The first time, she says "To me," and the mirror dutifully shows her her reflection. And she is pleased.
The second time, she says "To the King," and she is pleased to see herself once more.
The third time, she says "To the Royal Advisor," and is once more satisfied to see herself.
The fourth time, she says "To the scribe who takes the King's letters." She is shown the man's wife. And she seethes, but quiets herself, for it is only right that a man loves his wife.
The fifth time, she says "To the Court Wizard," and is shown the man's departed mother as he remembers her from his youth, radiant and smiling and warm and larger than life.
The tenth time, she says "To the Stable Master," and is shown the fastest horse in the stable, majestic and free as the wind even in captivity
"To the baker," she is shown the man's daughter, young and adorable and full of joy and laughter.
"To the artist who did my portrait," she is shown a painting of a woman done by the man's teacher, who he still looks up to now that he is well established himself.
"To the Royal Knight," she is surprised but not displeased to see the castle's entire guard force in the middle of doing drills.
The one hundredth time she asks the mirror, and it asks her "to whom?" she once again says, "To me." And she does the same the one hundred and second, and again and again and again.
It is a different person each time, and they are all beautiful.
“Because the truth is, tech doesn’t have an image problem. It doesn’t have a message problem. It has an intention problem. What’s wrong with the axe murderer who broke into my house is not that he hasn’t successfully persuaded me to buy into his narrative. What’s wrong is that he’s trying to kill me with an axe. Similarly, when you launch a product that’s designed to put millions of people out of work, block access to sources of verifiable truth, replace human creativity with slop, and lower the barriers to every sort of atrocity, the problem isn’t that you haven’t told the public a good story about those things. The problem is that you are trying to do them.”
There's an arm tight around your waist when you wake. It's heavy and familiar. It pulls you a little closer as your return to consciousness becomes known.
"G'morning," you mumble, rubbing at your eyes with the point of your knuckle. You blink, once and then twice, as the waking world comes back into focus and takes the shape of a new day.
"Morning."
Levi's voice is always so raspy in the morning. So low and rough. You shiver a little at the sound, but hide it in a stretch–your movement stunted by the hold he has you in, pulled to his bare chest.
"What did you dream about?" you ask him sleepily, rolling over so you're facing his way. He lets you move freely, but keeps his arm over you, and you prop your chin in your hand once you're laying on your tummy. You watch him as he watches you.
"Dunno," he says indifferently. "You know I don't ever really remember stuff like that."
You scrunch up your nose, having expected the answer but being no less disappointed by it.
"What did you dream about?" he turns your question back to you.
"Got a boob job."
Levi's eyes widen in surprise and his lip curls in distaste.
"Why the hell would you dream about that?" he grunts derisively, almost sulking.
"Who knows," you shrug as much as you can given your position. "You loved 'em though."
Levi takes your face in his hand and squishes your cheeks together until your lips purse. His expression is surprisingly severe as he looks you in the eyes. "Don't even joke about that. I like them exactly as they are."
He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, your lips still puckered thanks to his grip. He lets your face go after a moment, and then pushes himself up to slip out of bed, shuffling off towards the bathroom down the hall.
You lay back in Levi's bed for a moment, flopping down with your face pressed in the pillows. They smell like him: like his soap, and his beloved laundry detergent whose brand he's so loyal to he buys it in bulk and keeps stacked at the back of his closet.
Down the hall, you hear the tap running as he washes his face, just like he does first thing every morning. The next thing you hear is the medicine cabinet open as he retrieves his blue toothbrush, kept in a little storage holder next to the yellow toothbrush he'd bought for you a few weeks ago to replace the pink one he'd bought you before that.
You lay there, peacefully listening to the motions of his morning routine step-by-step, until eventually he comes shuffling out again in his slippers and heads towards the little kitchen on the other side of his bachelor apartment.
Next is the kettle, filled with enough water for him to have tea and you to have coffee, then onto the electric base to boil.
"Get up, lazy."
You smile into his pillow as he calls to you.
"Don't wanna," you say, rolling over onto your back so he can hear you clearly.
"You have work," he reminds you, though he really doesn't need to–you're as aware of the fact as he is. You groan defeatedly, pushing yourself upright.
Levi looks over at you from the kitchen where he's preparing two mugs–one with looseleaf tea in a steeper, the other with a single-cup percolator resting overtop, waiting to be filled. He watches as you stretch your arms up over your head, the hem of the long-sleeved shirt he'd loaned to you the night before lifting from the motion. Your muscles ache a little, not in an unpleasant way, and you're still a little stiff from sleep.
You roll yourself out of bed and into the kitchen after him.
"What are you gonna have for breakfast?" he asks, the kettle shutting off automatically as it comes to temperature. Levi has one of those kettles where you can choose the automatic shut off temperature because–in his own words–he'd rather drink nothing than drink badly made tea.
"I want that pie from last night," you say, reaching for the door of the refridgerator to retrieve the very pastry you speak of. The two of you had stopped at a diner for dinner after a long day, and you'd lost your motivation to eat dessert but brought a slice of apple pie home with you for later. Levi stops you with a strong arm hooked around your waist.
"You can't eat pie for breakfast."
You pout. "Why not?"
Levi huffs indignantly through his nose, like it pains him to even dignify your question with an answer.
"You need to eat something with some nutritional value to start the day."
"There's fruit in it!" you argue uselessly.
"No."
You fight weakly against his hold, reaching out towards the appliance he works to keep you from. "But I want pie."
Levi finally lets you go with a long, world-weary sigh, knowing that his water is going cold.
"I bought you jam," he grumbles, pouring the kettle delicately over the mug waiting for him at the counter. "If you insist on starting the day with sugar at least have it on some toast."
You open the door to the refridgerator and sure enough on the door beside his usual condiments there's a little bottle of jam waiting for you. The same brand you always keep in your own fridge for yourself. You smile, plucking it out, eying the takeout container with your apple pie a little wistfully before letting the door swing shut behind you.
You creep up next to Levi at the counter, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he pours the hot water over the coffee filter waiting over your favourite mug.
"Thanks for the jam," you murmur into the soft, warm skin of his cheek.
"Yeah, yeah," he says dismissively, nudging the loaf of multigrain bread in front of him towards you with his free hand. It's the really seedy, healthy kind your mom is always telling you to buy because it's high in plant sterols and good for your heart. You expected nothing less. "Just make your toast."
You know he wouldn't have stopped you even if you ate the pie.
You know he still would have made you your coffee and driven you to work and kissed you goodbye when he told you to have a nice day.
The same as always. Never changing. Because he likes you exactly as you are.
But you just laugh and do as you're told, and make his life a little bit easier–if only just for once.
From the Nashville Zoo’s fb page! Here’s the petition, please please please take a moment to add your name (even if you’re not from Nashville!). If you are from Tennessee, contact your representatives and make it clear that the people do not want this data center. This is an AZA accredited zoo which is home to several species of critically endangered animals, we NEED to protect it. Make your voice heard!
waking up two hours early for my job as a gacha character to put on my three discrete hair ornaments, four layers of clothes, eight-square-inch armor plates affixed to my clothes at random, various ribbons and straps that do nothing but encircle my thighs/upper arms, choker, and multi-layered gloves. however I forget to affix dangling tassles everywhere and am sacked immediately for my carelessness
like imagine you come home from uni one summer and drop by sakanoshita market one morning after a run only to find that your dad’s best friend still runs it. you’re in a sports bra and shorts and you want to laugh at the way keishin decidedly looks away when you press the cold bottle of water he gave you right against your sweat-slick chest.
it becomes a thing—stopping by the store. usually late at night. you steal cigarettes out of keishin’s pocket, and he chides you with no real heat behind it. he plucks them from between your lips to take a drag before putting them right back and you think about indirect kisses and his callused hands.
you drink beers and get a little drunk and complain about the weather and your shitty boyfriend who thinks it’s your fault that you always take so long to cum.
keishin barks out a laugh and drags a hand through his hair as he shakes his head and you inhale as you clench your thighs together.
“it’s definitely not you, sweetheart.”
his words play over and over in your head as you plunge your fingers below the waistband of your shorts as soon as you get home.
you lay it on thick until he gives in one night, until you feel the cool wood of the office desk beneath your ass as he spreads your legs and sinks two fingers inside of you. keishin strokes your tight channel and massages your swollen clit and you cum so hard and fast you nearly cry.
he tells you how good you did for him as he kisses your cheek. tells you to go home and touch yourself like that and get a new boyfriend while you’re at it. your lips try to find his mouth, and he shakes his head with a smile.
“someone your age.”
keishin’s resolve not to be any more of a scumbag lasts all of three days before you’ve got your fingers buried in his hair while he tongue fucks you into a whimpering mess.
“we can’t keep doing this.”
till you’re bouncing on his cock in the back seat of his car.
till your loser boyfriend’s visiting for the weekend and keishin’s got you bent over the desk in his office with the store sign flipped to CLOSED, running shorts pulled to the side and thumbs pressed into the sweaty small of your back as he fucks a sticky, hot load into you and makes sure you don’t forget exactly how quickly you can cum.
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