A Tale of Two Helpless Quasi-Medieval Girls in Luv

So I’m cruising Grimm’s Greatest Hits for a ripe tale to re-vamp for the story I owe to Cabinet des Fees Issue No. 1, and I come across Snow-White and Rose-Red.

Man, you can smell the Clorox wafting off the page. Somebody cleaned up
this story butt-good. Because the end makes no sense. The story goes
something like:

SW & RR: OMGOURLOVEISSOPURE! We will never, ever leave each other,
and we skip around holding hands through meadows, and we are adorably
attractive young nymphs, and the roses are totally not symbolic of our
matching genitalia, and in no way can you see the lesbian vibes just beaming out of us like alien death rays. Cousins! Er…sisters! Totally sisters! *muffled sounds of making out behind the rose bushes*

ENTER BEAR

BEAR: RAAR.

SW & RR: Whoa, hot bear.

BEAR: You guys are hot, too. How would you like to pull my fur and kick me
and beat on me for awhile? Could be fun–once you’ve had bear, the rest
seem square.

*Commence merry BDSM section where the BEAR calls the GIRLS (both of them–pay attention, this will be important later) his lovers
and they whack him around with a big stick while giggling and rolling
about on the floor with him in front of their mom*

MOM: I think I saw a porno like this once.

THE NEXT DAY:

Random-ass Dwarf: *whines, bitches, and moans like the last LJer without Serenity tickets*

SW & RR: God, shut up. *kill him, sort of indirectly, by bear-proxy*

BEAR: Sweet! I was totally a dude all along! That dwarf hex0rrd me!

And here’s the problem, because this story should only end one of two
ways, neither of which is the way it ends. This is the book ending:

BEAR: Now we are free to marry! Um…einey, meiney, miney, mo…Snow-White, I choo-choo-choose you!

RR: *is married to the Bear-guy’s “brother,” whom no one has heard
anything about until approximately right this second, and is certainly
a crap subsitute for furry bearsuit shenanigans.*

This is clearly not how this story ought to go. They’ve been all over
this bear for twenty pages and what about never, ever leaving
each other and what brother? Allow me to de-Clorox this story for you.

Option #1:

BEAR: Now we are free to pursue our alternative lifestyle: sing nonny-nonny for BDSM polyamorous furry-positive marriage!

SW & RR: W00t! *all collapse in frantically gesticulating pile of limbs*

Option #2:

BEAR: Now we are free to marry, since I’m a dude again! And I have this brother…

SW & RR: Ew. Boys are gross. What about our Rosetti-slash, totally
sisterly, bonnet-and-glove lesbian carousing didn’t you understand? Go
away, unless you want to get made into a rug. Red here can skin large
mammals like a mofo.

BEAR is sad. GIRLS traipse off happily.

And…scene.

Take your pick, but damn, none of this brother nonsense. Next you’ll be
telling me that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were just college friends
and Hamlet sprang for pizza that one time.

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