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prosebushpatch · 2 days

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Okay so I recently, finally, watched Wish and I have some thoughts. Overall, not as bad as everyone makes it out to be, but still has a lot of fundamental story problems and I've got to get them off of my chest. I'll mostly be focused on Magnifico because I think his motivations and arc largely represent the problem with the overall theme.

Okay so my biggest problem with Magnifico is his motivation. His tragic backstory. How on earth does he go from losing his whole family to thinking, the only way he can prevent that from happening again is to grant wishes? The logic doesn't track. It almost makes sense in his creating a kingdom where he protects everyone and "doesn't even charge rent," but it does not make sense with his wish granting. Having a great need to be control to make sure he doesn't lose anyone ever again can be a compelling motivation for a villain, where we see lines crossed that don't justify the intent, but in the movie, he's too self-absorbed to seem to have any actual care for the people of Rosas.

I think if the motivation was changed to something like Magnifico had once been a bright-eyed, enthusiastic wish granter who blindly believed all wishes were good but learned the hard way that that wasn't true could have been a better fit for the overall goal of the movie. Imagine that he granted a wish for a wicked person who used that wish to hurt others, or if Magnifico granted a wish but that wish ended up ruining the person's life because what they wanted wasn't what they needed (i.e. Remember The Princess and the Frog? Dig a little deeper) and that person could have went after Magnifico and blamed him for their troubles (harkening back to We Don't Talk about Bruno). This would be an understandable tragic backstory for Magnifico, and better explain why he's so careful about the wishes he grants. And, perhaps the reason he keeps the wishes he doesn't want to grant is to keep the people in his kingdom docile. No one will be angry with him for not granting their wishes if he makes them forget them and lose that drive and motivation, which makes more sense than the unexplained hording them like he does in the movie? Why does he keep them in the movie other than admiring the wishes? It doesn't make sense to me.

This would give Asha more of a reason to oppose him, if it's shown how his desire to not get hurt or to inadvertently cause hurt turned into a paranoia where he drains people of wishes to fly or play music that inspires others. And, as a side note, we need to see more of how Rosas is a kingdom of people who lack drive and motivation, where only those younger than 18 have that special part of them that inspires them to chase after a dream (something that Astor Rhymemaster touched on). Because that's the point of wishes, right? That's the point of the entire Disney canon. A dream is a wish your heart makes. That star can only get you so far, it takes hard work and determination. It's wanting something better in life, it's dreaming of leaving behind all you know to chase after a tangible light. It's finding a new dream, it's finding a new wish as you grow and learn about yourself and the world.

I don't think the movie Wish understood what makes wishes so important in Disney stories. You know what wishes do? They ignite change. It's not about getting what you want, it's about finding the courage to chase after something better. Ariel wants to be where the people are, but really she wants to be somewhere where others are willing to understand her and in the end, she finds that and makes amends with her father, who finally is willing to see her for who she is. Rapunzel wants to see the lights, and that desire pushes her to leave a tower she's been trapped in her whole life, learning that the world is not as cruel and cold as her abusive mother told her. Cinderella wants to go to the ball, to dance with people who treat her as a person and not a servant of cinders and ash. That wish is granted by a fairy godmother and gives her a hope that is worth fighting for, a hope that helps her reclaim what is rightfully hers; a glass slipper that fits only her and the love that comes with it.

Wishes inspire change. The movie should have been about that. Magnifico could have been right, that some wishes inspire negative change that can drag down multiple people. The kingdom of Rosas could have been so placid because change is scary. Maybe Magnifico could have convinced people, after taking their wish, that it wasn't worth it. Maybe the wish ceremonies could have changed so it wasn't portrayed as some sort of lottery everyone looks forward to, but Magnifico would grant wishes on the spot if he decided they were good and worthwhile, and he would lock away the wishes that would cause trouble and tribulations. 18 year olds could be enthusiastic to give him their wishes, thinking they were surely good and worth granting, only to forget their wish and be told that their wish would have only brought about their unhappiness, this would have justified a more solemn tone in the kingdom, setting up a world where people are mostly downtrodden, thinking their wishes are bad and pointless and they're better off without them. Imagine Cinderella or Rapunzel being told their wishes weren't good, reinforcing all the things their abusive families tell them, taking away that hope and courage to find something better for themselves.

Here's where the true conflict could come in. Asha could be onto this from the beginning, and her opening song could have been about this concern that the people who didn't get their wishes granted aren't willing to try at all. (Because, after all, why doesn't Sabino play music at all? Having that taken from him would take so much joy and creative expression from his life!) But why does Asha know something is amiss?

Simon.

Imagine that Magnifico has a strict rule not to ever share your wish with another person because then it wouldn't come true. It makes sense with our own superstitions, and then makes it so that no one knows anyone else's wishes. Maybe your best friend changes so drastically after giving up their wish, but you believe, like everyone else, that their wish would have only caused suffering. What can you do about it? Well what if Simon told Asha about his wish? What if Asha knew his wish wasn't dangerous and couldn't imagine a way that it could go wrong? That would give her a reason to doubt Magnifico and put more emphasis on how Simon has lost his drive like all the other adults in the kingdom. And it can also emphasize in the end that sharing your wishes and dreams with others can be a powerful thing. Just the act of sharing your dreams can inspire others to go after their own, and they can give you the encouragement to chase your wish too. Wishes inspire change, love gives you the courage to make it happen.

Imagine if the star boy used to be a human, who wished to help others and lost his humanity to do it. Imagine his wish confirms Magnifico's belief, that wishes cause suffering because star boy lost his tether to earth and is separated from the people he loves. Imagine how he foils Asha who also wants to grant everyone's wishes. Imagine him ensuring she doesn't make the same mistake he did while she gives him a reason to change again, to anchor himself to humanity again because he loves her enough not to leave for forever.

Imagine the movie confirming that, yes, change is scary. Chasing your dreams won't always make things better. You might fail more than you succeed and some wishes cannot coincide with each other, leading to grief and strife. But some wishes are worth it. Sometimes, chasing after something better and failing is worth leaving a worse situation. Sometimes taking that chance is worth it, and, like in all fairy tales, if you are kind and generous and act with love, that will make all the difference in the end.

Also, I know everyone wished for a Magnifico and Amaya evil power couple, but imagine if Magnifico was truly in love with Amaya, as he is in the movie, but that love is eventually his undoing. Like Amaya leaps in front of Asha, and Magnifico stops or redirects his attack because she's the one thing he loves more than himself and that is the weakness that Asha and co can take advantage of. Imagine Amaya keeping Magnifico in the mirror and he gets to dote on her from his imprisonment for forever. I'm just saying. At least 30 sickos like me would be into that. Imagine the depth it would give to the themes of love and change and wishing and how acts of love make all the difference.

Alright, I'll get off my soap box. I just really wish Wish could have been stronger because these fairy tales Disney is famous for matter. They really do. But the movie feels too stale and shallow and too much of a cash grab that knows the outline of a disney musical, but is unable to understand the heart of why they work.

#rose and rambles #wish 2023 #disney #disney wish #if you read anything i post let it be this im shaking the bars of my cage #I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT FAIRY TALES AND DREAMS LET ME AT THE PEOPLE WHO MADE WISH SO SHALLOW #ILL MAKE THEM TEA AND GIVE THEM A GOOD SCOLDING #WHILE STEALING THEIR CLOTHES AND PUTTING ON A FAKE MUSTACHE TO TAKE OVER WHILE THEY'RE NIBBLING ON NICE COOKIES #THAT'S A TOTALLY NORMAL THING TO DO RIGHT #if you want to tell a good story you gotta tell it yourself <- my villain origin story #or at least my Sebastian kiss the girl moment. i can't believe they took out star boy. God forbid independent women have romantic interests #anyway im obsessed with how Magnifico always called Amaya “my love” and i think we can do beautiful and twisted things with that #Also i kind of hate the whole 'oh there's no saving him from this evil magic corruption' like le please that's the most stupid thing to eve #be in a fairy tale #just proves these people didn't actually read the snow queen #also also go watch Astor Rhymemaster she's a genius and explains songs IN SUCH AN IN DEPTH WAY #i haven't interacted with much other wish stuff so idk how others are rewriting it but this my ideal

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survivalove · 10 days

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if i speak on how kyoshi handled the fire nation royal family’s corruption in her second book and the long term effects it had after her death… like a certain genocide perhaps. it would get very ugly

but y’all wanna talk about yangchen and some spirits ijbol

#atla #kyoshi critical #lol is this even a tag #idk #yangchen defense squad #of sorts #but it’s really disgusting to me how much corrupt people she let stay in power #in both books #that’s y’all queen tho #it’s also crazy to me how many people read that and just moved on 😭#like okay #very weird to me personally #kyoshi #yangchen #anti fire nation

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ibrithir-was-here · 8 months

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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

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pinkestmenace · 5 months

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Thoughts on Dark Meta Knight

A continuation of 'Thoughts on Shadow Kirby'. This is a long one!

TL;DR: I first talk about his relation to Taranza and Sectonia, then comes the fic I 'accidentally' wrote, then I talk about his (mirror) abilities and relation to Meta Knight (or rather, his inherited memories.)

Have you ever noticed how whenever people talk about the whole Dark Meta Knight/Dimension Mirror/Taranza/Corrupted Sectonia issue, it's always "Taranza must hate DMK so much!" and never "DMK must hate Taranza so much!" or even "Why did Joronia/Sectonia keep a magical mirror that clearly oozed bad vibes?" (Note: I'm neither saying Taranza is a poor uwu boy who did nothing wrong nor that he is evil incarnate. He didn't know DMK was in there nor that the mirror had lingering corruption. I am however saying he was a fool for stealing an important magical artifact! All three were hurt here.) I mean, come on. Sectonia is an individual with agency. You're telling me she just placidly accepted this whole situation and only gets to serve as an "Evil queen needs to die!" and "Woe is Taranza, his beloved is dead!" plot device? She could have been corrupted/replaced by her own reflection! Maybe she was as interested in studying DMK/this weird danger orb in 'her' mirror as he was in corrupting her.

That is, if he did corrupt her. Who's to say he wanted that? Or had the ability to, other than by speaking? We've heard nothing about him having corrupting magic. Besides, what would he gain from it? Sectonia could've already been somewhat unhinged before she got the mirror and this was just the beginning of a domino effect. Remember, the mirror you fight him in in Triple Deluxe seems to be the one that was in the middle of the Central Circle, not the entrance of the Mirror World. That's the one Dark Mind was hiding out in and judging by how destroyed it still looks inside it's also the most likely place for any corruption to linger. (Luckily for the other inhabitants, I'd say. Not so lucky for him or poor Shadow, who in DMK's absence was likely left alone to defend the Mirror World and therefore grew more agressive like we see him in other games. He had no allies and no choice but to learn to fight.) I think that Shadow spawned when Kirby first entered the mirror, but DMK was likely around at least a little longer than that, judging by how he seems to have a pretty good grasp on his abilities already.

So. Since Triple Deluxe is clearly inspired by fairy tales, (Consider the Dreamstalk/beanstalk, a palace in the sky and a wicked beauty-obsessed queen with a literal magic mirror!) why not spin a little tale of our own?

I want you to imagine being Dark Meta Knight for a moment.

Mirror, Mirror, From the Sky — Who's the Wickedest and Why?

Once upon a time a dark force secretly infested your world. Depending on how long you've been around, you either spawned as a flawed clone, or you got to feel yourself being corrupted. You may not even know who you are, other than what the wisps of your inherited memories and skills tell you. Either way, the heydays of good fortune, friends and fair weather are nothing but a burning memory to you.

Dark Mind, the force calls itself and it takes an interest in you, since it could use a strong henchman. Now you have this flaming eyeball breathing down your neck, playing at being your master and ordering you around. Tsch. Do you dance like a pathetic little puppet? Do you plead with it using the fancy words you find on your tongue, but did not learn yourself? Do you obey to save your own skin, or resist and risk having your mind broken and hollowed out further? Do you have it in you to become a double agent? You are a scared toddler who only just learned how to walk. You are a hardened knight who has no patience for this. The armour you wear shows traces of battles you haven't fought. You cling to it in preparation for what's to come.

It sends you to go remove some obstacles. A pink child and your own doppelganger. Fueled by bitter resentment and childish petulance you dare to bend your orders just slightly. Rather than rend the child into pieces, you refract him into four. Rather than sending your doppelganger back to his maker, you lock him in with yours and break the mirror to prevent his escape. (As well as Dark Mind's escape, that is.) Your master is angry. That's fine. You're already wrong and broken and don't give a crap.

Eventually the child and his refractions fix and enter the mirror and your master gives you an ultimatum. Twice it told you to get rid of the brat and twice you have failed! Now, to prove your loyalty you must put your life on the line. Beat the brat. At any cost. Surrender is not an option! You shed the veneer and take out your frustration on the child. But he's too strong. You can feel your body give out! You remember how to beg. "Master, please, I can't take any more!" It's no use. Its fiery gaze scorches you, it widens the cracks in your mind and forces you to continue, miserable marionette that you are.

You shatter and your consciousness fractures. Where did you go so wrong? Why did this have to happen to you? What will become of that strange charcoal child you saw stalking you? You want to go home. That home isn't yours. What does your counterpart think? Like the allegory of the prisoners and the shadows on the cave wall you don't know more than what little you can infer. His flickering gaze is unreadable. There is no cave. You are the shadow. You have no idea what philosophy is.

??? days later you somehow wake up. You get your bearings. You're still in this ruined miniature dimension, but your master is gone. You're alone. Tsch. Figures the brat and your blue bastard of a counterpart would abandon you. What's wrong with them?! (What's wrong with you? Are you really that disposable? Maybe they didn't know you still had life left in you either. Did they mourn for you?) At least the mirror portal is right there. You'll go back to the Central Circle, find something to eat and then you'll plot your revenge against the world that failed to welcome you! You just have to step out...

...into a large bedroom. You look around. Fancy furnishings that would befit a palace. A breathtaking view of the rising sun, which drapes the room in purples and oranges. It hurts your eyes. You look down. A vanity? Where the Shards—

You don't get time to think before a piercing shriek rends the air. You look to your left and see a strange spider-like creature charging at you, wielding twin rapiers! You quickly leap out of the way and draw your own sword.

The woman stops in front of you, clad in a simple but refined silk nightgown, her four unoccupied hands balled into tight fists. She stares you down with her four front eyes. Is this spider as afraid of you as you are of her? She's Princess Joronia, you soon learn. She received the mirror as a gift.

She sympathises with you and offers you a cup of herbal tea to calm your nerves. You've never had tea, (not-you remembers the taste) but by the Mirror's mercy do you know you're thirsty! You accept it, if only to buy yourself time to figure out what's going on and come up with a way to escape with the mirror. The tea soothes you, although it has a strange aftertaste and Joronia's smile is gentle, if a bit too practised. Her gleaming upper eyes gaze patiently into yours. She doesn't drink. You're tired, so tired.

The next day you wake up inside the mirror and try to leave again. Joronia didn't seem so bad. Maybe you can convince her to let you return the mirror! You find it's been magically sealed.

"Oh, don't worry," says 'Joronia' through the glass, her eyes and smile just a little darker and haughtier than they were yesterday, "it's only a safety precaution until we get to know each other better." But months later she still hasn't let you leave with the mirror. Instead, she's been staring into it more and more, fussing endlessly over her make-up and increasingly ostentatious outfits. She laments to you as if you are nothing but a pet she can vent to freely. "Uhuhuhu~! Didn't I look simply unacceptable before? I just couldn't stand my dull reflection. Tell me how gorgeous I am! Then I might even feel generous enough to feed you."

You grow bitter. How trapped you are! Behind you is the ruined hellscape where you were broken and humiliated. In front of you is an increasingly deranged self-obsessed woman who you're forced to ingratiate yourself to for scraps. Tsch! You are caged and seething! The day you find the person who subjected you to this your sword will taste blood! Soon your vibe arsenic joins the maddening sulfuric stench that abhorrent eyeball left behind. Your mind and the mirror grow ever darker in a vicious cycle. It's been years. You yearn for sights you have only seen in dreams. You cannot die.

The reborn and remade Queen Sectonia doesn't care. She's too busy solidifying her power and enhancing her own grotesque beauty to pay attention to the machinations of naughty little strays. Your sharpened tongue pleases her just enough to spare you and coax out news of the outside world. You are her obedient pet. The keeper of her innermost secrets. More loyal than her advisor. You hone yourself and your blade when she's not looking.

So when Sectonia dies and the seal goes with her, you are ready. You don't care who's on the other side. You. Only. Want. REVENGE.

* * * * *

Headcanon time!

I see DMK as leaning into using his mirror abilities, not so much because he wants to prove himself superior to Meta Knight, but because that's something only HE can do. Something he 'earned', not inherited. He wants to be the best at something without needing help.

When he spawned he already knew how to speak, move and wield his sword. Or rather, the second he attempted to do any of these things he 'remembered' how to do them.

Wouldn't it be funny and tragic if so much of his life consists of discovering skills he didn't know he had, that belong to someone who isn't quite him? What surprises will his memory give him today? Amnesiac roulette.

Imagine: he's just idly fidgeting with a sheet of paper and looks down to see he's accidentally folded a perfect little origami crane. He crushes the crane. Tsch. Another skill he didn't earn! (Later he secretly learns to fold something Meta Knight hasn't folded before, just so he can say he made the skill his own. He will deny this.)

He didn't know he had the ability to mend his cape. Yet when he found needle and thread his hands traced the movements with practised ease. He refuses to mend his cape and claims it fits his rough-and-tough aesthetic. (He collects scraps and quilts a cozy blanket for his hideout. He claims to have found it in the trash.)

He comes across a book in a language he has never seen before. He can read it! The contents make little sense to him. He tries writing, but discovers his handedness is opposite to Meta Knight's. Ink smudges his left glove as he adjusts. (It shouldn't matter. He's ambidextrous! Try as he might, he still cannot draw or write with his right hand.)

Infodump about memory function incoming! (TL;DR: there are several types of memories, some about life events, some about sensations or skills.) I hope I can explain this correctly using an example.

Imagine you're going for a stroll in the park. You don't have to think consciously about every movement you make because you already know how to walk. You decide where to go and your brain handles the details automatically. (Procedural memory. This is what let him immediately move and fight.)

You spot someone walking a dog. Your brain goes: "Dog!!!" You don't have to analyse every feature of the animal to know this because the holistic concept of "Dog" in your brain immediately lights up and couples it to the language part of you to remember the correct name. (Semantic memory. This let him recognise the world and understand speech.)

You consider petting it. Your hand experiences the ghost of fur underneath. It just stopped raining, so your nose anticipates the wet dog smell as well. (Sensory memory. He gets whiffs of sensations and tastes he hasn't experienced himself.)

You approach the dog. Suddenly you realise you've seen this dog before! It was last week and when you pet it wrong it snapped at you. You remembered a specific event. (Episodic memory. He didn't get this one and therefore doesn't remember Meta Knight's life. He has to puzzle out what his 'original' is like from the other remembered scraps he got.)

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