#snow white retelling

[ibrithir-was-here]

Ok! Turning my Snow White short story into a comic and got the first chapter up on Webtoon!

(Ao3 is apparently down so I'll come back when its working and link to the prose version here)

Edit: here's the link!

#Sunlight and Snowdrops #my writing #my art #webtoons #webtoon #snow white #snow white retelling #web comics #fairy tales #dark fairytale #snow white and rose red #the snow queen #evil queen #witch queen #red riding hood

[brittanybwrites]

Another Snow White retelling, let’s goooo

#booklr #litblr #currently reading #the shadow queen #c.j. redwine #borrowed from the library #snow white retelling

[gennsoup]

"If you're ever in doubt, throw a pepper up in the air. If it fails to come down, you have gone mad, so don't trust in anything."

Gregory Maguire, Mirror Mirror

#Gregory Maguire #Mirror Mirror #pepper #food #food quotes #mental health #madness #American literature #Snow White #Snow White retelling #fairytale retelling #fairytale #quotes #quotes blog #literary quotes #literature quotes #literature #book quotes #funny quotes

[prim-peony]

Guys, I have a great idea for a new Snow White:

Snow White becomes more beloved of the people than the Evil Queen (rather than more beautiful)

The Evil Queen sends the Huntsman to kill Snow White, but lets her live because he watched her grow up (not because she was too beautiful to kill)

The Huntsman brings the pig’s heart to the Queen, and when she eats it, she says, “Snow White had the heart of the people… now I have her heart!” (Just bc I’m cringe and think that would be cool)

Snow White encounters a family of little people. An older couple adopted other kids who were little because they feared no one else would be able to accommodate them like they could.

Two of the siblings, however, are not little people. They’re still part of the family.

The family members all have real names, but they give each other nicknames as a cute tradition.

They decide to adopt Snow White and give her the nickname “Sweetie” because she’s so sweet to them.

She doesn’t like it at first because she was raised to see kindness as a weakness. Her new family reassures her that kindness is a great strength.

Eventually, the Evil Queen finds Snow White as she has to defend a poor child in the street. She and her new family are arrested, and the Queen realizes what happened.

The Queen plays the part of the loving mother and essentially mocks the new family for being little. Snow White defends them, which ends up publicly embarrassing the Queen.

The Queen has a special dinner made to welcome Snow White. The dinner is chilly, and Snow White refuses to indulge the Queen’s whims. She does end up eating, though, and takes a bite of the apple.

She falls under the spell.

The Queen publicly grieves for Snow White.

The family returns to the kingdom to say their goodbyes.

True love’s kiss on the cheek from her new fam.

Snow White overthrows the Queen and lives with her new family in the castle.

#fiction #snow white #creative writing #ideas #snow white retelling #snow white and the seven dwarfs

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 3/5

Book Blurb: Love is stronger than poison in this lush retelling of "Snow White" by #1 New York Times bestselling author Melissa de la Cruz. Known as Snow White, Lady Sophie has led a sheltered life in the mountains of Bavaria. Until now. Her father, the widowed Duke Maximilian, is at last remarrying, and on the day of his historic wedding, Sophie is making her high-society debut. At the ball, Sophie charms the dashing Prince Philip, heir to the Spanish throne. But as Philip and Sophie start falling deeply in love, the king of Spain loses his temper. His wish is that Philip would marry a princess. And now, his command is Sophie’s death. In a quest for survival, Sophie seeks refuge in the home of seven orphans, the counsel of a witch, and the safety of her blade. With the looming threat of war upon her duchy, Sophie must ponder: Can she do right by her home and honor her heart’s desire?

Review:

A new retelling of Snow White! The story follows Lady Sophie, also known as Snow White. Lady Sophie has lived a sheltered life and when her father remarries it is also the time Sophie will make her debut. Sophie is excited to meet the new woman who will become her stepmother and to meet her potential suitors. One suitor in particular catches her eye, Prince Philip, heir to the Spanish throne. Yet their love was never meant to be as the King of Spain has other plans for Philip and the more Philip fights back the more at danger Sophie’s kingdom is at. It reaches the point where the King of Spain has finally ordered Sophie to be killed, now Sophie will have to rely on her own wits and the help of seven children in order to survive and save her home. This was definitely an interesting retelling as it felt a bit more grounded with the whole Duke and princess etc, aspect as well as it involving Spain, England, and other real places. The romance however was just not for me, I really didn’t feel their chemistry or anything but I did enjoy the fact that there is no evil stepmother and that Sophie had an actual relationship with her new stepmother. If you enjoy fairytale retellings definitely give this one a go!

*Thanks Netgalley and PENGUIN GROUP Penguin Young Readers Group, G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #snow white retelling #fairytale retelling #bookish #snow and poison

[fairytalearista]

32 for books you are reading

Hunted by Kaylin Lee, am at 56%, reading on kindle via Kindle Unlimited

A Snow White retelling set in a fantasy industrial-era world. Book 5 of the series, so far only the B&B has edged out to five stars (stars, but that twist was wasted in a magical world - it would make an EXCELLENT non-magical take), but this one might get it as well. It features a healer-mage Snow White who had a frowned-upon romance with a boy from the upper class, and now she's on the run from his mother who did most of the frowning. Also her sister's under a curse, she just realized, but that's the Sleeping Beauty story in the next book.

Really interesting world, and I quite enjoy them.

#hunted: alba's story #Destined by Kaylin Lee #Kaylin Lee #am talking about the books I'm currently reading if you give me a number between 1 and 55 #Snow White #Snow White retelling #books

[thegrimmlibrarian]

#poisoned #jennifer donnelly #snow white #snow white and the seven dwarfs #snow white retelling #the evil queen #fairytale #fairytale retelling #book review #book #booklr #books and reading #ya fantasy #fantasy books #fantasy #the grimm librarian

[cattapz037]

Ok so I made some more art for my Snow White retelling “As White as Snow” and I just can seem to draw Snow’s face, I’m not sure if I just shouldn’t and saw that her face is up for interpretation or not.

This is some art that I did. Normally I’m not a fan of soft shading and stuff but that’s the style that I feel just works for this

I also made cover art

I tried drawing up an idea for the infamous poison apple, it’s supposed to have black flesh.

This is all I have so far, I’d like to do more art with Snow as well as some other characters, also does anyone have any name ideas for the fawn because he will appear quite a few times in the story as both a fawn and an adult

#art #snow white #snow white retelling #concept art #oc art #apple #cover art

[ibrithir-was-here]

Old short story I wrote a couple of years ago and then forgot about. Remembered it the other day, gave it a bit of a brush up, and figured I'd share it. My own take on the old "Dark Snow White" retelling

Sunlight and Snowdrops

Father is sending us away tomorrow, sent for schooling at a monastery far off in the south. His new wife--The Usurper, who I will not grace with the title of queen-- tells us of the walled gardens, where pomegranates and figs grow almost year round on trees with leaves as large and tall as a man, a place where the sea still rushes up freely to meet the shore, long stretches of golden sand, forever warm to the touch.

She has talked of little else for months now, as if she and Father hope that such constant chatter will somehow soften us to the idea of our exile, make us forget the kingdom she has stolen from us, just as she has stolen his heart. And perhaps with my sisters she has somewhat succeeded . They always did take after Father, with their butter-yellow hair, and skin flushed like ripe peaches. Perhaps they were always more suited for such places. But I am my mother’s daughter, as any who look upon me can tell, and I will not be made to forget.

For how could such a flat, lurid place ever hope to compare with the beauty of my mother’s kingdom? What is a stretch of damping sea-shore to the beauty of a deep lake, forever crystallized into the finest mirror? What are walled gardens with their mad jumble of gaudy fruits to the dark towering pines, whispering to each other as the wind moves through them? What monastery could ever hope to reach heaven in the way that the mountains of the valley swell up in dark waves, to crack the egg-shell gray of the sky?

It is the blue sky of that far off place I fear most of all. What want have I for a sky of unchanging blue, suffocating in it’s immensity, with its one great burning eye beating down to peel and crack my skin in the day, and it’s thousand eyes to stare down at night? My mother’s pale sky has never once burned me, never once stared into my dreams, not with her veils of snow to protect me. Her sky is forever changing, shifting from stillness to storm on her whim. Blasting and breaking, soothing and softening, blanketing all with her beautiful covering of pure, protective white.

But my father’s new queen has poisoned its beauty for him, turning his head with her talk of salted water and coarse sand. If she wishes to retreat to such places, then I say let us be well rid of her. If my father and sisters are fools enough to follow her, to believe the lies she and her counselors and sages have spread about my mother, the rightful queen, then let them be off as well. I know the truth, I have not forgotten, I of all her daughters, have remained faithful.

There are so few of us now. So many have turned away from their true queen. But though loyalty is fragile, memory remains as firm as the ice upon the Great Lake. Despite their seeming love for the Usurper, The common people still tell my mother’s story. The Usurper thinks that because she was once one of them, a drudge plucked from obscurity by the weakness of my father’s will, that their hearts have turned to her in full.

But they can never forget my mother completely, she does not let them.

When the winds howl thick, like wolves at the door, the tale, long and wondrous and wild, is whispered between huddled crones and wide-eyed children.

A tale that takes hold of the mind and heart, as surely as the cold takes to the bones.

It begins in Winter, for indeed, how could it not?

A winter long and dark, when my grandmother, a woman wise in the old ways of the world, sat sewing at her window, looking out into the forest that spreads like an ink stain all round the castle, the snow falling heavy all around her, silencing the world as she made her request to the magic of the woods.

Three drops of her own blood she spilt to gain her heart's desire, a child for her childless king. And a child she received, a beauty such as never been seen. Hair black as the trees of the forest, lips as red as the blood she had given, and skin as white as the purest snow. A child of the winter woods, born on winter’s darkest night.

A life had been granted, and so was a life taken away. My grandmother lived long enough to bless my mother with her name, and the king, who once had so longed for a child, was now too grieved to bear the sight of his new daughter. And so my mother was given over to the wife of the castle’s woodsman, recently blessed with a child of her own, and who, most importantly, lived in a cottage on the edge of the woods, far, far away from the castle grounds, and her mourning father’s eye.

For seven years my mother grew up in the care of the woodsman’s family, as loved as if she were their own blood daughter, and the girls loved each other as sisters. They spent many days beneath the shadows of the trees, and learned much from the woods. They say even then, before she had come into her power, that the creatures and spirits of that place knew my mother as part of their blood, knew that something of her had come from something within them, and protected her for it.

It was in the winter of her fifth year that she met my father, a lad of nine, trapped within an enchanted bearskin. She and her foster sister brought him into the warmth of their cabin, saving his life, and each winter for three years after, he returned. She told me once that those winters were some of the happiest memories of her life, surrounded by those she loved in the shelter of the snows.

It was in summer that her sorrows came.

It was in summer that my mother discovered the gnome that had cursed her bear, and by his death my father was freed from his enchantment, only to then return to his own far off kingdom. It was in summer that my mother was parted from her foster family, recalled to court at last--only to find her own usurper on her father’s arm.

The people of the land adored the lady who had come to them out of the sun-drenched south, calling her their Summer Queen, praising her for the abundance that had blessed the lands since she had wed the king. And surely there was never a woman so beautiful. They say that her hair flowed like sunlight itself down her shoulders until it touched the floor, braided all over with flowers of every hew, and her eyes were as blue and bright as an August morning.

My mother said she could feel those eyes trying to melt her the moment she was brought before them.

My mother was not at court long. One day, the Summer Queen surprised her with a visit from her foster-father, and though he smiled at her, his eyes seemed grim and troubled. They traveled together down to the edge of the woods, far from the eyes of any in the castle--and there he took out the knife, carved all over with flowers, to cut out her heart.

(He claimed later, when the coup was over, and my mother restored to the throne, that he had only done so to protect his family, his own little daughter. My mother granted him the same pity he had shown her, and sent him into the woods, alone and unarmed. I do not know to this day if he fell to the animals or the cold that finally came, but by all accounts, he was never seen again.)

My mother, for her part, wandered for months alone beneath the boughs of the woods. The animals did not harm her, the woods knew its own, but she dared not venture near the edges where human souls still delt, fearful now that any might betray her to the Summer Queen. And as remarkable as she was, she was still only a child, and had never had to care for herself before, and she longed for the cheer and company of creatures like herself.

More than that, the heat of a seemingly endless summer wore at her. August passed into September and September to October and on, with nary a change to be seen. The leaves on the trees remained green, and did not fall. The rivers ran along as full and fat as ever, though there was no snow left to feed them. The sun felt like a great eye, searching for her beneath the sheltering shadows of the forest. Only at night did she find respite, and she longed for the relief of a winter that never came.

Farther and farther she wandered, seeking someplace where she might find some sign of chance, some shelter from the daylight that stretched longer and longer. At last, she found herself upon the slopes of the farthest mountain. Her feet were worn ragged from wandering, and her tongue was cracked from the heat, but with the last of her strength, she managed to stagger to the summit, and there, in a hollow tucked into the dark shadows of the peaks, so dark that even the hottest of summers could not fully touch them, she found snow.

And there her strength finally deserted her. She lay down upon the snow as contentedly as if it had been a feather bed, and might have slipped into the endless sleep beneath that cold coverlet, had it not been for the little men.

The frozen-beards, the valley people call them. Dwarfs that live in the fields of ice upon the mountains, having little to do with the valley people. They delight in the cold, they are said to be able to call up snow storms to hide their homes,and in winter they might be seen galloping along in the wake of an avalanche as happy as a child at play. But for all the ice of their beards, they are warm of heart, and they took the half-frozen child into their home as readily as if she had been one of their own.

For seven years, my mother at last knew peace. In the caves of the mountains she learned much of the songs and stories and skill of her new family. She learned the shaping of swords and the setting of gems,and the summoning of wind and fog, and was happy.

But nothing lasts forever, and at last, summer found her patch of hidden winter.

The king of a far-off land had proclaimed his intention to visit our valley kingdom, which had grown in renown-- and profit-- thanks to the summer that seemed trapped within the crown of our mountain valley. The rivers and Great Lake were never clear of vessels shipping goods out and bringing gold in. Both people and purses grew fat from the bounty, and basked in the seemingly endless sunshine.

There was one stain however, upon the glorious reign of the Summer Queen, though it was only spoken of in whispers, for it would not do to complain of such small misfortune within the wake of so many blessings.

The Draining Sickness.

It came on quickly, overnight in some cases. Those afflicted withered away, drained, pale and almost bloodless, like unwatered plants beneath the noon-day sun. No one knew how it spread, it seemed to only strike one village at a time; and oddly the most healthy and comely succumbed first, as if offended by their vitality and beauty.

Fate however, seemed inclined to some mercy. For each village that was stricken with loss soon found itself blessed with an overflowing of crops and commerce, as if Death felt some blood money was owed.

It was not only the young and lovely who were taken though. The old King, my mother’s father, was struck down on Summer’s Eve itself— along with seven young girls from each of the surrounding villages. But the grief over these deaths was short-lived, such was the glory of the days that followed, the golden sunlight drying the tears from the cheeks of the mourners even as they fell. Indeed, it seemed hard to grieve anything beneath the sun of that long, long summer. The Summer Queen, clothed in green and yellow and scarlet and blue, wore only a black ribbon around her neck for mourning, and none falted her.

It was then that the rumors came, rumors that the visiting king was not only there to see the beauty of the valley, but of its women as well. Indeed, those coming before his entourage said that he was seeking out one who was rumored to be the Fairest of them All.

The Summer Queen, shining almost to match the blazing endless sun, was more than happy to aid him in his search. And it was undoubtedly her efforts to ensure her own success in fulfilling the terms of his quest which led her to discover that my mother’s heart--which she thought she had devoured seven years ago, at the start of her endless summer --still beat it’s red,red blood within her snow white breast.

A grand celebration was proclaimed in the king’s honor, a festival of such magnificence as had never been seen outside of the old stories, and travelers came from all the surrounding lands to take part, ply their trades, and sell their wares. Up and over the mountains they came, and several passed by the cave where my mother dwelt.

Was it any wonder that my mother, still so young, having found a measure of peace in that snowy valley which soothed the burns upon her soul, and made her long to return somewhat to the world of men and look once more upon human faces, took in good faith the laces, brought by from far by the cargo boats; the comb, carved and painted so cleverly with a myriad flower; and finally, most beautiful blood-red summer apple, grown in her father’s own orchard?

When my mother woke again-- to the face of my father, returned from afar at last to find the girl who had freed him from his curse, and had now freed her in return-- she was not so naive.

My father had brought many men with him, and the people of the valley had grown slow and complacent in their bounty. When his men came with their swords, and the frozen-beards called up their icy winds, and my mother rode down upon the capitol in a sleigh made from her own glass coffin, they were not prepared to withstand the onslaught. Soon enough all had either fallen to their knees —or fallen where they stood.

The Summer Queen danced at my mother’s wedding, in shoes crafted by my mother herself, in the art taught to her by her foster-fathers. Shoes which returned upon the Summer Queen all the heat of the sun which she had stolen by her sacrifices and bloody rites.

Then my mother took up her rightful throne, and winter came at last to the valley.

My mother and father were wed in the open courtyard, as the snow fell like diamonds all around them, and all agreed they had never seen a more beautiful sight. My mother’s foster sister, who had remained loyal to her true queen, was reunited with her, and wed to my father’s brother. Children followed both of them after, and for many years, the natural order of the seasons came and went.

It was on my seventh birthday that my mother found the mirror, tucked behind a tapestry woven with fruit and flowers, in the abandoned tower of the Summer Queen.

No one knows where the Summer Queen obtained the mirror. Some have claimed it was a wedding gift from her godfather, a fallen priest who had taken supper at the Scholomance. Others that she crafted it herself, from water and moonlight, on a witch’s sabbath. But my mother told me once that the mirror was only a shard of a greater whole, and that the Summer Queen had only happened upon it, and though her own powers were great, her vain and narrow mind only able to discover the basest powers of the mirror.

But my mother-- born of blood and snow and forest, learned in the lore of the mountain folk, the perfect inversion in shape and soul of the Summer Queen-- could feel at once what was before her. She had higher aspirations than to know of mere beauty. After all, why should she trouble herself over such trivial questions?

She was, and is, the Fairest of them All.

No, my mother asked for vision and clarity, and the mirror readily supplied, showing her the darkness that lay in the hearts of men, the twisted, choking desire she had already tasted in an apple grown of blood and summer heat, and she knew what she must do.

That night, on Summer’s Eve itself, the snows began to fall.

The winters lie heavy on our land now, as heavy as summer once did. Our borders have shrunken back to what they were before the days of the Summer Queen. The rivers she once choked with cargo boats and merry-makers now flow freely beneath the protection of their own glass coffins. The flowers that once crowned her traitorous head have not been seen in many a year. The mountains are eternally capped with snow, the frost-beards no longer trapped within their narrow valley. Our kingdom, once vibrantly flushed with the blood of those taken to feed an endless summer, is now white and pure, cleansed by the endless falling snow.

My mother saved her kingdom from a blood soaked opulence, from a land made rich and fat off the hearts of their own, and yet they still turned upon her. Called her witch, demon, and worse. In the end, as the purifying snows fell heavier and heavier, The Usurper-- covered in ash from the fires she’d set to hold the snows at bay-- besieged the capitol. With her brother at her side, with an army of thred-bare shop-keepers and merchants laid low, she came up the Great Road with as much pride and assurance as if the crown sat already upon her head.

My aunt, foster-sister of my mother, and others who remained loyal, who knew their true queen for the power that she was, fought back. Indeed, my aunt and the wolves that answered to her slew The Usurper’s brother upon the very threshold. But the faithful were soon overwhelmed. The few who survived were driven into the woods, seeking the shelter that had been granted to my mother. The Usurper had the trees set ablaze, calling out that the dark powers of the forest would not be allowed to aid the followers of a witch. Her army came right up to the palace gates. And my father, my dear, foolish, fearful, traitorous father, who’s heart had been turned by The Usurper’s treacherous lies--himself unbarred the door for her.

My mother did not flee, whatever they say. She who had vowed to never be driven by anyone again, she who had bent the very elements to her will. She did not flee before The Usurper’s feeble army of ragged townsfolk and treacherous palace guards,even as they tore up her portraits, burned her books, and smashed her mirror into a thousand pieces.

No,they were not granted that victory. When she fell, she fell of her own accord, and her white gown sparkled like snow-flakes in the sun as she dived, down from the window at which her mother had once sat sewing, down, down into the blazing, waiting embrace of the woods that had heard her mother’s prayer.

When the fires at last burned themselves out, they found my mother’s body, ash covered, but untouched by the flames, as if even they could not bear to besmirch her beauty. She was placed once more in the glass coffin that bore her name, and it sat in state for three days in the royal chapel. She was, after all, a king’s daughter, and wife of another. On the third day, it was gone. Some claim she was properly buried, far beneath the ground, with a hawthorn branch in her heart. Others say that the rebels took the coffin, and burned it till the glass was melted down into a lump as black as her hair had been. The faithful say that the frost-beards came in the dark of the night, and reclaimed their daughter, carrying the coffin up once more to the high valley where my father once found her, to await the day when she will awaken again.

If she has not so already.

For though my mother’s crown sits on The Usurper’s head, and her daughters are to be sent to the far corners of the earth, in hopes the heat of the sun and the scent of the flowers will drive her from their hearts, the winter still lays heavy upon the land, and the wind has not ceased to blow since the day that she fell.

Father is sending us away tomorrow, and I do not think he shall be long in following. So many have left already. He longs for the shores of his youth, where the spring and summer follows after the winter. My uncle, his brother, has already returned there, with many of his children. The common folk are leaving as regularly as they can clear the mountain passes, which is not easy in these times. The birds and gentler animals left years ago. Soon, it will be only the wolves that prowl the dark woods, edging closer and closer into the towns as more and more people abandon my mother’s frozen kingdom. They say that the spectre of my aunt can be seen running with the wolves sometimes, when the moon is obscured by clouds, red cloak trailing behind her like blood on the snow.

They can send me away, but I shall find my way back. A thousand’s flowers scents could not make me forget the smell of the pines, a thousand bird’s songs could not drown out the howl of the wind. The bluest of skies cannot burn away the purest of snows. Not all the mirror’s pieces were ground to powder. I managed to save one, one single shard reclaimed in the chaos that shattered my childhood. I have kept it close, reworked and polished it, set it into a clasp on a chain that rests even now against my heart, hidden beneath my dress so that The Usurper cannot see. Already I have learned much, not as much as my mother, I do not claim that, but enough

And when the time is right, I know it shall lead me home. Past the guards that will be placed at the door, past the gates that will be barred, over the rivers and hills and far away, back to my mother’s mountain. And there I know I shall find her again, hair as black as night, lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow; riding in her sleigh of glass thru the eternal winter air to meet me.

#my writing #snow white #snow white retelling #got inspired by a few different short stories #Tanith Lee's Red as Blood #Neil Gaiman's Snow Glass Apples #and Theodora Goss' England Under the White Witch #plus just my own love of faitytales and finding ways to mash them together #also wanted to do a dark Snow White story where she doesn't just start out as an evil vampiry child #but becomes corrupted by her fear and trauma #snow white and the seven dwarfs #snow white and rose red #little red riding hood #hansel and gretel #(the usurper is meant to be gretel as in some varients she grows up to marry a king #and who better to kill a witch?) #honestly would love to come back and explore some of the other characters in this story like her and red riding hood) #the snow queen #(really i think i just wanted to tie all the snow white/snow stories together x) #short stories #short story #walter crane #for the banner art #dwarves #witches #vampires #kinda with the witch queen

[bugonmywindow]

- The Shadow Queen

#books #booklr #book quotes #book recommendations #love quotes #the shadow queen #snow white retelling

[tccbookdesign]

NEW DEITY TIER

So this was a upskill project of mine that I am HERE for.

I had to put the price up as this is literally the result of months of me messing around with illustrating and effects and so on--and I just realised I forgot to place Author Name same where (lol) as this was originally anthology inspired.

But as that can totally be added. Or it could be your anthology cover?

Many options.

But I am secretly (or not so secretly really, more like LOUDLY) hoping someone turns this into a Snow White Retelling!!!

LIVING. for. It. ARGHHHH I can't wait to see what an author does with this. Does it inspire you? I hope so.

#bookaddict #snow white retelling #fairytale retelling #snow white gone dark #gone bad #booknerd #booklove #booklover #bookcover #coverdesign #fully illustrated #custon art #artwork #coverart #coverartdesign #fantasy book #authors of tumblr #writers room #writer things #obsessing with #self publishing #kdp #indie authors #ebook #eboook design #ebook premade #premade #customisble design #ebook friendly #readers

[milliebot-rambles]

#that cover though #triquetra #kirstyn mcdermott #snow white but different #snow white retelling #what if snow white had to live with the evil queen #i just want a framed print of this cover #cover art #books

[yesireadforfun]

From the arable river lands to the south, the approach of Montefiore appears a sequence of relaxed hills.

Mirror Mirror

#book quote #mirror mirror #Gregory maguire #snow white #bianca #Snow White retelling #retelling #the borgias #fiction #book #books #book nerd #book lover #I love books #book addict #quote #booklr

[diamondsandtoads]

Do you love fairy tales? I want to hear from you!

EDIT: I will be closing the survey on November 9th! Thank you everyone who has participated!!!

My name is Ainjel Stephens and I am a PhD candidate in the Folklore department at Memorial University of Newfoundland. I am currently conducting a research project on fairy tales reception by queer-identifying individuals for my PhD dissertation under the supervision of Sarah Gordon. The purpose of this study is to learn how people who feel queer or identify as queer think about and respond to fairy tales.

Artist: Gustave Dore

If this sounds like a project you would be interested in participating in, then I invite you to take a short survey where you will be asked a few questions about who you are, as well as reflective questions about your thoughts and feelings on fairy tales, and if these tales are “queer.” It should only take about 10 minutes of your time to complete.

The survey asks if you would like to participate further with an interview with myself in order to discuss your thoughts and opinions on fairy tales. This interview will be a recorded hour-long interview through video conferencing platform Tauria or Webex. If you select yes, I will be in contact with you with further steps. If you select no, then that’s it! Thank you for participating.

To participate, you must be the age of majority and no younger than 19, have fairy tale knowledge in English, and identify with the term “queer.”

If you are interested, click the link below to participate in the anonymous survey.

If you have questions or want to chat further, you can contact me at [email protected] or through my inbox on my project blog, www.diamondsandtoads.tumblr.com/

If you know anyone who may be interested in participating in this study, please send this post along.

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#fairytales #fairy tale retelling #queer #lgbt #lgbtq community #beauty and the beast #cinderella #little red riding hood #charles perrault #grimms #grimm fairy tales #queer fairy tale #diamonds and toads #folklore #folktale #snow white #sleeping beauty #queer writers #queer community #lgbt community #the princesses #academia #queer fairytales

[s-aint-elmo]

no thoughts head empty the oppressive stagnancy of legacy in ever after high dragging me round the block yet again

it's such a shame that we get so little explanation about the actual mechanics of destiny, which is the entire premise of the show, bc it's so juicy. like what power does destiny hold when you rip away milton's lies and centuries of assumptions and traditions. esp bc despite raven signing herself as the evil queen in the real storybook of legends, when the snow white fairytale actually happens in dragon games she's playing one of the seven dwarves and her mother has reprised her role. like how much of that was because of the characters' actions and how much was destiny pulling on old, familiar threads. keeps me up at night.

a lot of this is probably just like, plot holes and writer hot potato but i like making it that deep, that's half of the fun. my personal interpretation is that fate is a wild thing that desires repetition and they developed the system of fairytale legacy bloodlines to keep those repetitions predictable and contained, instead of wreaking havoc whenever and wherever they please. 

which lends itself to some really juicy exploration of how legacy is a duty as much as it is a privilege, and how to be a princess or a witch or a hero or a dragon is to be the same thing in the end: the lamb destiny slaughters on the altar to sate the ever-ravenous narrative. to keep the flock safe. keep the unknown that prowls beyond the beaten path at bay. because if a there is always a mother who will be cruel, or a maiden who will fall into a sleep like death, or a child who will become a bird, isn’t it better to know who, and how, and when? isn’t better if it’s you, who has known your whole life that you must be eaten, be poisoned, be stripped of your humanity, rather than anybody else, who wasn’t raised to see it as an honour instead of a great and terrible injustice?

#ever after high #mine #remember when apple asked snow white for advice on yester day and she had nothing useful to say? bc all the problems in her life were #solved by a smile a friend and true love's kiss? #and apple got to experience being disappointed by the parent she placed on a pedestal for the first time ever? that was really fun #don't even get me started by how the class of classics are all called by the names of their roles that is sooooo fun and fucked up #the mantle of your legacy is so large and so heavy that it swallows you up entirely #ik it's for convenience's sake but simply imagine with me. surrendering your true name once your tale begins to bind to the retelling #more strongly. invite the eye of the narrative to fix on you. set destiny on its well-worn tracks and drive it smoothly #to happily ever after #i love the idea of the retellings being ritualistic to an extent. there is so much you could do w destiny #how destiny is a crutch too that prevents u fr growing as a person bc there is nothing life can start that u haven't already seen finished