oz series due to the massive success of the starter novel - but it has a lot of very famous sequels, such as The Marvelous Land of Oz or Ozma of Oz (the later was loosely adapted by Disney as the famous 80s nostalgic-cursed movie Return to Oz).

So... To return to my original point. The current Wicked movies are not directly linked in any way to Baum's novel. The Wicked musical was already as "canon" and as "linked" to the MGM movie as 2013's Oz The Great and Powerful by Disney was. As for Maguire's novel, due to its dark, mature, brooding and more complex worldbuilding nature, I can only compare it to the recent attempt at making a "Game of Thrones Oz" through the television series Emerald City.

The Wicked movies coming out are separated from Baum's novel at the fourth degree. Because they are the movie adaptation of a musical adaptation of a novel reinventing a movie adaptation of the original children book.

And I could go even FURTHER if you dare me to and claim the Wicked movies are at the 5TH DEGREE! Because a little-known-fact is that the MGM movie was not a direct adaptation of Baum's novel... But rather took a lot of cues and influence from the massively famous stage-extravaganza of 1902 The Wizard of Oz... A musical adaptation of Baum's novel, created and written by Baum himself, and that was actually more popular than the novel in the pre-World War II America. It was from this enormous Broadway success (my my, how the snake bites its tail - the 1902 Wizard of Oz was the musical Wicked of its time) that, for example, the movie took the idea of the Good Witch of the North killing the sleeping-poppies with snow.

sjp.columbia: Having to constantly post graphic images of mutilated and dead Palestinian bodies in order to prove Palestinian suffering has made us realize the extent to which this racist dehumanization persists — where even thousands of pictures of dead Palestinian children are not enough for the Western world to step up and condemn genocide. This photo of Sidra Hassouna has been haunting us since we saw it upon the Israeli bombardment of Rafah.

It is hard to adequately express the whiplash we face when people complain about protests inconveniencing them when, just an hour before a protest, we are staring at these images. We often wonder if everyone is seeing the same news as us. How is it possible to view an image like this and continue to stay silent?

Say her name. Palestinians are not collateral damage. Palestinians are not numbers. Palestinians are humans who deserve to live, dream, and laugh. Rest in peace, Sidra Hassouna.

La hawla wa la quata illa billah

BOOK RIOT

Hoopla, Overdrive/Libby Now Banned for Those Under 18 in Mississippi

Public libraries in Mississippi have cut off access to digital platforms like Overdrive and Hoopla to those under 18.

I never want to hear conservatives go on about repressive censorship in China, North Korea, and Iran ever again

I had a vision

lemme tell you i am so fucking tired of angsty vampires. its enough. 

give me a newly-turned twenty-something vampire who hears about their newfound immortality and is like “thank god,” then proceeds to invest in some promising startups and fucks off to take a nap for two decades

give me a vampire thats only the tiniest bit phased at the blood diet because “eh, i tried paleo a while back and it was just as weird”

give me a vampire with self image issues who never has to avoid mirrors again because - bingo - no reflection

give me a genderqueer vampire who finally has an answer when someone asks their gender. “are you a boy or a girl?” “i am a vampire.” “but whats in your pants?” “fangs.” 

best of all, give me a vampire chick who is so stoked about being nocturnal because she’s never been able to walk alone after dark before and it’s nice to be able to walk her friends home and know theyre all safe with her