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"I like Stone Soup," said the cow. "Stone Soup is an honest con. We get a meal, everyone thinks they've seen a little bit of magic, you sell the stone for a little bit of pocket money, you pick up another stone at the next town. Everyone gets something."
"And if I remember right, you were the one who suggested we steal the magic beans."
"That wasn't stealing, that was a legitimate trade."
"A legitimate trade for a talking cow that disappeared by morning?"
"He didn't even lock the barn! How is that my fault?" She huffed and laid her head onto her forelimbs. The stalk of grass in her lips wobbled with her scowl. "Old fool never knew what he had."
Jack hummed. He craned forward to get a better look into the tiny, cracked glass, pulled gently at the corner of his eye and delicately dabbed the makeup brush.
"My point is," said the cow, "this all seems rather - cruel."
Jack turned. One half of his face was magnificently painted in faerie shades of blues and violets. The other half was just confused. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"For gods' sake, Jack, this is a perfectly innocent girl who you plan on humiliating in front of the royal court."
"How would she be humiliated? As far as she'll know, she'll have a lovely time at a lovely ball in a lovely ballgown."
"You don't have a lovely ballgown!"
"Well I can't afford a ballgown, now can I?!"
"So you're going to make her waltz in her fucking underclothes?!"
He took a dramatic breath. "Look," he said, brandishing the makeup brush. "If it worked on the fucking emperor, it'll work on a fucking scullery maid. If she gets told by a fairy that she's wearing a fairy dress that can only be seen by intelligent people, she is going to believe like hell that she's wearing the very image of sartorial extravaganza."
The brush was masterfully twiddled. "And when everyone else finds out that she's wearing a fairy dress that can only be seen by intelligent people, there won't be a single person in that room who would dare to disagree."
The cow shook her head. "I don't know, Jack," she sighed. "I just don't know."
"It'll be fine," Jack said, turning back to the tiny glass and bringing a deft hand again on the canvas. "Trust me. How did you do finding the slippers?"
"Couldn't find crystal," said the cow. "Best I could get were a glass set from an elf down at the cobbler's."
Jack hummed. "Well, they shouldn't be that important. Nobody will look too closely at her shoes."
There were two guards at the palace gate, slabs of meat and muscle wrapped in candybright costumes. They looked every bit as solid as the iron gate between them, and looked like the kind of guard prepared for every kind of foolishness they'd see tonight.
They weren't prepared for the woman who stepped down from the cow-drawn wagon. Her slippers gleamed amber in the torchlight, and her dress was... It was...
Well, the fey who hung over her shoulder told them that her dress was a beautiful thing, spun from the glimmer of starlight, the sound of snowfall, and the colour of the moon. He said that any discerning gentleman could tell that this was true, and the guards agreed.
Neither of them had looked too closely at the dress. In fact, they had been trying to carefully, politely and inexplicably avert their gaze.
It had been, Jack decided, a wonderful night.
The story of the woman with the fairy dress had spread through the party like - well, gossip, which is what it was, but it was gossip said by the rich, who couldn't afford to be wrong, and that was just as good as wildfire.
The real magic had been when the prince had asked her to dance. Her chemise had twirled like a dishrag, and everyone in the watching crowd that night would swear they saw her gown glimmer and gleam in a whorl of stars and snowlight.
And that was all well and good until midnight, when she had slipped her arm into his, gave the prince an "Attends un moment!" that glittered with polite laughter, and hauled Jack away from the hors d'oeuvres.
He slipped the squidgy grey thing he had been eating into a pocket. "May I help you, my lady?"
"I need to talk to you."
"But of course, my-"
"Now."
Jack heard the tone.
Oh fuck, he thought.
Her glass slippers made high, clear, silver sounds as she marched across the marble floors and out onto the balcony. She let him go and stepped away, breathing in the cool, clear air of the summer night, smelling of night stock and distant rain.
Her shoulders were shaking.
Jack felt something in his heart turn cold. Oh fuck, he thought. Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck. I've gone too far, the spell's been broken, the con's gone bad, I have to get her out of here-
And then she made a... noise.
He would've called it a laugh, only it sounded like the kind of noise made by an aroused boar. It was joined by a rivulet of little snorts.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry." She turned. She looked at him. She turned away again and melted into snorting hysterics.
Jack blinked. "My lady?"
"I'm sorry," she said again. She took a few calming breaths, bubbling with suppressed laughter. "I'm sorry. But holy fuck, did you see their faces?"
"Uh," said Jack.
"I mean what a bunch of morons. Fucking hell, look at this thing." She grabbed the collar of the chemise and pulled it up for an experimental sniff. "The Duchess wouldn't stop talking about opulent and extravagant it is. I think I haven't washed this thing in a week."
The penny dropped and activated his brain. "How long have you...?"
She flapped a hand. "Oh, from the start," she said. "At first I just wanted to see how far we'd get. I thought we'd be turned away at the gate, but then it just kept going!"
She pulled herself up to sit on the balcony rail and grinned at him, glass slippers glittering as she swung her legs. "There has to be a market for this," she said. "Selling fairy clothes to the nobs? Get the whole royal court's bits flapping about?"
Jack stared, and in spite of himself, felt his face grinning back. "Nah," he said. "Already did that with the emperor. No point in pulling the same con again."
Her face lit up. "So that was you! I thought so! You got a long con going on here?"
"Something like that."
"I want in."
"I already have a partner."
"I know. She's lovely. I want in."
He stared. He shrugged. He offered her his arm. "Why don't we head down to the stables to talk about it with her?"
They had made it down to the outer court before she drew herself up short. "Damn."
"What?"
"I think I lost a slipper."
"Oh, don't worry about that," said Jack. "It was only a glass set, anyways."
The parking attendant paused by the double-length bay. Intended for mobile homes and cars with trailers, it was currently occupied by a sleeping dragon.
No parts of it extended beyond the lines, and the paper ticket was clearly displayed, impaled on a horn.
i wish there was a way to say "you're right, but this is really ineffective and even counterproductive messaging to anyone who doesn't already agree with you" without sounding like an asshole
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Friendly reminder that asking your lycan partner to turn you is incredibly insensitive! Seriously can we retire this trope already? Not only is it just offensive, but no one would ever actually choose this life! Lycanthropy is a curse. Full stop.
๐พ superhowllock69 Follow
Ok user "moon-moon" as if that original meme wasn't created to mock pack nomenclature ๐
Anyway I'm not gonna touch that internalized lycanphobia with a ten foot pole. Being turned by your partner is something that can be incredibly intimate as long as both parties are consenting and the one being turned is 100% sure they want it. Literally the only downside to transforming once a month is the pain, but midol works just fine. No one with these "lycanthropy bad" takes ever wants to discuss the legitimate positives that come with this "curse" lmao.
๐บ moon-moon4w00 Follow
I'm literally reclaiming moon moon but go off I guess. Anyways turning your partner is absolutely disgusting and morally reprehensible and anyone who does it should be muzzled permanently.
๐ impawssible Follow
lmao my wife literally saved my life when she turned me but i guess she should be muzzled huh? we run through the woods hunting deer together and can each haul in groceries in one trip now, but nooo she's obviously a danger to society because she cares enough about me to help me when insurance wouldn't cover my medicine
also it was confirmed that the creator of that meme literally makes and sells silver bullets so if you still wanna use moon moon for yourself that certainly is a choice. source: (X)
๐ฆด pupperoni Follow
I love that instead of naming the more common benefits of lycanthropy, you mentioned that you and your wife can carry all the groceries in one trip. I think that's definitely a positive that gets overlooked far too often and I commend you for speaking your truth, sir
๐ impawssible Follow
lol thanks but I'm a woman ๐
๐ฆด pupperoni Follow
๐ฆ count-fuckula Follow
Plus werewolf blood tastes way better and is as filling as 10 humans ๐
๐บ moon-moon4w00 Follow
Oh my GOD you vampblr freaks will just flock to anything. It clearly says "vamps DNI" in my bio!
๐พ superhowllock Follow
lmaoooo of course you're a vampire exclusionist
๐ daddy-fenris Follow
wasn't OP the same guy who said fursuits were offensive to lycanthropes and doxxed a werewolf fursuiter?
๐บ moon-moon4w00 Follow
They ARE offensive and harmful to this community and I'm tired of pretending they're not. They perpetuate harmful depictions of what a humanoid wolf is actually like.
๐ impawssible Follow
me when I dox someone for making candy colored animal costumes that look nothing like what a real werewolf does
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if I see one more "veiled pagan" attacking muslims in their comments talking about how "pagan religions are literally older than islam" and "pagan religions did it first" while obviously using a hijab and wearing it like a hijab in a style that was obviously invented for hijabis I'm going to scream. you are all fucking colonizers and you're not even subtle about it
honestly giving them too much credit here, most claim veiling to be a "pagan practice" from "paganism" as though that means fucking anything. there is no "paganism". y'all need your heads out of pseudohistory's fucking ass
and then to veil (pun intended) the obviously highly racist underlying motive of just wanting to look more ethnic and get cloud by profiting off exoticism, it's claimed to be in order to "protect your energy." ah yes. energy. the famously extremely colonial concept also appropriated from a different culture. mhm.
from @prairiebeetle, this is so fucking true, but people refuse to acknowledge the inherent misogyny of modesty practices and many cultural markers of marital status when it's ethnic enough to be viewed as non-white. it plays an important role in why white people are fucking incapable of productive and nuanced conversations about islam, and also why engaging in casual misogyny and fetishization is TOOOOOTALLY chill when it's for white people's hobbyistic engagement in ethnicization. and it really is a hobby, a little larping as a non-WASP for cheap thrills, because ask any veiled pagan why they veil and the odds are well over 90% that the answer is something shockingly shallow to do with energetic protection and pseudohistoric "tradition"
and while I'm at it by the by: it is WAY too fucking socially acceptable among us pagans to colonize cultural wear as "veils" in general. it's not just hijabs, niqabs and khimars that get appropriated and reframed as "veils," it's bandanas (SEAsian), it's pashminas (Kashmiri, Ladakhi, Himalayan), it's even the styles of wrapping and wearing that are from other cultures and don't get a shred of acknowledgment. that includes ancient cultures, you CAN'T be a part of an ancient culture no matter how closely related your current culture is.
IF YOU AREN'T READY TO DEEPLY RESEARCH THE MEANING AND ORIGIN OF YOUR HEADWEAR AND THE WAY YOU WEAR IT, YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE IT
the act of calling it "a veil" alone is a symptom of a colonizer mindset. if you were familiar enough with it to be entitled to wear it you would know its name, not just the name of the fabric but the name of the specific headdress. ways of covering your hair have always had NAMES for as long as that practice has existed, SPECIFIC names in their SPECIFIC culture's language. if you don't even like and know it enough to be able to name it why in god's name do you have it
That special form of bone-tired that comes from getting up at 4 AM for May Morning and then dancing for a few hours after you've woken the Sun up with sticks and bells and all the ungodly racket inherent to Morris dance.
Other pagans probably get to do pretty aesthetic things, I have no idea.
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