Randomness

Other casters: That’s not really how spells -

Wizard: Oh look, one of our blankets is now a magic carpet.  Guess we don’t need a bridge.

Other casters: There’s been too much rain, it won’t -

Wizard:  I fixed it so that it’s in the same state it was yesterday.  Someone here knows how to start a fire, right?

Other casters: THAT’S NOT HOW MAGIC WORKS YOU IDIOT WE’RE GOING TO DIE

Dragon: *coughs* Did you just… cure my intestinal problems?  I’ve been trying to stop breathing fire for weeks, but it just kept spilling out, and every time I tried to ask for help, I burned everything down.  I won’t forget this kindness.

i didn’t realize it for the first few years - something shifting, something so subtle. the winter makes us all cold, the summer makes us all a little out of our minds. i just loved her, because she was incredible, and i was the luckiest person alive.

it’s just that i realized that spring came with sudden bursts of cold. it’s just that summer frequently raged in with fire sprouting from her lips. it’s just that winter was the worst of all, her eyes dead. it’s just that autumn loves me different; throws herself into it without the clingy sweat of summer. i used to love that summer girl, you know? i loved how wild she was, the way in summer she took every risk she could. but i carried her home drunk one too many times, cleaned up one too many of the messes she made for no reason than to enjoy the sensation of burning. and winter was worse; the shutdown, the isolation. how she became distant, a blizzard, caught up in her own head, unable to tell me what was wrong and unable to think i actually wanted to listen.

she comes home, her hair bleached white. a dark smile on her lips. the shadowy parts of her are back. they loom like icicles overhead. she kisses me with her body held at a distance, a peck on my cheek that feels like an iceberg. she makes polite conversation and we go to bed early, our bodies untouching. 

it is a lonely season, i think on the ninth day of this. winter is cold. winter is known for the death of things. when i look at her, i see the girl i fell for, inhabited by an alien. she was the first women i loved so much i felt it would kill me. i can’t leave. when i wake her up with my crying, she tells me to shush and go back to sleep. she’s different like this, quiet, doesn’t eat. 

three days later i stare at myself in the mirror. i wonder if it’s me. if the fat on my body or something in my face or the wrinkles and she doesn’t love me. i try prettier lingerie, lean cuisine, i try different hair, more makeup, try harder. it doesn’t work. she looks at me the same; that empty gaze that neither loves nor condemns my actions. 

somewhere in februrary i lose it. we’re fighting again, from car to restaurant to car to home again. we fight about stupid things, small things; i tell her i feel she doesn’t love me, she says i’m not listening. the circle goes around and around, old pain peeling back, new pain unhealing. i sleep on the couch.

i wake up when i hear her crying, white hair around her all messed up. the kind of sobbing that only comes at two in the morning, heavy and thick and hurting. my winter girl. my heart is breaking. she looks up at me like i’m her anchor. “i’m sorry i’m like this,” she says. and i start saying, it’s okay i’m here we’re married, but she just shakes her head and says, “I know this isn’t the real me.”

i hold her cold hand. she stares at the blankets. “i am different in winter,” she whispers, “i know i am and i’m sorry.” she looks at me. “why do you think i dye my hair? cut it off? get rid of the old me?”

i tell her it’s okay. we’re together and it’s okay, and then she whispers, “i’m sorry you married four of me.”

we lay there like that, her head on my chest. she falls asleep. i stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way she sounded when she was crying. how i helped put her in that pain. how i promised in sickness and in health and everything in between.

the next day i spend at the library. there aren’t enough books on how to love someone with seasonal affective disorder so i make my own, notes and pages and little ideas on post-its. and i take a deep breath and make myself a promise.

she comes home to her favorite dinner and we kiss and she’s uneasy but that’s okay. the next day i bring home flowers and the next day she finds little love notes in her pockets. i love her quiet, the way winter demands, understand her sex drive is faltering; spend more time just cuddling. we drink wine and we kiss and some part of her starts relaxing. 

the truth is there is no loving someone out of their mental illness. the truth is that you can love someone in despite of it; love them loud enough to give them an excuse to believe they can make their way out of it.

and i learn. i remember the rebirth of spring, when she starts thawing. we kiss and have picnics in pretty dresses. i remember her joy at little birds and her rain dancing. i fall in love with the flowers in her cheeks and the little bursts of cleaning. i fall in love with summer’s slow walks and milkshakes and shouting to music playing too loud on the speakers. i fall in love with her dancing, with the sunfire energy. and when winter comes; i am ready. i remember that snow used to look pretty. i fall in love with the hearth of her, with the holiday, with the slow smile that spreads across her face so shyly. i fall in love with how she looks in boots and mittens and every day i find another reason to love her the way she deserves - they way i always should have.

she comes home with her white hair and dark smile and a package in her hands. i ask to see what it is and that small shy grin comes creeping out. it’s a sunlamp packed in with medication. she looks at me with those wide eyes and that beautiful winter blush. “i’m trying to get better,” she whispers, “i promise.”

recovery doesn’t look immediate. sometimes it isn’t neat. i can’t say we never fight or that we’re suddenly complete. but each day, that tiny girl’s strength gives me another reason. i love her. i love her while she tames the roller coaster of spring; i love her for reigning in the summer storms; i love her for taking her winter and trying to be warm. it is hard, because everything worth it is hard. she spreads out her autumn leaves; mixes the best parts of her into everything. learns to take winter’s silence for a moment before yelling in summer. learns to take autumn’s spice and give it to spring. we are both learning.

one day she comes home and her hair is different, but it’s a style i don’t know. i kiss it and tell her that she’s beautiful and the inside of me swells like a flood. i’m so glad that she’s mine. every part of her. the whole. i am the luckiest person on earth. and i always have been. but she’s hugging me and saying, “thank you for helping me,” and i can’t explain why i’m crying.

this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the cold. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.

One of my cats was pawing at the door and meowing loudly, an indication she REALLY needs to use the litter box.  I let her out and decide, hey, I’m hungry, and decide to the kitchen.  I forgot to shut the bedroom door. 

Next thing I hear is the group going completely silent.  My husband very calmly asks me to come over and help him gather our two cats up.  I go over to where the group is and my black cat, Cacoa, is rubbing up against the guy’s leg, purring, and doing her “let me on your lap” meow.  The other cat, Jasper, is sitting at the window, chilling out.  I go over and pick up Cacoa and tell the big dude she’s harmless, loves laps, and would be thrilled if he pet her.  Very slowly he touches my cat’s face, and she leans right into his hand.  He then pets her back and sighs because she’s really soft and purring like mad.  After a few minutes he asks how to pick her up and if it’s okay if she sits on his lap.

“The imps take care of it,” Neriel drawled, staring intently into the microwave.

“Yeah, but they come in at night. I’m here before night.”

“I don’t see why it’s a problem.”

I paused and ran a hand over my face. “For the last time,” I sighed, “it’s hard to breathe.”

“…what?”

“I’m allergic. You know this.”

Neriel snickered to himself. Samanth, sitting at the plastic table, glanced up from the magazine he was flipping through. “Sorry, uh, what?”

Oh, for… “I’m allergic to feathers. Can you please clean them up.”

“… you’re an angel.”

“I am fully aware.”

“Why’d you apply for it if you’re allergic?”

“I didn’t know I was allergic when I put in for the position,” I snapped. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have!”

Samanth snorted.

“That isn’t the point,” I said desperately, leaning against the wall. “Can you please clean up after yourselves?”

“The imps will take care of it,” Neriel repeated, rolling his eyes. The microwaved dinged. “You literally have wings. I don’t see why it makes a difference.”

Cool, they weren’t going to listen. “Great. Okay. Whatever.”

I turned and pulled the door open. Whatever Neriel had just heated smelled like garbage. It was probably fish. He pulled it out of the microwave and I left.

Whatever. I was off for the night; I stepped around a cream-colored pinion lying on the floor and covered my nose and mouth with one hand.

It didn’t help. I sneezed four times as I made my way through the office and out onto the street.

Arguably, this was better than retail. We didn’t have to listen to the same hundred fifty shitty songs on repeat for ten hours every day. And the shifts were shorter. And I got flight priveleges.

That was pretty much the best part of it. I shifted my back so that it wasn’t blocking any of my back and snapped my fingers to manifest my wings.

A lot of folks have em on constantly as sort of a status symbol, but I can’t do that or I’d probably asphyxiate. Now and again, though? Real useful.

Mine were red. I’d gone through multiple sets now, trying to find some that didn’t make me react as badly, and these were the best by far. The feathers were dark brown and a deep ruddy red color, like rust, or maybe half-dried blood if you’re feeling poetic and ominous.

I took a couple steps, spread my wings, and launched myself up.

So, I said manifested. What I meant is shifted, because a human form can’t fly with wings if you just graft them on. You have to alter all the anatomy and give em the muscle mass to generate flight lift. Swapping out the bones and blood make it pretty easy, though those are permanent, not shiftable. We’re always like that.

Don’t do anything too strenuous, because you’ll shatter your entire skeleton.

I work about a fifteen minute flight from my home, which is pretty nice. Sometimes I can see people give me envious glances when I go overhead.

When I landed I sneezed another three times. No, while these wings were nice, I needed a different set. Again.

I swapped back and stepped in, slinging my bag across the room to the couch. It thumped into the cushions.

Request time. I pulled my notebook out of my bag and pulled my pen out of my shirt pocket.

I hate to bring this up again, but I need to try a different set of wings. These ones are still troublesome and I can’t fly without having trouble breathing. I am quite literally allergic to my own skin. Sorry again, but I need to try a different set. I can’t work properly without them.

Cheers, Kalani.

x

I was in a comfortable study filled with books, seated on a dark maroon leather couch.

“You have been through five sets of wings,” said a voice to my right. “Care to explain why you’re requesting another?”

I turned, swallowing hard, and came face to face with a confusing mass of feathers and brilliant golden eyes.

“Uh,” I said, and sneezed.

“Hmm,” the angel said, and I caught amusement in their tone. This was a senior angel. I did not want to be talking to a senior angel. But I was.

“I’m allergic to feathers,” I said, too scared to take my eyes off the angel. The little golden placard on the desk read ‘Gabriel.’ “I, um, it’s really hard to breathe. At my workplace. It’s not - it’s not a big deal, really, I -”

“No, no, now I’m interested,” Gabriel purred, leaning forwards. “Why did you apply to be an angel if…?”

“I didn’t know!” Uh, that wasn’t the tone someone takes with a senior. “R-respectfully. Um. It wouldn’t be a problem but the others shed and they leave their feathers for the imps to take care of every time. And it’s impossible to - um, you get the point.”

Gabriel stared at me through eighty-six eyes. “Let me make a call,” they said, and picked up the phone on the desk. They seemed to be dressed in a soft dove-gray suit jacket.

It rang a few times. “Sorry to bother you,” Gabriel said, after whoever was on the other end of the phone picked up, “but I’ve got a bit of a situation here.”

Sunlight streamed through the windows. Beyond them, through the blue-gold sky, I could see strings of brilliant color, like a nebula hanging below the clouds. Stars speckled the sky just beyond the azure. “Oh, nothing particularly important, but I’ve got a younger angel here who’s got a rather unique issue. Here, I’ll send the file over.”

Gabriel picked up my folder off the table and held it up. Their skin was a deep void-black, their fingers adorned with glittering golden rings. The manila folder disappeared with a gentle pop, and there was a pause in the conversation before I heard a low, casual voice murmuring something on the far end of the line.

“Really?” Gabriel said, and added, “Not that I mean to question you. But that’s an interesting choice. Do you think that’ll do? The others at -”

Another few words from the person on the other end. “Ah,” Gabriel said carefully, blinking most of their eyes. “Of course. I’ll pass that along. I’m interested in how this turns out. Thanks for your time.”

The person on the other end hung up, and Gabriel set the phone down again. It appeared to be made of wood, with elegant golden scrollwork. “You’re being reassigned,” they said, eyeing me cooly.

“…what?!” Oh, shit. They were taking my wings. I was getting demoted. Well, this was the worst possible outcome. “But - I’ve - I’m a good employee! Check my record, Xanadu has never cited me - ”

“Calm down,” Gabriel said, holding out one of their hands. “This is good news for you. You’re just being moved, and you’ll get some assistants. And we’ll get you your new wings.”

I sat back. “O-oh,” I said. “Um… Where am I… Where am I going?”

“You’ll see.”

x

I woke up and found a couple of letters shoved under my door.

The first one was my paycheck from Xanadu, as well as a letter of recommendation, worded in a professional if slightly nervous manner. Then there were my transfer notifications. I tore open the letter and read through it. A lot of the names I didn’t recognize, but a few…

“Iron City Commerce?” I muttered, raising an eyebrow. “Archduke…?”

I set the letter down and raised a hand, staring at my fingers. I didn’t feel that much different, but…

I snapped my fingers and smiled.

x

I strolled into Xanadu to collect the rest of my things before my move. Neriel was there, and when he caught sight of me, he startled so bad he tripped over his chair and crashed backwards into his desk. A couple of down feathers floated out.

“Oh m- Kalani - ” he stammered, eyes wide. “Kalani, what - what h -”

“Shut up,” I said idly, opening my desk drawer and pulling out a couple of books I’d stored there.

“I’m sorry,” Neriel said. “Whatever drove you -”

“You’re an idiot, and I’ve got a new job.” There wasn’t much to take from my desk. I dropped a couple of old papers into it. “Also, I’m taking the imps.”

I snapped my fingers. The nearest imp, sitting on a shelf nearby, nodded and vanished in a puff of smoke. I swept my desk ornaments into a box by the desk and said, “take this, please,” out loud. Two imps appeared, grabbed the box, and vanished.

By now, everyone in the office was watching in dead silence. I sent a sly smile to my former boss, twitching my new wings behind me.

“Have fun, Neriel,” I drawled, waving to him as I turned and headed out the door.

Now that I was out of Xanadu, I wasn’t going to have problems with breathing in anyone else’s feather dust anymore. And I wouldn’t have to worry about mine.

Because I didn’t have feathers anymore. And I definitely understood people showing off their wings, because you’d have to pay me to hide mine. I loved them. They were the same shade of deep reddish-brown as my old ones had been, but now they were massive arched constructions, long thin finger bones spanned with faintly fuzzy, thin veined skin, just like that of a bat.

Let’s start with a simple test. Click this link here: https://whatismyipaddress.com/ It will tell your IP adres, your ISP (internet service provider), and your location. The location might not be very accurate, but then again, it’s just a simple website. Imagine what the government can do!

So basically, everyone can find out where you live. But there is more danger. Your ISP. Your ISP logs your every move online and they are required to keep it in case the government wants access to it (or if a 3rd party wants to buy your data (yikes). They have everything. What websites you visit. How long you stay on a website. What you download. Your search terms. European laws are more subtle on this but if you are from the US you are #@*#&, especially because Trump doesn’t support the open internet. It’s scary but maybe in the future you can’t get a job because the recruiter knows your searched on ‘how to deal with depression’ or anythings else that’s supposed to be private because it’s your f*cking right. Or you get a $100k fine because you pirated a movie 15 years ago. You need a VPN. You’re dumb for not using one. but what does a VPN do?

A VPN encrypts all your data so if it were be intercepted no one can ‘crack the code’ and damage your privacy. 

Usually being online goes like this (simplified): Your computer —-> ISP (—–> keeps data —–> sells it)

But with a VPN it goes like: Your computer —–> VPN (encrypts data)—–> ISP (ISP can’t see shit)

Furthermore, a VPN hides your IP address and location by giving you another IP address located in Spain for example (you can often choose from a list and change as many times as you want).  

Now that you know why you should get a VPN and what is does it is important to educate yourself because people often choose the wrong VPN. VPN providers are also businesses and have to obey the law. If you choose a VPN provider located in the US then you are throwing your money away because the laws in the US shits on your privacy. If the US gov wants the provider to give all their logs they have to obey.  The ISP  still can’t see what you are doing online and sell your data but the US gov can interfere with your VPN provider so NEVER CHOOSE A PROVIDER LOCATED IN THE US. 

I just wanted to make that very clear so my followers don’t buy false security.

There is still more danger!  Who says your VPN provider isn’t selling your data? You need to check their logging policy. Do they keep logs? If yes, what for? For how long do they keep them? Tip: Choose a provider who doesn’t keep logs

More about law  The US is part of the Five Eyes program (the worst):  

The Five Eyes, often abbreviated as FVEY, is an intelligence alliance comprising Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom and the United States. These countries are bound by the multilateral UKUSA Agreement, a treaty for joint cooperation in signals intelligence (source)

There is also a Nine Eyes (bit better) and Fourteen Eyes Program (better).  You don’t want a VPN provider who is located in one the Five Eyes countries.  If you had to choose go for a provider located in a country that’s part of the Fourteen Eyes Program or even better, go for a country that isn’t part of any program! 

I know this is a shitty explanation and please pardon my english but now it’s time to do your own research. Take your privacy seriously. Maybe WWIII breaks out and you get killed for liking the ‘wrong’ FB-page.  

Go to this website: https://thatoneprivacysite.net/simple-vpn-comparison-chart/

Make sure that your future VPN provider both has green boxes for Privacy Jurisdiction and Privacy Logging. 

I recommend ovpn.se and trust.zone. ovpn is located in Sweden so they are part of the 14 Eyes Program and they keep minimal logs. Their business ethics, however, are alright. 

Trustzone is located in the Seychelles. No country can interfere and their privacy jurisdiction is the best you can get. The US want your data but needs to get it from Trustzone? The Seychelles will simply give them the finger and wave them goodbye. However, this makes this provider very appealing for people who torrent and criminals because they keep no logs (and that is how it shoud be) Also,  there are almost no marketing efforts so this provider is one the cheapest)

Also, often providers such as ExpressVPN are being called ‘The Best’ on websites about VPNs but know that this is just marketing which also makes those provider more expensive (and they too shit on your privacy)

This must be the worst article you have ever read but please, please take your privacy very seriously.

Trust.Zone has a free trial. Use it. 

btw this post only has 11k notes? That’s quite disappointing for something this important. 

Sources

Anger as US internet privacy law scrapped 

Congress just voted to let internet providers sell your browsing history 

Don’t tell me you just wanted to scroll past this. Stop looking at pictures of cats for a moment, okay? Don’t you realize how important this is? This is dangerous! ‘America, the best FREE country in the world’ my ass.

With this new law your ISP can sell your Internet history which could include passwords, usernames, religion, credit card numbers, race and much more to the highest bidder. So here is what I want you to do. You are going to read the whole thing and before you think ’this is so important. Let me reblog this real quick and go back to admiring cats again-’ NO! Don’t reblog this. Take action first. Then reblog. Sign up for a free trial! Trust.Zone offers one (here). Yes. It might be difficult to set up a VPN for some people. But is that going to stop you from protecting yourself and your family? 30 minutes. 30 minutes is all that it takes. 5 if you know how to install software. The problem with some of you is that you see ‘difficult’ as something negative. I want you to see difficult differently. I need you to push through this stuff. You are going to protect yourself. There is nothing negative about that. VPNs are fun and costsaving too! A VPN bypasses geographical restrictions so you can access websites you normally can’t or you could start Netflix’s one month free trial over and over again- forever. And it’s legal! (unless you use it to buy weapons etc.,) Don’t tell yourself that you are too tired and that you will do this tomorrow. Because that isn’t going to happen and you know it. You have to do this right now. You only have to click on it. Don’t let this/shit/life just happen to you. Take yourself seriously. Get a VPN.

Lexa is a lanky, nerdy, orphan on the spectrum when she transfers to her new middle school. She years beyond her classmates in intellect, but the system doesn’t know or care, so Lexa spends her first few months in school bored and terribly picked on. 

Clarke is small for her age but feisty and full of daydreams. She’s bubbly and spontaneous and imaginative–so much so, that the other kids don’t really know how to handle her motor mouth, boundless energy, and crazy ideas. They tend to ripple away from her when she enters the cafeteria, even run from her when she enters the playground. 

Clarke is fascinated by Lexa’s mind. She’s drawn to her mismatched clothes and her big glasses. She likes the curls of her hair and the way her green eyes look so wide in the expanse of the playground. Frankly, Clarke is a little bit in love from day one.  

Lexa isn’t the easiest person to be friends with. She’s quiet and introverted. She doesn’t smile much and she doesn’t seem to look up from her books very often, but she likes when Clarke sits with her on the bench across from the monkey bars. She likes the way Clarke talks enough for the both of them. She enjoys the pictures Clarke paints with her words and the joy she has for everything around them. Clarke is fearless and alive, and it’s the first time Lexa finds herself wanting more of someone. 

The other kids at school are ruthless once they catch onto the budding friendship. Clarke is tiny, mostly blonde crazy hair, but she’ll stand in front of Lexa like a human shield any day, any time. To Clarke, Lexa is hers to protect. Sweet, gentle, clueless Lexa who doesn’t really know that she’s picked on, just that their words don’t really seem to make her feel that great. 

In eight grade, Clarke makes some new friends, but she never leaves Lexa. Lexa doesn’t integrate with Clarke’s new friends, doesn’t know how, but Clarke is never far, and Lexa likes the way Clarke smiles at her throughout lunch when it’s Clarke’s friends’ turn to eat with her. And Lexa spends a lot of time at Clarke’s house after school. Lexa helps Clarke with her homework and Clarke spends half the evening braiding Lexa’s hair while Lexa stims with the numerous toys and things Clarke kept in her room, for the very purpose. They’re inseparable, and Clarke is irrevocably in love with her sweet, lanky Lexa. 

In high school, everything changes. Clarke hits puberty, and suddenly she’s no longer the weird, chatter box, she’s the beautiful blonde with boobs and a pretty smile. Clarke herself doesn’t change, she still holds hands with Lexa whenever she can, they spend almost every evening together in Clarke’s room, but things are different. At school, Clarke is always surrounded, and it’s too much for Lexa. The people, the sounds, the staring and the murmuring. Clarke’s friends don’t understand Lexa, and Clarke does her best to educate them, but things are hard. 

And Lexa starts taking classes at the local college. Finally, she’s feeling mentally and intellectually stimulated. She loves her engineering classes and she likes the way the teachers talk with her about their research. She likes that the phD students asks her for help and that no one seems to want to talk that much, and when they do, it’s about their work. 

With time, Lexa stops going over to Clarke’s house and Clarke stops seeking her out in the hallway. Clarke never forgets to smile at her, and Lexa is glad for that. When she gets a scholarship to go to Stanford halfway through the year, she doesn’t think to tell Clarke until she’s saying goodbye. Clarke’s tears make Lexa sad, but she doesn’t know what to do about it. Clarke asks her to stay in touch and Lexa tells her she’ll try. 

Lexa flourishes at Stanford, but she misses Clarke and writes her letters that she never gets around to sending. Clarke spends the next two years angry and lonely, furious at the people who’d tormented Lexa for so long, looking for someone to blame for Lexa’s departure.  

They both do a lot of growing up in the years that they’re apart. Clarke blossoms into a beautiful, smart, talented graduate student at the New England School of Art and Design. Lexa is on the precipice of becoming one of the world’s most successful biotech engineer and inventor, heading up the biotech monster conglomerate, KONGEDA INC. She’s also about to be across the river, to start her new visiting professorship at MIT. 

It’s happen chance that they end up on the same block at the same time on the same night. Lexa wanders into a crowded bar, and is immediately spotted by a friend of Clarke’s, Raven, an engineering student at MIT who has the intellectual hots for Professor Woods, the notorious engineering genius. It’s Raven who alerts Clarke to Lexa’s presence. “You said you knew her once! You have to introduce me! You have to get me into her glass.” Clarke is equal parts stunned, angry, and nervous like school girl. “She stopped talking to me, Raven. I haven’t known her in ten years.” But then Clarke sees her, standing so lost and overwhelmed by the bar, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “I–I’ll be right back,” she tells Raven and begins slipping through the crowd. She’s about fifteen feet away when Lexa looks over at her, and overcome by habit, Clarke smiles. 

When Lexa smiles back, that same exact little smile, Clarke’s heart feels like it’s exploding in her chest. The music is loud, Clarke has to lean in close when she stumbles out a greeting and tries not to get lost in Lexa’s beautiful eyes. “When did you get here?” She asks and Lexa, her sweet, gentle Lexa, tells her “Just a minute ago,” and Clarke smiles because she meant when did she get to Cambridge, but it doesn’t really matter. It never did. 

Still acutely aware of Lexa’s body language, Clarke can see the stimming coming on in the rapid blinking and the tugging of a zipper. She can see the way Lexa’s cheeks heat up and the shifting starts as the chaos of the club gets to be too much. She puts her hand carefully on Lexa’s wrist and leans in, standing on her tiptoes to reach Lexa’s ear, “Do you need to get out of here?” 

Lexa nods. “I’m looking for my wife,” she says, and Clarke’s world screeches to a halt. Her hand jerks from Lexa’s wrist like it’s been burned and she sinks to her heels. Tears prick at her eyes before she can catch them and with a shakey breath, she nods. “Oh–okay, um…” she doesn’t know how to finish with her heart on the floor and her stomach in knots. But she tries. She’d always try for Lexa. “Where did you see her last?” 

“What?” 

Clarke swallows and lifts back up, bracing herself on Lexa’s shoulder, because she has to. “Where did you last see your wife?” 

Lexa’s head tilts in confusion and Clarke tries to supress the automatic smile that wants to come at seeing the familiar tilt. But then Lexa shakes her head and leans down. “My ride. Not my wife. I don’t have a wife.”

Clarke wants to laugh she’s so elated. Instead, she bites back a smile and nods. “Lets go outside. We can talk better in the quiet and you can call your ride.” 

Lexa takes her hand like she always did. It’s bigger and not as soft as it once was ten years ago, but at the same time, it’s exactly the same, and Clarke is deeply smitten. 

After that night, things return to much the same way as it was in middle school. Clarke and Lexa are inseparable, and Clarke falls harder and harder everyday. They do breakfast together in Boston, where both of their apartments are located, before Lexa heads across the river to Cambridge and Clarke to school. And everyday, with a few exceptions, Clarke is there waiting for Lexa after her last lecture gets out, and they go an early dinner or maybe a stroll through the park. 

It takes Clarke four months to get up the courage to ask Lexa on a date. Lexa makes her smile and laugh so very fondly when Lexa tells her, “I thought that’s what we were doing?” 

Their first official date, official for both of them, is a dream for Clarke. Lexa takes her to a beautiful riverside restaurant and then to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. It’s decidedly winter, but Clarke insists on ice cream afterwards and Lexa is a sucker for her smile. They huddle together under the heated lamps at the train stop and Clarke buries herself inside Lexa’s coat, her cheek against the soft cashmere of Lexa’s sweater. “You got so tall,” she mutters, not for the first time. Lexa just smile and holds her tight. 

At Clarke’s stoop, they stop and Clarke vibrates with nervous energy. She wants Lexa to kiss her. Needs her to. She’s so fucking in love with this sweet professor, she can hardly stand it. Lexa smiles as Clarke talks about how much she enjoyed the night, but Clarke can tell Lexa is feeling…not uncomfortable, but unsure. She hopes harder than she’s hoped for anything that Lexa wil find the courage, but when Lexa nods and shoves her hands in her pockets, bids her goodnight and then turns down the steps, Clarke smiles after her, sad but fond. 

Her key is in the door when Lexa says, “Hey, Clarke?” and walks back up the path. Clarke tries to be calm when she turns and stands at the top of the stairs. “I was given tickets to a Celtics game for tomorrow night. I don’t much like basketball, but if I recall, you quite enjoyed it with your dad as a child. Would you like to go?” 

Clarke doesn’t know what makes her happier, that Lexa remembered that basketball is something she shared with her dad, or that Lexa is asking to see her again, officially, so soon. With a smile she can’t conceal, she nods and laughs when Lexa smiles back at her and walks up the steps. 

As if suddenly unsure of what to do now at the top of the steps, Lexa blinks a few times and searches Clarke’s face. Clarke thinks Lexa might be about to walk away again when the professor suddenly closes the gap and kisses her. 

As far as first kisses go, it’s the sweetest Clarke’s ever had. As far as kisses in general go, it’s the best she’s ever had. She doesn’t mean to, but she moans not one second into it, and smiles when Lexa chuckles against her lips. Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa’s back and threads them through her hair, keeping her as close as possible. Lexa is, surprisingly, much more poised with her movements. Her hands on Clarke’s hips hold her close and steady, her lips are soft and passionate all at once, and slowly but surely, Clarke finds herself pinned between the snow covered railing on the stoop and Lexa’s warm body. 

It’s over in seconds, maybe a minute, but for Clarke time suspends. When they finally pull apart, Clarke’s forehead falls to Lexa’s chest and she laughs. “God, I’ve wanted that since eight grade.” And now that they have it, it’s hard to stop. Lexa follows Clarke up that night, and Clarke’s never been more in love than she is with Lexa in her bed, kissing and holding and making love to her until they both fall asleep and do it all over again, slower and with more giggles, in the morning. 

Things take a turn though later that night. Clarke is late getting home after her class because of a bad accident on the road, but when she texts Lexa to tell her she’s going to be late getting home, she doesn’t get a response. She doesn’t get a response when she tells her she’s hopping in the shower but will be ready soon either. Or when she’s out and dressed and waiting in the living room, close to tears. 

An hour into the game, the tears finally do fall. “They’re all the same,” she tells her roommates bitterly. “They fuck you and then they’re gone.” 

Octavia frowns in sympathy and sits next to her, rubbing her back. “Maybe it’s for the best.” 

“How could it possibly be for the best??” 

Octavia shifts uncomfortably. “Well…Finn told me that Lexa was like…weird in grade school. I don’t remember her much from then, she’s like older than Bellamy, but maybe you need someone a little more sophisticated and like charming, you know? You’re going to be a big famous artist. You need someone who can keep up.” 

Clarke laughs. “Keep up? O, do you not like ever read or watch the news? Lexa is the new Elon Musk…only smarter and helluva lot sexier. And sweeter. And amazing and kind and gentle. Lexa wasn’t weird in school, she was just misunderstood. And Finn’s a jack ass. Raven and I both told you to stay away from him.”  “This is why I told you not to let an undergrad live with us,” Raven chimes in, plopping down on the couch. “Poor decision makers. Small brain capacity,” she says, tapping Octavia on the head. 

“Fuck of, Rae. I’m just saying, Clarke, if Lexa’s really that great…why’d she abandon you? Pretty convenient to stop showing up after getting in your pants.” 

Clarke hates to admit it, but she doesn’t have an answer for that. “They can’t really be all the same, can they?” She mutters. “Lexa wouldn’t do that.” 

“Lexa may not be able to process emotion in the same way as us , but she can certainly process physical needs the same way. I hate to say it Clarke, but maybe she is just like the rest of them.” 

Clarke’s in bed a few hours later, tears dried on her cheeks but eyes still puffy and raw. Lexa was her first love in middle school, and her only true love in high school and beyond. It aches deep inside of her to think she’s been betrayed by Lexa in such an intimate way. 

She’s half asleep when she gets a phone call from the local hospital. There’s been an accident. She’s the emergency contact. Does she know if there are parents nearby? She’s and orphan, Clarke tells them in shock. There’s no relatives nearby, she’s foreign. They tell her she’s in surgery. “So it’s bad, then?” They won’t tell her anything, but Clarke is in her car before they’re even done speaking. 

Lexa, Clarke finds out, was the accident that kept her from getting home on time. She’d been on the side walk, walking to Clarke’s, when a car lost control on the ice and hit her going way too fast. She overhears that there were white rose petals all over the side walk–a strange contrast from the blood that was everywhere. Clarke hurls into a trashcan in the hallway and sinks down the wall. 

Clarke’s mother flies in the next day to consult…and because Clarke asked her too. “She’s going to be okay, right?” Clarke asks, sitting next to Lexa’s unconscious body in the hospital bed. 

Abby looks over Lexa’s chart and sighs. “The damage is extensive. I know you care about your friend–” 

“I’m in love with her. I’m so in love with her,” she blurts and breaks down into tears. 

Abby frowns sympathetically and walks over to her daughter. “I know, sweetheart.” When Clarke looks up confused, Abby smiles. “You’ve been in love with Lexa since you were eleven.” 

“You have to fix her, mom.” 

Abby rubs Clarke’s back, and pulls her into a hug. “We’ll do our best.” 

And they do. Lexa heals, and it’s one of her own inventions that helps rehabilitate her which Clarke finds endlessly amusing. Raven shows up to help sometimes too, and the two engineers hit it off quite well. Lexa thinks Raven is surprisingly bright, and Raven is just totally star struck for weeks after that. 

Clarke graduates and Lexa takes the helm of the biotech empire, eventually hiring Raven, and life’s never been better. Clarke has never said yes to anything faster than she does to Lexa’s marriage proposal, and three years down the road, they have two babies to fill their home. 

The princess had run to her, laughter creasing her cheeks and her eyes bright as the princess checked her over. She had taken the princess hand when it was held out to her, joined in laughing, and a friendship had bloomed.

She had a smile as soft as the moon, this princess from far off lands. It was a smile that said she could always care, a smile that said she would always be there, and it was a smile that had helped the first princess fall gently in love with her.

She was the opposite; her smile was as sharp and as bright as the sun, a glimmer of light in the darkness, a flash of fire in a wooden house. She had always been that way. Her mother said she was not a true princess, her father said as queen, she would never take prisoners. But with her that smile only meant one thing. That there would always be light on a stormy day.

The two had spent that afternoon chasing down the missing horse, and eventually gone back the castle both covered in mud and laughing as the sun went down. The king had looked at them both - his daughter, so sharp like the blade of a sword, and the princess so soft like ripples of water - and nodded his head, thinking this is a good union for our two kingdoms.

Weeks passed and the two grew only closer. The princess as bright as the sun became more forgetful too; her bow disappeared first, then her books on history and parts of her armour. She blamed herself for it though; with every long summer day she felt her heart slip further away from her and with that came the daze of love and the idea of more, and the dreamlike state which made her put things in the wrong place.

She never suspected. Never thought she had to. Just like with the horse, it was coincidence.

On the last week of the other princess’ visit, the king was called away to the furthest reaches of their lands. And the princess knew it was her chance; before time was up, the princess with a smile as bright as the sun would capture the glow of the moon.

Their first kiss had been weeks ago, after all. And since that time there had been more. Kisses under starlight and kisses under trees, kisses pulled into the servant’s staircases and kisses stolen under the kings nose.

So that night, the princess lit up like her sun as she took her friend - her loves - hand and led her into the bedroom. And the princess who was as bright as the sun learnt every inch of the moon and learnt what it was to have starlight run through her veins.

But between their whispers and soft laughter, between their sighs and peaceful sleep, the princess with a smile as sharp as the sun heard something from the floors below.

She sat up, reaching for the knife she kept by her bed. But like many other things, it was not in it’s place.

“What’s the noise?” she said, one leg out of bed before the other princess caught her.

“It’s nothing,” the princess with moonlight in her smile said. she leant in for a kiss, and the sun melted. A fraction. “Just my people taking over your castle.”

She said it like nothing, like it was normal, and for a second the princess as bright as the sun thought it was. Until her mind pieced together every missing link.

A horse than never panicked, bolting on that first day, a princess no one ever hearing of appearing to learn about their ways. Missing swords and missing books, missing knives and stolen hearts. A king sent away and servants that no one knew the names of.

Watchful eyes and silent corners.

The moon and the stars were beautiful. But all bad things were hidden in shadows, the worst of crimes all done at night. A girl with a smile as soft as the moon meant a girl with secrets with every word.

“I loved you.” the princess said, the sun inside her flicking behind tears in her eyes.

She felt a hand in hers, the press of a cold blade at her throat.

The day of the wedding came, and the girl walked down the aisle in a dress of gentle silver. The Prince took her hand and smiled, and leant in to kiss her.

For luck, he would later say. A kiss for luck, a smile for joy, a laugh for a happy ending. It was a saying his own family had had for years, but it was a saying that failed him.

For the second his lips touched hers, she fell to the floor with a sigh.

Not dead they healers told the prince. not dead but sleeping, not dead but unable to wake.

The prince- so ashamed, so in fear of his life and hers- stole her away from the castle that night, away from her father and her people, so they would never have to watch her waste away.

He hid her in a forest, in a casket of diamond and ice, and he waited. Waited, for he did not even know where to start. He did not even know if the hope for her waking had a point.

He was there for two days when they found him. Seven short folk, small men with beards and axes in their hands, and harsh smiles on their faces.

We can help you they said to him, the six cackling behind the speaker. But, prince, it will come at a price.

I would pay anything. He vowed. Only later, realising he should have asked what it would be.

The Seven disappeared and left him on his own. Alone, other than the silent not-dead princess at his side.

When they returned there was an eighth with them- an old frail woman with a basket in her hands.

We will wake her she said, pulling out an apple and throwing it in their air but you will never look at her, talk to her again, and she will work in the mines with my dwarves here.

He wanted to say no. But knowing she was alive, even out of reach, was better than sleep and near death.

so yes he said. Help her.

The old woman smiled and picked out a knife, cutting the apple into small parts. One, she handed to the prince, the other, she took over to the casket, and opening it, she placed it on the princess’ lips.

A gasp, a flash of her eyes opening, and the prince knew nothing more.

***

The princess woke in a place she did not know, surrounded by people she did not know. An old woman and short men- and her prince, asleep on the ground.

He is not dead the old woman said only sleeping. But around you, he will never wake. He saved you but cursed you both- and now your life is tied to my mines.

The princess tried to fight, to leave. 

But the old woman had magic and she did not, and the dwarves were all she knew for many years. Sometimes as friends, sometimes as enemies, often arguing but always allies, they worked side by sides in the underground mines, looking for fairydust and rubies, magic and gold.

They taught her the songs of work and the songs of marches, and soon she forgot that she had even been a princess.

One evening she was walking back to their home alone, when she heard a noise to her left. She looked, expecting a rabbit, a bird, but out stepped a man with a bow in his hands.

You shouldn’t be out in the woods alone he said to her.

This is my home.

Trees are no home for anyone. She wondered if she should tell him of the many people hidden in the forest, each with no where else to go come with me.

Why?

Because I have a place you can go.

She should have said no- but what was there for her in the trees and the mine? So she took his hand and he led her out into the bright daylight, through winding roads intil they arrived at a castle she did not know.

where are we? she asked.

The Huntsman smiled my home, and the home of my queen.

He led her in through the doors, up to a room where a woman was sat on a throne. The woman stood as she saw the princess, staring at her in wide eyed shock.

You look just like her the queen whispered.

Once, the Huntsman said quietly, seeing the question in the princess’ eyes my queen had a child. A daughter who should have been your age. But she was stolen away by the man my queen loved.

You-

I’m not her  the princess said- but she had never known her mother. Only her father and an empty throne at his side.

Once upon a time there was a prince who put everyone before himself and gave parts of his heart to each and every person he came across. When he was five he had been found in the forest behind the castle, collecting as many flowers as his little hands could hold. He had said they were for his mother; she had not smiled at him that morning, and he knew flowers were her favorite thing.

When he was ten he took on his cousin- his age and half again, for he had seen the older boy send a servant down a corridor in tears. The prince couldn’t bare tears- it didn’t matter to him who they were, he wanted to protect each and every person who had tears in their eyes.

When he was fifteen he buried his mother. His own tears fell then, but he ignored them and went out to help a grieving kingdom, for the queen had been loved by all, not just him.

And when he was twenty, he fell in love and gave every piece of his heart to the girl he was to marry.

And then it all went wrong.

The girl was gone. From his life, at least. He gave up his heart for a change for her to have her own, and while he would never take back that choice, he still…regretted it.

He remembered every line of her face, the colour of her eyes and how her hair looked in sunlight. He remembered her laughter and her voice and her sharp, smart, brilliant mind and sometimes he was so convinced she was still at his side, haunting him, that it started to drive him mad.

He left his title, his kingdom behind; he didn’t have any heart left to give them, and for years he travelled the countryside alone. Sometimes, he wondered if he had a voice anymore. Sometimes, he wondered if the life he left had just been a dream.

Sometimes, he looked into the waters of rivers and lakes, and he didn’t know what was looking back at him. His hair was longer than he could ever have imagined. Then, one day, he saw himself and saw it was no longer hair, but fur that was growing, until he could no longer call himself human.

On a hill above the next village he stumbled across, there lay an old, unloved castle. It was build from stone as black as the midnight sky and looked as haunted as the once-prince was, by memories that had been forgotten and people that could no longer be named.

He took shelter in the castle, and lay claim to it with a roar so loud that every living things, from person to mouse to spider escaped. And there, he brooded for years, alone and forgotten.

Sometimes, he thought he heard voices around him. Of servants and friends that had long ago disappeared. But whenever he looked up, to was to see only a ticking clock and a candlestick on the table where he had left them.

The space where his heart had once been turned bitter with the years. He turned selfish and twisted, until he could no longer remember what it was like to be as human as those in the village. He thought them a different species to himself, and sometimes, to remind them to stay away, would creep down to the shops and take anything he wanted.

They would shout at him then, in words he knew he should have known, but no longer understood. Once, an object was thrown at him, and he saw in it strange markings that he knew formed words, but he could no longer read.

The only languages he understood were the ones of hunger and of hate. Villagers driving him back with flames and pitchforks, the feel of his stomach as it emptied.

Sometimes, he didn’t even understand those.

Time no longer meant anything to the beast. In the light, he roamed the castle, and in darkness, he slept. 

Until the day the old woman turned up on his doorstep. Something in the back of his head told him he knew her. Told him that she was the reason he was no like this. But he didn’t understand it, and he did not care.

The woman said something in the strange language the humans used. All he knew was that she did not have the smell of fear around her, that she looked at him with something he used to know as pity.

He turned away.

But her hand touched his fur and

stop. She said. And he understood. Years ago, I took from you the person that had your heart. I saved her life and in return, you gave me your own. That curse can change with every person, and with you, it twisted you until you forgot who you were. It was easier like that, for you could no longer mourn, no longer care, no longer love. But your Princess left my care when her time was up. She had worked off her curse, and now, it is time for yours to end too.

With her words came memories. Of a girl and a wedding and a casket of diamond and ice. And tears fell down the beast’s face, for he remembered everything he had lost.

Make your choice, Prince. The old woman said one word, and I can keep you in this form forever. Forgetting everything human and just being. Or I can make you what you once were. Human, completely, utterly fragile and human.

He stared at her, blinking, his jaw moving without sound.

Then, like sandpaper, one word broke out human he growled. human.

The old woman smiled and nodded, and in a flash of blinding white, he changed.

He was not who he had been. He looked in the mirror and saw a man where there had once been a boy. He saw eyes filled with sorrow and age, a face that was starting to show years.

He went to say something to the woman- was that really how much time had passed- but she was no longer there, the doorway open and empty and showing nothing but the dawning of a new day.

He didn’t know who he was now, this prince that was no longer a prince. He didn’t know what had become of the girl he had once loved. He didn’t know if she had waited for him or forgotten him. But he looked at the doorway and then stepped out of it.