Ok Wait, Reblog If You’ve Cried At Least Once Because Of Math, Doesn’t Matter Which Grade I’m Trying

When ao3 is currently experiencing problems and you don’t know what to do or where you’re gonna read your gay stuff in the meantime:

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.

wattpad fanfic: so he's a serial killer who has fallen in love with me after he kidnapped me but he won't tell me about his dark and tragic past so he turned to drugs and he physically abuses me but it's okay bc we sleep together like every other chapter

deviantart fanfic: *inserts an OC into the canon universe*

Quotev fantic: my name is [insert author's first name here] Payne/Purdy/Quinn/Fuentes/Barakat/Irwin/ect. and my parents hate me so they're making my brother take me on tour with him and his band and I fell in love with his bandmate who helped me conquer my depression and now I'm pregnant with his baby and my brother wants to kill us both

AO3 fanfics: literally the most well-written stories you'll ever have the privilege to read. better than most classic literature. you've read published novels that weren't this beautiful. you feel like a better person after having read this story.

fanfiction.net fanfics: stories that tried and came close but weren't good enough for AO3

tumblr fanfic: *all of the above*

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.

----------------

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.”

Must a show be “good”? Is it not enough to be an alternative history that asks “what if instead of the Catholic-Protestant schism causing complications in Tudor England, it’s Animorphs?” that’s super horny on main, has the vibe of A Knight’s Tale, surprisingly pretty accurate historical costumes (with a few notable exceptions), and a bunch of British character actors acting absolutely wild?

I spent like 5 hours editing this gif frame by frame to make this shitty edit that I wanted to exist

More than 1/8th of the White Mountain Apache Tribe has tested positive for Covid-19.

They have been hit EXTREMELY hard and I have seen no posts going around talking about it. It is one of the hardest hit places in ARIZONA, a state that already has horribly high case numbers.

They have a Covid relief gofundme. Please donate if you can and spread this if you can't.

gofundme.com

White Mountain Apache Tribe COVID-19 Relief Fund organized by White Mountain Apache Tribe

The White Mountain Apache Tribe COVID-19 relief fund has been… White Mountain Apache Tribe needs your support for White Mountain Apache Trib

In my humble opinion

i’m back with my bernard the elf hyperfixiation, cause it’s that season 🎄