#Metro Luxury Cars | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mintmatcha · 6 months ago

Text

Inevitable Things: chapter six

Aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Fridays are also the only day where you don’t go directly home after work. Instead of catching the late night Orange line, you snag the Blue and take it down, down, down, right out of the city and it’s the almost surreal serenity of the suburbs. Street lights and cars turn into trees as the sun dips low. Only the ambient sounds of your music and the wheels on the tracks keep you company as you pass familiar stops, all the way to the end of the line.

From there, you walk: down the dark sidewalks, across the one lane roads, stopping only in the little diner along the way. It’s hours later when you finally make it to the doorstep. Before you can knock, the door is ripped open.

“You’re late.” The shortest woman you’ve ever seen stands there, hands on her hips and glasses shoved to the top of her nose bridge. Her scrubs are baggy, but clean, with the name of her service stitched on the pocket: UA Palliative. “I thought you were hit by a car.”

“Sorry, sorry.” you try to laugh her concerns off.

“And you’re sweaty.” Nurse Chiyo clicks her tongue at you as she hands you a face mask. “You should really let him send a car.”

A car would be faster, but you can’t justify someone footing that bill when your metro card has money on it. “The exercise is good for me.”

The woman scrunches her face and gestures to the bag you’re holding. The bottom of the brown paper is practically see through with grease. In the other, you have two styrofoam cups, taken from the diner down the road. “And that food is good for you too?”

“It’s a friday treat.”

“Just don’t feel bad if he’s not hungry,” she sighs with the weight of someone who knows. “Towards the end, the appetite tends to dwindle.”

You slip on your face mask and slip off your shoes. Toshinori Yagi’s home drips with old money; subtle detailing mixed with hints of extravagance, it's the air of wealth with none of the gaudiness. The halls are sparsely decorated, only the occasional artwork and statue to keep you company as you walk to the back of the home, past the luxurious, yet almost never used kitchen and through the abandoned living room. There, in the middle of it all, hangs an oversized picture of Yagi back in his acting days.

If it was anyone else, it might seem egotistical, but the man on the wall might as well be a completely different man, a Yagi from another universe. Bound solely in brightly colored latex, this Yagi grins ear to ear, flexing an obscenely thick bicep for the camera. The Hollywood cameras and actors are a blur in the background. It’s from the set of his first All Might movie-- the one you’ve seen hundreds of times. The longer you stare, the more jagging it is. At 55, Yagi is twice the man that he was in his twenties, but a quarter of the size. All of the important pieces are there -his smile, his laugh, his energy- but there’s a part of him, always locked away in a time where this picture was taken.

You press on into the study. This room is a stark contrast from the rest of the house; it’s cluttered, all flat surfaces stacked with magazines and printed articles. Coloring pages litter the floor, in between broken crayons and pencils.

In between it all is a stick of a man, dirty blonde hair buzzed short enough you can see the shape of his skull. He’s pouring himself over some reading, tired eyes tracing the page with a monotonous haze. He’s lost weight again; you can see it in the sharp dip of his cheeks.

“Happy Friday.” You rap on the door frame and he jolts up in surprise. Hand over heart, he laughs in delight, even though he knew you were coming. “How are you?”

“I thought-” He inhales. You can’t remember all of the details of what’s happened to him, but you know one of his lungs is practically nonfunctional and the other struggles keeping up. “You’d be celebrating your birthday.”

“You remembered.”

“Of course.” He pushes up to stand, but you wave him back down. “You should be. Out with friends.”

“I’m happy where I am, sir.” You place everything on the table in front of him and then retreat to your side, your drink still in hand. Once you’re far enough away - six feet- you take off your mask. “Chocolate Peanut Butter shake and extra crispy fries, just for you.”

It’s his favorite. No, it doesn’t have the nutrition he should be getting, but… well, he’s going to die no matter what. Let the man have a fucking milkshake. He takes it in both hands, like he’s cradling an award or a piece of gold.

The first time cancer struck him, Toshinori Yagi decided to leave acting and do something with his money. He didn’t have a family to take care of -- and his sister is independently wealthy-- so he invested in medical technology. He hired a team that knew better than him, put some of them through school, and grew a rather successful business from the ground up, no formal training of his own. Now, ironically enough, he’s wealthier than ever, and still pouring it into product development.

“You do too much.” He picks the darkest fry of the group and crunches down on it.

It’s the least you can do. Isolation is taxing; you don’t mind sacrificing a bit of time and $19.76 for a quick meeting and meal. You settle down in your usual spot- a fluffy velvet chair in the corner of the room- and take a long sip from your own drink.

“How are things with Shouta?”

You choke so hard it goes up your nose. How did he know? Did the interns figure it out and pass along the word to the whole office? How are you going to explain to your boss that you’ve sexted his colleague? Or did Aizawa tell him? Oh, what if he shared those pictures--

“Wh-what about him?”

Yagi gives you a strange, tired look, brow knitted with a kind concern. “You called me- about his employee?”

You physically sigh with relief; no one knows. Everything is good; you need to stop panicking. Aizawa won’t share the pictures; it’d ruin his career faster than it’d ruin yours. Besides, he’s apparently embarrassed of you, so why would he even show you off? “Oh, well, everything’s good. Kaminari is back in the office.”

Your boss chews a single fry for a long while. A melancholic twang stirs inside you. No, you haven’t known him as long as some people, but over the years you’ve gotten attached. He’s a fair man, a good one too. Watching him waste is… it’s hard. Plain and simple. On the books, you say that you visit for work, but it’s honestly a social call, something to quell your worries.

“He wasn’t very happy when-- I called,” Yagi draws in from his nasal tube as he talks sometimes and it cuts his words short.

“Yeah, I know.” That’s an understatement. You chew on your straw as you try to decide how to respond. “Aizawa had some choice words for me afterwards.

The look on Yagi’s face tells you that he already knew that. Word always makes it back to the big boss one way or another; even sick, he always has his fingers in every pie.

“Don’t let him-” He runs out of breath in a weird spot. “Push you around. He’s a strong personality.”

That’s an understatement too. You wish you could stomp your feet and demand for his removal, but unfortunately Aizawa is very, very good at his job. Besides, you don’t especially want him fired. Maybe just… a series of paper cuts everyday for the rest of his life. Or that his train never comes on time. Nothing serious.

“Trust me- I won’t.” You throw an arm up and flex. “I can put up a fight.”

“No fighting.” The man tries to give you a stern look, but it just looks a bit silly. As demanding as it sounds, it's like being scolded by a grandfather; there’s too much affection between you for anything to feel threatening. “Don’t wage any wars in my office.”

“No promises!” you tease. “Ready to go over reports?”

He smiles back, those hollow cheeks pulling into tiny apples. “Of course.”

…

It’s late when you finally make it home. Yagi had forced you into a car, calling it a birthday gift, and the drive was long and quiet. The driver turned on some soft music, songs with the tinkle of piano, and you almost dozed off by the time he rolled into your apartment complex.

You kick your heels off and strip out of your work clothes as you enter your apartment, letting everything stay where it falls. In the wake of Touya, your place is pretty much empty, with the carpet still pressed in spots where lamps and tables used to be and a jammed lock that won’t click closed. The less time you spend here, the better. You throw yourself onto the couch -something too big to take, apparently- and flick on the television. The usual mindless garbage you like is already on; perfect background noise as you play on your phone.

There’s nothing super new going on. Couple of group chat notifications. Nemuri had texted you to check in-- so did Hizashi. And-

Aizawa’s unopened messages stare at you. There’s no reason to read those texts, right? It’s just mindless sex talk. In fact, he probably doesn’t want you to ever see those texts again.

…Unless he said something important. Maybe he had told you to play dumb at work! Oh, that would open its own can of worms, but at least it would explain why he said to forget everything-

Wait, that wouldn’t make sense. You two were alone at that point. He could have been normal or said something like ‘wow, love your tits!’ or--

Ugh. He wouldn’t say that! Ugh!

You pull on your messaging app again. You need to get this over with.

-> I bet you looked so pretty when you came.

The preview still makes your skin prick with unwanted excitement. The lust nipping at your ankles isn’t easy to ignore as you tap the button and open the conversation. The immediate visage of your words, your drunken musings and flirtations, makes you physically cringe. Luckily, the new messages take up enough space to keep you from seeing your own nude visage.

The first response hits you like a truck.

-> Do you have any idea what I’d do to lick your fingers clean? What I’d do to smell your perfume on your skin?

The thrum of your heartbeat goes funny for just a flash of a moment and you have to shake off any semblance of arousal. No-- you do not like this. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about that thought! You don’t want the warmth of his tongue or the tickle of his breath against your pulse point, or that little bit of scruff against your lips-

The video is below the first message. It’s paused on an out of focus still, but you can make out the golden touched skin of his stomach and the blur of hand. Heat flickers in your core at that, but you tense your legs and try to ignore it.

Get yourself together. It’s just a fucking jerk off video. You scroll right by it.

-> Look at what you do to me. It’s all for you.

There’s a couple of minutes between that text and the final one.

- >I think you fell asleep. Talk in the AM.

And… that’s it. Nothing else.

That told you nothing, other than the fact that Aizawa Shouta is just like any other man: a horny freak. A sexy, amazing texter of a freak, but still a freak regardless! When you move, you can feel the wetness between your legs spread against your pussy lips.

You turn over and try to focus on the medical drama that’s onscreen. Ugh. Ugh! You're over this man and his fucking bipolar attitude and his work bullshit and his, his, his….

The click on the wall ticks away.

His kind of alluring demeanor.

You turn back to your phone. Maybe the video has an answer. Yeah.

The volume on your phone thrums with audio, low and deep, when you click the image. It takes you a second to realize it’s a groan- unabashed and loud- and you swear it resonates deep down into your own lungs.

This video is aimed a bit higher than the other and is shot from farther away, probably resting on a desk from the looks of it. It feels silly that you ever confused him with Touya. Shirt clutched between his teeth, Aizawa’s skin is a deeper color, completely untattooed, and his chest is filled out with weight. A broad, thick hand is white knuckle tight around his cock, glazed and dripping with wetness. It’s thick, oh god, it’s thick, and he’s holding it so tightly that it must hurt. Your jaw aches at the sight of it. Everything about him is wide//, from his cock to his thighs to his slightly soft middle.

A bead of precum rolls from his tip as he slowly drags his hand up and back down. His entire body jumps and twitches with the sensation, a red blush tickling down his chest and another moan on his lips, muffled by the fabric of his black shirt. He makes the same sound again, this one softer, almost affectionate--

And you realize something that feels like a punch to the gut.

He’s saying your name.

Heat flushes your body. Oh, you can barely breathe out of fear you’ll miss something. With a high, tight sound, Aizawa’s body goes stiff, but his cock kicks as he comes undone. Spend splatters down his chest and onto his black shirt, pearl string after pearl string. Just like everything about him, it’s too much.

And then the video ends.

You digest this for a long moment. Then, you watch it again. And a third time.

There's a tremor in your hands as you put your phone down. Okay, that didn't give you any information, but it- well-

Fuck, it was hot. Really fucking hot. Unfortunately, terribly, awfully, horrendously hot. You want to scream and kick and rub your clit just a little, because all you need is a little friction and you'll cum for him again--

No. You can't give that victory to him, not again. Even if Aizawa will never know about it, the universe will.

You grip the remote and turn up the television's audio, trying to shift your focus on to the interpersonal drama on the screen. You’re stronger than this. The little thing between your legs does not dictate your behavior!

You don’t jack off that night.

Or the following night.

Or the following.

No, you resist. You punish yourself for even entertaining the idea of cumming to the idea of him again.

Monday morning you are unsurprisingly cranky when you settle into your desk. Kicking off your shoes and booting up your computer, you stretch in your chair and try to pop the kink in your shoulder. Thirty must be catching up with you, because you didn’t sleep well all weekend. Every muscle in your back is bunched, but the little bits of movements seems to be helping-

“Jesus fucking christ, I'm sweating through my fucking shirt.”

Bakugo's accent slips out as he gripes, pulling his shirt collar away from his neck as he walks. It’s easy to forget that he and Izuku grew up in the same hometown, but when he’s genuinely pissed, that homecooked Southern twang comes out. You look up to see what's gotten him so aggravated before nine. Sweat dampens his hair and glitters his skin. Oh, and he's right, that white shirt is absolutely clinging to his middle, into that tight, tiny, toned, slutty little waist of his--

Oh, god. You slam your foot into the edge on your desk in hopes the pain douses whatever horny monster had overtaken you. Is this just life now? Practically drooling over every man with a pulse? Bakugo Katsuki is gay and very much not your type-

“You okay?” Izuku gives an awkward laugh. He and Denki are apparently right behind Bakugo, equally worn. Well, almost equally. Denki doesn't seem to be sweaty at all, despite his puffing. “You're like, making this weird face.”

Shit. Quick-- lie. “Cramps.”

“Damn, hate that,” Kaminari grips his stomach in sympathy. The other guys share an uncomfortable glance.

“So-” You change the topic. “Why are you guys..?”

“The elevator is shot.” Bakugo hooks a thumb behind him towards the stairs. “Had to carry this fuck ass bed up to the fifth floor for that meeting today.”

The investor meeting: even though Toshinori Yagi is wealthy, the newest bed prototype still needed outside funding. These fine millionaires require occasional proof that their money is being used well, so once a quarter they get jammed into the nicest room in the building and get a rather boring lecture from the important department heads. You usually sit in and try not to nod off when Enji starts in with the accounting information.

“The entire elevator?” You lean back in your chair and try to see. Sure enough, some technician is fumbling away at the buttons. “No one tell the ADA.”

“Actually, the ADA is a law, not a governing body,” Izuku chirps. “It's enforced by the DOJ, EEOC, and, oddly enough, the DOT-”

“How do you know this shit?” Denki says.

“Healthy curiosity,” Izuku tries to say.

“‘cause he's a fucking genius.” Bakugo says at the same time, louder and more confident. “Using that big head of his all the time.”

Izuku touches his temples with a concerned frown. “You think my head is big?”

“Massive.” Bakugo elbows his lover, all saccharine smiles. “It works for me though.”

Kaminari snorts and the other blonde throws him an icy glare.

“What? You gonna make a joke about massive head?”

Kaminari throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes, surprisingly annoyed at the jab. “I was going to joke about his head working for you, but whatever! Ruin my fun.”

“As much as I love head jokes-” you interject. “I do need to get work done.”

Kaminari turns to you with the sweetest of smiles, so syrupy that everyone else recoils a bit with suspicion. “Like what?”

“Getting everyone’s powerpoints together, printing out our reports, putting those reports into actual human words and not engineering garbage, greeting our guests-- blah, blah, blah.” Just talking about it makes your head ache. “Plus the other daily reports and---- Kaminari, no.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

“You were going to ask me to do your work again!” you say.

“Come on, please?” He puffs his bottom lip out like a kicked dog. “I have to leave early this week and -”

“Denki, you’re so fucking stupid.” Bakugo groans. He starts to leave and the other two follow behind. “I'm too tired for your shit today.”

“There’s a gay joke hidden in there.”

“I'm going to report you to fucking HR.”

“See you at lunch?” Izuku asks from over his shoulder. You shake your head-- you’ll probably just sneak one of the forgotten italian ice cups from the freezer when no one’s working. There’s so much to do and not quite enough time.

You’re solving that little frozen treat into your mouth when Aizawa makes his appearance. It’s strange to see him so late in the day; pure embarrassment must be keeping him away. His usual sunny yellow sweatshirt means you can’t even pretend not to see him when he rounds the corner.

Aizawa is as he always is; a bit scruffy and properly annoyed. His expression is neutral, if not a bit sour, but the crinkle in his brow is tighter than ever. The bunch to his shoulders only gets higher when he spots you.

This is really the guy that's been tearing you apart? Really? Why couldn't you have fallen for Hizashi or Enji or-- anyone else that isn't wearing a neon hoodie in the office.

“You should really take a proper lunch.” Those deep bags under his eyes are darker than usual, almost purple; he must be drained, but he’s been avoiding the coffee machine. A twang of sympathy hits you-- lack of caffeine might actually kill the guy.

When he walks towards you, you're reminded of how pretty he is, even without proper sleep. High cheekbones, smooth olive tone skin-

Your fighting spirit almost fades, but the post it note taped to your monitor catches your eye. Be mean. Yes, that's right.

“Well, uh. What do you want?” Your tone is a bit snappy.

His eyebrows twitch up in momentary surprise, but Aizawa recovers quickly.

“The elevator won’t be fixed until tomorrow.” He raps his knuckles against the wood once. “Move the investor’s meeting from the top floor.”

“Say please.”

Aizawa is half turned and midstride when he realizes what you said. He looks back at you, brow knit.

“Excuse me?”

“I said.” You hit the spacebar with a bit too much force. “Say please.”

“I-” You expect him to fight or argue, but he just sighs, hands on his hips in defeat. “You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't demand things. Can you please move the investor’s meeting from the top floor down to the ground floor? Thank you.”

That was more sincere than you expected. Your stiff upper lip almost wobbles. Almost.

“No.”

He gives you the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen. “What do you mean, no?”

“I said no.” You push back from the desk and let your wheeled chair roll away. “There’s no reason to move it. The room upstairs is already set up for the meeting-- full demo bed included. I’m not moving everything.”

A muscle tightens in his jaw. Seems like that good attitude is on a short fuse. “There's a second demo. I'll have the boys wheel it into the meeting room on this floor-”

“It’s a less finished model though, right?”

“That's…” Aizawa huffs. You know you’re right and so does he. “Yes. Sure. A less complete model, but it’s still leagues ahead of what they saw last time- ”

“We shouldn’t use it.” You have no right bossing him around, but you try to embody Bakugo and his cunt-like behavior. “They are going to see the best we have to offer. Besides, the fifth floor meeting room is bigger and nicer-- and it's already set up.”

“I-” He leans forward, arms crossed on to your desk. It’s not threatening, but rather humble, as he meets your eye. The silver healed skin of his scar catches the light differently than the rest of his face. “It’s four full flights of stairs.”

“And you can walk.”

A beat passes. Then another. Aizawa stares at you, dark eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“I have never, ever thought of you as a cruel person.” He doesn’t blink the entire time he speaks, deep, endless black eyes boring into yours. “But time and time again, you show me that side of you. “Well-” You don’t blink either. “I’ve always thought you were awful.

“Fuck you,” he grits out, quiet but with an edge. His lips are curled so high you can see his gum line.

You should let it die here. Let him walk away. Escape with your dignity.

But your teeth and tongue are sharp, and the look on his face is only sharpening their edges, so follow the instinct and go in for the kill. As you stand, you lean on to your hands and push yourself face to face to Aizawa. Unabashed, unafraid, unblinking.

“You wish you could.”

His face collapses. Then, it hardens again, even tighter and more disgusted than usual. The flat ridge of his nose is crinkled with a snarl, eyes narrowed so thin they're practically closed. When he pushes away to stand, Aizawa jams his hands into his sweatshirt and flexes his jaw, up and down like he's chewing on every insult and curse he wants to throw your way. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again with a deep exhale.

“Fine.” He says through closed teeth. “Fifth fucking floor.’

And with that, he turns and marches off back down the hall.

By the time you breathe again, you realize your hands are quaking. The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins, rushing your heart faster and faster. This must be how a marathon runner feels when they cross the finish line-- because this is victory.

Sorry, Yagi. War has been waged.

You did say no promises.

263 notes · View notes

damiansgoodgirll · 1 year ago

Note

Jude x reader where he buys reader a birthday gift and reader REALLY doesn’t like him spending money on her and her reaction isn’t the greatest and jude gets all pouty until he sees her wearing it one day.☺️

jude bellingham x reader

spoiling you

you weren’t used to the fancy lifestyle your boyfriend jude was used too. you were a normal girl, grew up with a normal life, normal friends and your parents had normal jobs. you learnt how to appreciate the small things you had and, the high cost of living nowadays, the value of money and how money weren’t everything but, for some people were everything and more.

you were born in a normal town, not a big city like jude was, you weren’t used to the way people would dress in big cities and how they would show off their expensive cars and outfits. not only you weren’t used to that, you simply didn’t care.

jude learnt how you preferred a box of chocolates instead of a box of jewels, the way your smile shined everytime he got you a new book instead of a new expensive bag, how you preferred home cooked meal instead of spending thousands of money in a fancy restaurant, how you didn’t care about taking the metro or the bus instead of having a private driver.

but, deep down, he wanted to spoil you in more ways and what better occasion or your big birthday?

he had everything in mind. he saw a beautiful chanel bag, classy and elegant just how you were to him and he decided to gift you that. but when he walked into the store he also saw a beautiful chanel bracelet that would go amazing with your outfits and he decided to add that too at the gift.

he thought it wasn’t enough though, he wanted to spoil you with more than a bag and a bracelet. he wanted you to see how it really felt being able to have luxurious things. so he decided to match everything with a diamonds necklace, a very expensive one.

he put everything in a white bag so you wouldn’t suspect anything.

and when the party was over and it was only the two of you, that was when he decided to give you your gift.

“happy birthday love” he smiled as he handed you the bag.

“jude…we talked about this” you said.

“i know i know, but i wanted to give you something anyway” he teased “come on, open it” he said as you were both sitting on the couch.

your expression was between shocked and confused when you saw two chanel boxes and a tiffany one.

“jude? what is this?” you asked him, a little confused.

“your birthday gift! come on, open them, you’re gonna loved them” he was so happy and excited that you couldn’t say no to that face.

he was right - you liked the bag, the bracelet and the necklace, you only thought it was too much for you.

“jude i - i don’t know what to say…this is too much, like way too much, you shouldn’t have…” you said.

not the reaction he wanted but the reaction he was expecting.

“i know…i just wanted to spoil you, you never let me spoil you so i used your birthday as an excuse” he explained, looking at you with his big puppy eyes “if you don’t like them i can always return them…”

“what? jude i love them, all of this…it’s just…i didn’t expect it. you spoil me every single day, with your love and the things you do for me, that’s enough for me because i love you…” you said smiling at him.

“i love you too…” he kissed your lips “and i know you’re gonna find an occasion to wear those” he whispered and you nodded, too lost in his big eyes.

and the occasion came only two days after your birthday party. you were both invited to a business dinner and for the first time in your life, you thought about wearing those expensive things that jude got you for your birthday.

the moment he saw you coming down from the stairs wearing a beautiful long dress, hi heels, the black chanel bag he got you, the bracelet wrapped around your wrist and the necklace falling right into your cleavage, he thought he died and came back. you looked stunning and he fell in love with you more and more.

892 notes · View notes

msternberg · 4 months ago

Text

Arab blogger Hoda Jannat (Hoda_jannat) felt that something is not right in the news she is being fed by the media. So she set herself for a real fact-checking mission. And here are the results, translated from Arabic:

1.Suddenly we discovered that Gaza, which is inhabited by 2 million people… has 36 hospitals,” Jannat wrote.

“There are Arab countries with 30 million citizens and do not have this number of hospitals.

2.Suddenly we discovered that Gaza was getting water, electricity, gas, and fuel for free from Israel.

Of course, there is no Arab citizen who does not pay water, electricity and fuel bills.

3.Suddenly we discovered that Gaza was receiving $30 million a month from Qatar alone, and $120 million a month from UNRWA, and $50 million a month from the European Union, and 30 million dollars a month from America. There are Arab countries drowning in debt and cannot find anyone to help them, even with one million dollars.

4.Suddenly we discovered that Gaza was not besieged, and all goods were entering it, as were foreigners and people of foreign nationalities. Its residents were traveling to Egypt and from there to the rest of the world, and Fafo is the biggest example.

5.Suddenly we discovered that Gaza was living better than many Arab countries…and its people were living better than many Arab peoples.

6.Suddenly…we discovered that our minds were besieged by a programmed lie…by the (Muslim) Brotherhood media.”

7. Suddenly we discovered that the children in Gaza are not children as we usually think, but children of terrorists with machine guns and suicide belts who underwent special training by Hamas.

8. Suddenly we discovered that the schools, hospitals, and mosques in Gaza are organized terror headquarters and ammunition warehouses with Hamas’ underground tunnels.

9. Suddenly we discovered that in Gaza there is an underground “metro” of Hamas that stretches for 500 km, which Israel can only envy.

10. Suddenly we discovered that the supposedly doctors and teachers in Gaza turned out to be active Hamas terrorists.

11. Suddenly we discovered that rockets and mortars are kept in children’s rooms in Gaza homes.

12. Suddenly we discovered that Hitler and his book “Mein Kampf” were very popular in Gaza, and its translation into Arabic was in almost every home in Gaza, or a portrait of the author.

13. Suddenly we discovered that Gazans live a life of luxury, with multi-story mansions with swimming pools and premium German cars.

14. Suddenly we discovered that there is no Israeli siege on Gaza because it still borders its Muslim sister Egypt.

15. Suddenly we discovered that most of the “citizens” in Gaza support Hamas and other terrorist groups, elected Hamas in democratic elections, and celebrated the massacre on October 7th.

16. Suddenly we discovered that what is called journalists in Gaza who work for Western media like CNN, AP, Reuters, and others turned out to be Hamas terrorists who participated in the massacre on October 7th.

17. Suddenly we discovered that what is called ‘peace activists’ and ‘workers of international human rights organizations’ of the UN, the Red Cross, and WHO, turned out to be terrorists and corrupt people of Hamas.

18. Suddenly we discovered that each of the leaders of Hamas is a billionaire and richer than President Trump, with a net worth of 4-5 billion dollars each.

10 notes · View notes

aurinkos-toybox · 8 months ago

Text

subway

dolls aren't allowed to control or manipulate any "thing" larger than themselves.

our doll took trains often. a city as big as this one, many errands forced it to spend time navigating the labyrinth of transportation maps afforded to it. after a while, the most common errands became second nature, as did the metro rides that facilitated them: down the stairs, swipe at the turnstile, wait at the platform, board, wait, de-board, exit at the turnstile, up the stairs, and onward.

spending time on the train was a gentle respite for our doll. it saw a world, vast and colorful, it wished to explore someday. strange buildings and rolling hills, signs pointing to a million different lives possible for the city's other inhabitants. an urge to jump out wherever she pleased to explore, even for a few minutes or an hour if it felt brave, had to be latently suppressed each trip.

it's stop had arrived. out of the metro car, down the stairs our doll went - crisscrossing other travelers on their way out of the platform. this was one of it's usual trips - an errand to obtain a new chess set, a pair of French candles, a half-dozen package of tinned fish, a luxury notebook with a proprietary typeface - to a familiar vendor. the shop's owner recognized the doll, sometimes slipping a thank-you note alongside homemade chocolate samples after ringing up it's shopping list.

the bag was heavy on the doll. before stepping back towards the platform, it hesitated: the weather was unusually sunny, gentle rays of light shining down on a park designed alongside the multi-story row of shops that felt like a third or fourth home to our doll. and so it spent a few minutes sitting down on the grassy knoll, enjoying the chocolate and stuffing the shopkeeper's note into it's blouse pocket. a row of orange colored bikes stood in a rack at the park's entrance, free to use with a deposit refunded when the bike was returned from use. it sighed, gazing out further into the horizon to acres of park yet to be explored.

dolls aren't allowed to control or manipulate any "thing" larger than themselves.

#dollposting #dollspace #empty spaces #not a person #microfiction

16 notes · View notes

universitypenguin · 2 years ago

Note

Hey Alice :) this is prob a weird question but what kind of car do you think Lloyd drives? We know he’s luxurious so I can see him in something sleek and sporty like an Audi or another European make car

Also how do you envision Lloyd’s house? Is he particular about his decor? Is he the type to be in to antiques or more modern pieces of furniture

I think Lloyd would drive something expensive, but also nondescript. I’m picturing a Mercedes-Benz sedan. It would probably be gray or black. I can see him in a few different models. If he was being conservative, he’d have bought a mid-priced model like a C 300. If he was in a spending mood when he bought the car, he’d have gone for the pricier S 580 4MATIC.

He likes the performance of German engineering and the powerful throttle of the motor. It’s an added bonus that in the D.C. metro, the car blends into the sea of other luxury vehicles. The reason he’d never consider a smaller, sporty model, like an Audi R8 or a BMW M4, is simple. You can’t fit a dead body in the trunk. He’s not planning to commit a crime, but proper preparation prevents poor performance. And when you need to move a dead body there’s no room for error.

Lloyd sticks with a roomy sedan that has plenty of space in the trunk. He keeps it stocked with a shovel and a large box of kitty litter. In the Virginia climate, those items don’t attract much notice. They’re snow storm essentials and he keeps them next to the emergency kit with blankets, water, jumper cables, and a tow chain. But a shovel and kitty litter is good for more than just getting traction in an ice storm, you know? 🫣

For his house, Lloyd lives across the Potomac from D.C. in Old Town Alexandria. He chose the house because it’s less than 30 minutes from the office and the charm of the cobblestone streets appeals to him.

The neighborhood he picks has a brick wall and wrought iron gate facing the street. To get to his house, you have to park in a lot down the street, and then walk down the block to the courtyard gate. The gate isn’t locked but it’s another layer of security - something that would slow down an attacker. Inside the gate is a cobblestone courtyard with Beech trees in the middle. There are five townhouses in the courtyard neighborhood, two on the right and two on the left, with another at the back.

Lloyd owns the inner property on the left side. He likes the location because he’s insulated from every possible angle. The gate protects the front and the courtyard access gives him a view of anyone approaching. Both sides are covered by the other row houses and the brick wall hiding the common area means no one can see much beyond the small gate. The large trees prevents overhead photos and the lack of a garage door further secures the location.

For decor, he paid a decorator to fix the place up. She went for a mix of antiques with modern touches, with a subtle nod towards costal styles in the color palette. The walls are a neutral white, to better showcase the eclectic artwork she chose for his home. She went with the traditional set of wingback chairs, a structured sectional sofa to anchor the room, and a jute rug in the living area. His coffee table is a simple design made of reclaimed elm wood and the end tables are mismatched. One table is made out of distressed gray wood and the other is polished brass.

The decorator gave him plants to tie it all together. He has a fig tree, a Japanese maple, and a ficus. There are potted plants in every room, and he loves how they liven up the place. Looking at them makes him feel like he’s at home. That’s in addition to the herb garden with mint, basil, chives, and tarragon, that she installed in his kitchen window. He has to admit, the herb garden is one of his favorite touches. He uses it almost every day.

The kitchen is thoroughly modern. It has a wide island down the middle and cabinets on both walls. The quartz countertops are durable and crafted to look like marble. Having lived in flats with marble counters in the past, Lloyd has no interest in getting the real thing. They’re too easily scarred. He has a farmhouse sink, with plenty of elbow room to peel potatoes and stack up dishes. On the end of the kitchen is his formal dining room with a table that, when extended, seats fifteen.

His bedroom has one of the best antique pieces in the house. The Italian Renaissance walnut headboard has hand carved Foliate Scrolls and a matching footboard. He has it restored and styles it with a green jacquard bedspread. The decorator finishes the look with antique tea tables for the nightstands, and places an overstuffed chair and a reading lamp in the corner. She installs a wall of floor-to-ceiling black out curtains to prevent the east facing windows from waking him up at dawn. On the windows themselves she adds bamboo shades to bring another texture to the space.

And despite his protests, the decorator puts more plants in the bedroom. Lloyd can’t help but leave them there even after she’s gone. They just… work. He’d never have put them there on his own but the morning sunshine makes the Christmas cactus bloom every three months and turns the climbing vine thing into the picture of health within days.

A year later, when it’s time to decorate the guest room and the sun porch, he re-hires the same woman. This time, he hands over his credit card and tells her to follow the same process she did the first time.

#penguin replies #Lloyd’s car and house ask #Lloyd Hansen #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x princess #lloyd hansen imagine #Lloyd Hansen ask #lloyd hansen fanfic #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man fanfic #lloyd hansen x reader #the princess and the lawyer: ask #series: the princess & the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer

18 notes · View notes

mayra-quijotescx · 9 months ago

Text

Made it to and from the gallery on public transportation today, proving to myself It Can Be Done and I am a Strong and Independent Possum Who Need Not Get In A Car.

And I am satisfied with the knowledge that I can do this and it's only (i know, i know) like 2.5-3 hours out of that day.

but good lord.

(whining under the readmore)

Every step of the journey felt like a goddamn song by Muse from the aughts with how unsubtly and copiously it beat me around the ears with how profoundly shitty our society is.

first of all, we have a 7-mile trip taking an hour and 15 minutes each way in a major city. Even in other parts of the US, that's rightly regarded as absurd. Local Route is once every 30 minutes and mandatory to reach Trolley, on which I spent most of my journey, and from Trolley I had a fifteen-minute walk through one of the most desolate neighborhoods within the Loop to reach Gallery.

METRO has a $1.25 fare expectation of riders (having a Q Card helps because then you can stretch that fare across multiple buses instead of having to dump change at every bus you get on.) It also wastes an exorbitant amount of its budget (probably more than it gets from the fares itself, though I can't prove it) on hiring fare inspectors, whose sole purpose is to swan about on our laughably tiny trolley network harassing anyone who looks poor to make sure they paid before getting on the trolley, and to write them $75 tickets if they didn't. (I carry an extra Q Card in case this happens in front of me, and have had to intervene in such a way three times in the last year. And I don't go outside much.) Coming and going, there were three hanging about in each trolley car I was in, so I felt like I had to be vigilant the whole time.

By the time I reached [Trolley drop off point] on the towards-gallery part of the trip, I was glad for the 15-minute walk ahead of me because it meant I could clear my mind from what was a very loud trip... until the walk took me from the bail bondsman mini-district into the area directly around Gallery, which is getting flipped up into a dumping ground for new real estate investment properties despite having no nearby grocery stores, no immediate-vicinity bus routes, one food place (costly brunch joint that may or may not be a side hustle of Close Proximity Bail Bond Office #2), and downright fuckall else. There's a hastily-kludged bike line if that sweetens the deal, which I walked in for the final stretch due to the sidewalklessness of it all.

There are a couple of other gallery/studios embedded amid the runaway construction of Generic Luxury Apartment Block No One Can Afford #8953-8957, and one mostly built Generic Luxury Apartment Block No One Can Afford, lazily named "The Artist" after the class of people least likely to be able to make rent there. Lest one accuse it of being a mere unoriginal clone of 50 other similar giant boxes found in the turbogentrified Greater Heights/Montrose area, there's a small piece of genuine vintage railroad track installed out front between the sidewalk and the pothole-studded road. The piece of track leads to nowhere and connects nothing. It's too obvious to write a poem about.

I would be hopeful that all this runaway development would at least bring more people to the vicinity of Gallery and the nearby studios, but again, these look like additions to the investment/tax dodge portfolio for some rich jackoff who's like as not to have never set foot in Houston, not places that real people are going to be able to live in.

Anyway, I'm home safe, and was at least able to immediately launch myself into the shower after sweating buckets from 30 minutes of walking around in 75F weather in February, which I won't dwell on because I might get fully seized by a climate doom spiral if I do : )

#who else up staring into the abyss

2 notes · View notes

qalbofnight · 1 year ago

Text

THE 'DEFINITION' OF 'CLASS'

The definition of class defined by so called "high class" casteists is surely not the real one, Class was never about expensive stuff ,black glasses,branded shoes ,high billing restaurants, having ones own luxury house and car,

Class is about walking on a street to get to the nearby for some groceries or something while exploring the way along, class is about kind gestures towards each person you see on the road no matter to what financial status they belong ,

Class is about sitting in a metro/ rickshaw beside a person who is not as maintained as you are but still having a normal kind feeling instead of being hesitant to be around.

Class is to follow your own ambitions without thinking about what the world will say ,class is to put off your shoes on road and walking barefoot cause it's hurting without having a second thought of what the world will say.,

Class is to not get fished in the trap of trends and normalise being not part of a rat race, instead having a sip of your coconut juice while watching a sunset while the world would be still chasing one another for being classy.

.....,

CLASS IS A HUMBLE MINDSET IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH LUXORIOUS LIFESTYLE,ACCENT AND DEMANEOUR.

#life quotes #urdu literature #literature #real life #lifelessons #inspirational #positivevibes #gratitude #eckhart tolle

12 notes · View notes

foultalequeen · 2 years ago

Text

The Lululemon Murder

Brittany Norwood and Jayna Troxel Murray worked at the Lululemon Athletica store located at the Washington D.C suburb of Bethesda, Maryland. Brittany had a history of shoplifting though there is no specific reason, according to the known criteria, she wasn’t a Kleptomaniac. In my opinion, she was somewhat addicted to Luxurious items but could not afford them. Everyone in her family was well off (engineers, etc.) but she might have felt that asking for money is embarrassing or humiliating; therefore, she resorted to stealing items instead. Moreover, thrill or adrenaline rush that she felt while doing so might have played a role of maintaining factor, too. Jayna caught Brittany red-handed stealing a pair of pants on March 11, 2011, and told her she was going to report her for stealing and other things she had shoplifted prior to this event. As a result, she enticed Jayna (victim) back to the store after they had already closed, claiming that she had forgotten her wallet at the store, was carrying her metro card and money, and so on. And there she killed Jayna by hitting her with various store items; the victim sustained 330 injuries and died on the 331st hit. Then the assailant went on with her plan by sabotaging the crime scene, destroying evidences, parking victim’s car 3 blocks away, then she came back and continued with self harming in order to make it look like a case of assault and robbery.

youtube

#crime documentary #horror #thriller #crime #true story #in memoriam #stay safe #Youtube

12 notes · View notes

redsamuraiii · 2 years ago

Photo

9 Things About Trains in Japan by The Smart Local Japan

Pic by hss.ogura.hiro

1. Seats Can Be Rotated

Pic by shika_crash/

If you have motion sickness from facing the opposite direction of the train movement, you can rotate.

Or if you commute in a group of four, you can rotate to face each other. Just remember to talk softly.

2. Some Trains Have Open Doors Button

Pic by Free Materials

Some trains have buttons at the side of the door, both outside and inside the train to open the doors manually.

I remember standing like an idiot waiting for the door to open until a salaryman helped to push the button. 😂

3. Stack your tickets when transferring from local train to Shinkansen

Pic by Kodomo Okage Tetsudō

When alighting from local train to the Shinkansen gantry, stack both your local train and Shinkansen tickets on top of each other and insert into the gantry.

Retrieve them once you passed the gantry. If you use prepaid cards like Suica or Pasmo, put in the Shinkansen ticket first and tap your card on the panel.

4. Eating in Trains

Pic by Hantani Sadahiko

You can eat in Shinkansen and Express trains but not in local and rapid trains. There’s a reason why Japanese trains are super clean.

From personal experience in taking local trains, drinking is fine but eating is not, especially if the food has a strong smell.

5. 5 Types of Trains

Pic by Japan Guide

Bullet Train (Shinkansen) - goes straight to destination.

Limited Express (Tokkyu) - stops at 1-2 stations along the way.

Express (Kyuko) - stops at 2-3 stations along the way.

Rapid (Kaisoku) - stops at every few stations (3-5 stations) along the way.

Local (Futsu) - stops at every station like the typical metro.

They are rough estimates as to how many stops they make along the way, depending on which line and how far is it traveling.

I took limited express from Kansai Airport to Shiga Prefecture where my hotel is, it stops at Osaka and Kyoto, the busy stations.

6. Types of Seats

Pic by robin inizan

On the shinkansen and limited express trains, seats are sorted into 4 categories:

Reserved (Shitei Seki) - guarantee you a seat

Unreserved (Jiyu Seki) - sit anywhere in the unreserved cars

Green Car (Gurin Sha) - more space and leg room

Gran Class - with gourmet meals

Pricing are different for each. You may read the article here to know more.

7. Sightseeing Trains

Pic by Hagi Tourism Association Official Site

While the 5 trains mentioned above is to get you from point A to B, there is a luxury train for you to admire the scenery and is not as crowded.

Because the train takes longer travel time than the 5 trains above and it does not go to the cities where crowds of officer workers usually go.

This the train where you can eat and drink to your heart content. Different prefecture has different luxury trains which you need to find out.

8. One Cabin Train

Pic by hss.ogura.hiro

The One Man Train (Wanman Ressha) that you often see in Studio Ghibli type of anime taking place at the countryside.

They can be found on less traveled path or train line leading elsewhere from the usual tourist attractions and big cities.

There is no train conductor to collect your ticket so you have to deposit the ticket into the collection box near the exit.

9. Tickets are collected after the ride

Pic by y.y_official

To prevent passengers from reusing their tickets, used tickets are collected after your ride at the alighting station.

You can keep the stub as a souvenir but you have to inform the station staff so they will stamp or punch a hole to prevent reusing the ticket.

#trains in japan #japanese trains #japan #the smart local japan #traveling in japan

8 notes · View notes

detroitairportmetrotaxi · 1 year ago

Text

Detroit Metro Airport Car Service for a Luxurious Transport

Detroit Metro Airport Car Service is your premier solution for hassle-free transportation in and around the Motor City. Embark on a journey of comfort and convenience with Detroit Metro Airport Car Service. Our fleet of luxurious vehicles ensures a seamless transition from air to ground, providing a stress-free travel experience. Our professional team will help you along the journey without any hesitation. Our 24/7 service is reliable and provides on-time service. Feel free to contact us at (800) 313-1455 or visit our website detroitairportmetrotaxi.com for booking.

#Detroit Airport Metro Taxi #DTW Airport Metro Taxi #Detroit Metro Airport Cab Service #Detroit Metro Airport Car Service

2 notes · View notes

clivemwilliams · 1 year ago

Text

Canada 2023

8/9/23 Judith’s Birthday !

We started the day with breakfast at the hotel - French crepes with maple syrup and fresh berries for the birthday girl was a good start to the day.

We then set off to visit the Basilica of Notre Dame (the cathedral) which was very impressive inside, particularly the azure blue alter background (see photo).

After a coffee at a pleasant jazz cafe we next visited Chateau Ramezay which is an historic house telling the story of the Montreal through the years. One of the photos shows me in military uniform but looks more like I’m in drag!

After lunch we got the underground Metro to Parc du Mont-Royal which is a large hill that overlooks the city and spent some time walking in the park and enjoying the views.

We then got the Metro back to the hotel and witnessed what the locals call the ‘underground city’. In addition to the Metro lines over 1600 shops, 200 restaurants, theatres and concert halls thrive in the underground network!

As yet another treat for Judith (and to get our money’s worth!) we went for a swim in the luxurious hotel pool - amazingly we had it to ourselves!

We finished the day with a meal at a local restaurant including desserts.

Judith remains concerned that cars in Montreal don’t display license plates on the front of the car. I’ve noted that since we got here nearly 2 weeks ago I’ve not seen a single roundabout!

Finally in the bilingual city everyone seems to speak perfect French and English albeit with a slight American tinge!

5 notes · View notes

shaobluecotton · 2 years ago

Text

HOPIUM

Jenny was not ready to spend her whole life like this. Working a boring, miserable job which paid so little that she could barely afford treating herself to a brunch at her favorite café a couple times a month. These brunches were always a sort of celebration for her, the only moments when she felt absolutely careless and free, and as successful as anyone else. However, this feeling was rather quick to subside after the brunch was over, and Jenny hopped on a metro where she inevitably started scrolling her social media feed.

First of all, they were rich. Posing in expensive garments, traveling to tropical islands, decorating their luxurious homes. Jenny knew that with rich, there came beautiful: getting her body in the best shape, changing her hair, buying high quality skincare and makeup. She yearned for that life. She wanted it so badly that she dreamt that one day she would wake up to be just like them. But HOW did they do it exactly?

Jenny took a quick glance at the people scurrying back and forth at the metro station. Tired, weary - nothing like the women from the other side of the screen. No wonder - these women have never set their foot in the underground, they used expensive cars and took cabs. Funny, Jenny thought, how she believed she was happy when she was a teenager, studying to become a makeup artist, having no money to spend. She did not even think about the concept of money back then, she had a boyfriend and some friends, she had her favorite music and reality shows, and she was not worried about anything apart from failing her exams. Now, she realised, it was nothing but foolish.

Before going to sleep, Jenny was browsing through her social media, until suddenly something unusual happened. She was checking the videos of a popular astrologist whom she has been following for a long time, and in between of the daily horoscope astrologist squeezed in a promo of the page of some brown-haired, friendly-looking woman.

Apparently, this woman was some sort of a medium, someone who could transform other people spiritually - once and for all. Intrigued, Jenny went to her page. Transformation was something that would come in very handy, she thought. Actually, that was exactly what she was looking for.

The page greeted Jenny with clean, radiant luxury. From the lady’s bio it was clear that she was some kind of a spiritual guide. She lived overseas in a beautiful apartment overlooking a skyline of a famous western city. She wore expensive jewelry and clothes, her car was upholstered with posh brown leather. Her life seemed entirely worryless: travelling, going out dressed like a red carpet celebrity, taking part in stylish photoshoots. She was making memories.

Jenny opened this lady’s updates from today. Apparently, she had been promoting her product: a private chat about how you can magically transform your life. She claimed that her success was achieved by positive, playful mindset, the feeling of connection with the universe, the flow state. She had a special gift - she was a powerful mentor who could direct her divine energy towards you and lead you through the shortcut to great abundance hidden somewhere in the folds of reality. And you could find out how to make your dreams come true, too. You just needed to learn from her by getting access to this private chat with her voice and video messages. Only limited access was available, so her followers should have been grateful for the opportunity to get in such a close contact with the guru.

These posts were followed by some screenshots, apparently from her fans: various women seemed utterly exalted, praising their mentor for opening up some new magical side to them. They never felt so powerful, so alive. And funny enough, some wonders started happening to them: they multiplied their earnings, improved their love life and finally decided to pursue their passions.

This page was popular, and for some reason Jenny felt really cozy within its digital embrace. There were many women just like her, struggling to get their life together. They all started from nothing, and found the way out. There was hope for her. Who knows? Maybe, with this boost of spiritual energy she could finally break free from the tight shackles of poverty? It’s very unlikely of course, but what if it’s all real? At the end, this woman has achieved everything anyone could dream of - she definitely knows the path to success. And the others, too - she saw their pages, they were real people, nothing about them seemed unauthentic. In fact, they were completely ordinary - and for them, this practice worked. One cannot fake that, can he?

Thinking about all the new possibilities, Jenny nodded off.

When it was still very early in the morning, her alarm went beeping. It was still dark outside - winter in the northern latitudes was gloomy and cold, with daylight piercing through the murk for mere 6-7 hours a day. Jenny felt exhausted: vague images of stunning lives of others left a bitter aftertaste. She thought about all the dull, stressful work that was ahead of her this week and let out a sigh. She stayed in bed a bit longer, until it was only 15 minutes before her train to work was departing. Realisation that she might be late and get an earful from her boss gave Jenny an impulse of energy. She stood up, brushed her teeth and made a quick sandwich with butter and cheese. While chewing, she put on black pants and a sweater, tied her hair in a bun and grabbed a capacious, past-its-best brown bag.

To go to work, Jenny first had to take a train to the city. Then, another hour by metro and bus. It was pretty normal to spend several hours on commute where she was from. What else can one do, when there is no work in a small town next to a big megapolis?

Jenny was working as a waitress at one of the higher end restaurants in the centre of the city. The salary was not that high end, though. Only good parts were the tips and the opportunity to spend all day among well-dressed, refined customers. Jenny enjoyed talking to them, she liked to think she understood their language like no other waiter on her team. Sometimes she felt like she belonged to them, like she was one of them, even though she did not fit the textbook definition.

Today, however, was not her lucky day. She was not in a good mood, and, weirdly mirroring it, the tips were very dry. Her mind was busy contemplating whether she should take a chance and get spiritual guidance from this mentor she saw on social media. There was not that much magic in her life, she had to admit. Looking at the chewing faces of the customers, which today seemed especially distant, Jenny felt the world suddenly getting heavier, like someone was pressing on it with a big, weighty palm.

On the way home, Jenny slipped into the luxurious majesty of the guru’s page once again. So much was going on there! Today, the lady shared some pictures of a stunning French restaurant with shockingly small portions. In the picture, you could see her hand adorned with shiny diamond bracelet and rings. Then came her thoughts of the day: she wrote that real wisdom is not about the brain, but about the heart. It was written in a pretty specialised spiritual language, but from what Jenny understood, while heart has all the answers and keys to one’s success, brain can only bring unnecessary stress and scare the magic away. “Interesting”, thought Jenny.

“My teachings are not about the brain”, - the guru continued, - “So if you really want to let the Universe help you achieve your goals, you need to switch your mind off and open your heart to my blessing”. This was followed by some screenshots from her followers, which were thankIng her for changing their lives and pondering on how she was such a strong, mighty medium.

Days were gong by, and it was almost weekend when Jenny was summoned by her manager. “You seem really distracted lately. Any moment I see you not busy with the clients, you are on your phone. Did something happen?” - asked a concerned-looking, slightly round man in a grey suit. For some reason, Jenny felt really irritated by his question. She never liked negative feedback, ever since she was at school. That’s what it reminded her, schooling. By someone who was only managing the waiters, having no idea how tiring their work can get.

“Nothing happened. I’m doing my best to serve every customer as quickly as possible”.

“But customers are also noticing that your performance has declined. Your tips this week are lower than usual, and someone has complained that he did not feel genuinely welcome when you served him.” - continued the manager. For some reason, Jenny’s glance clang to his nameplate, which read “Bill” in italic. Gosh, how fed up she was with doing what other people told her to do, especially such uninspiring, down to earth people like Bill. There was nothing magical about him, she thought. No wonder he cared so much about such minor things as her checking her phone a couple times a day. She was working, she was completing her tasks, she was certainly good at it. Tips can fluctuate, it’s completely normal. He probably made up the story about the unhappy customer just to make her feel guilty and ask for forgiveness. But he was not going to get it.

“Look, Jenny, my point is simple. If you want to keep your job - and make no mistake, we have a lot of candidates who would be excited to take your place - so, if you want to work here, you have to stay focused on your work entirely. That means, no more browsing social media during work hours. Understood?” - Bill looked at her with a little frown. Then, probably realizing that he might have sounded too harsh, he added: “Emergencies can happen, and you can of course take a moment to reply to important messages when no customers are around, but I cannot allow you to be glued to your screen while at work”.

“Alright, - answered Jenny, - No problem”.

Although on the inside she was boiling, she knew better than to get in a confrontation. “Whatever, - she thought, - I will do as he says, when he is around. What he does not know, does not hurt him. I need to be more clever with it”.

Annoyed, Jenny counted her tips and went home. On the metro, with a familiar move she opened the page of the guru. It was like a digital amusement park. Again, many women were sharing their experiences and sounded absolutely ecstatic. Today, the guru was talking about her way up from poverty to the glittering world of fame and wealth.

Apparently, she used to be an ordinary human being, just like Jenny. She was working as a hairdresser. The work was hard, and she put in extra hours to one day be able to rent a tiny room and start her own hair salon. Until she was thirty, she was putting her work above anything else and her love life was non-existent. It was until one day she broke her leg and had to take a long break from work that she started reconsidering her life. She started exploring her spirituality, visualizing her goals and looking at life more lIke at game. The rest kind of grew from there: in three years, she had a successful business, a loving husband and any material things she could dream of. She asked, and the universe listened.

“I have only a couple of spots left available in my private chat», - she said - “So today is your last chance to enter. If you found my page, if something led you here - it’s not a coincidence. The universe has chosen you. Now, if you miss your chance, the door will close forever. Besides, it costs as little as a cup of coffee!”

“That’s true, - thought Jenny relieved, - or more like 3 cups of coffee at the café where I work, but still…it’s not that critical. I can certainly afford it”.

She felt a rush of energy running through her body like an electric charge. She knew what she had to do. In a couple of quick clicks, she paid for access to the private chat. “My life is never going to be the same”, she whispered.

Several months later Jenny was at work when someone called her by her name. Turned out it was a classmate of her from the makeup school, Rachel. Oh boy, she looked stunning! Her hair was neatly curled, her clothes, bag and jewelry looked expensive. Rachel insisted she would pick Jenny up from work at the end of the day so that they have an opportunity to chat.

When Jenny was finally free, Rachel was already there, eating a green apple next to her shiny car. “Jump in!” - she said cheerfully, opening the door for Jenny. “How are you, how is life?” - she asked when Jenny got in. She seemed to be full of energy, which was a bit irritating for Jenny, but she was so curious to know how Rachel got so successful that she was trying her best to act friendly. “It’s good, thank you. Working at the restaurant, saving up some money for vacation. I want to travel to Bali. Just a stable life, you know? But tell me about yourself? Seems like you’re blooming!”

“Aww that’s so sweet of you, - replied Rachel, - And I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. Regarding my life…it’s all…” - she nodded to her designer bag in the back seat, - “…pretty new.” She made a small pause, as if figuring out where to begin, then continued, - “Back when we were studying, I started doing wedding makeup, remember? Well, with time I started trying to also give my clients a boost of self confidence. At the end, this day just has be memorable, so if I can somehow help them feel more beautiful and special…that would be worth a lot. And it worked! More and more customers were discovering me by word of mouth. I rented a space, and when I finally met my co-founder slash investor, I already had a strong presence on social media. Bit by bit, it grew into our own small beauty studio in the city. The business is super stressful and things always go wrong”, - she laughed, - “But I’m pretty happy about where it’s going”.

They talked some more, remembering the old times and acquaintances. And at some point Jenny decided to ask Rachel about her stance on spirituality. Was she manifesting her success? Did she work with a spiritual mentor?

“Not really, - said Rachel, - I’m a bit sceptical about those things. Especially when there are so many charlatans out there trying to give people a magic pill…”

With an uneasy feeling, as if anticipating something bad, Jenny asked if Rachel had heard about the guru that she had bought advice from.

“Yes, yes, I know her! She has a beauty studio, and some of the people I work with have dealt with her…She is the perfect example of what I just said earlier: a total fraud!”

“What do you mean?” - asked Jenny.

“I mean, she is selling some blessings, like you can get rich by simply affirming that you are rich and stuff like that. And she is claiming that she is self-made…That’s not actually true. She basically married a rich guy some years ago, and he is giving her all these expensive gifts. Before, she was practically nobody. I bet he also invested in her social media promotions - you know, getting her page so popular? It’s all a facade. She was selling hairdresser courses before, but I guess they realized that selling blessings us way more lucrative. Oh, and all the negative comments get immediately deleted, so people believe it’s all real. Funny, huh, what people can do for the money? And all those poor souls who believe in that nonsense…I just cannot imagine how hopeless you need to be to really buy into that spiritual crap that she’s selling...”

Jenny did not know what to say. It could not have been that simple, could it?

This car, Rachel, her expensive bag - everything suddenly became unreal, unimportant. She did not remember how she got home, she was in a dreamlike, numb state. She took a long shower, cooked food, watched some TV. Tomorrow she was going for a brunch at her favorite café. Weather forecast was promising a sunny day with just a tiny bit of rain. Jenny went to bed and watched a new episode of her favorite reality show. It was about filthy rich wives of Beverly Hills, who were organizing endless parties and constantly having arguments with each other. Jenny would be wiser if she was in their position, she thought. She would not argue about such minor things.

Before falling asleep, Jenny opened her social media app. A new video from the guru greeted her from the screen. She looked as high maintenance as always: stunning makeup, shiny hair, expensive jewelry. She was talking about something. Jenny made the sound louder.

“…so they can never even imagine what it’s like to know the sacred truth. This world is full of brutal people, those who cannot see beyond the veil of their day to day life. They are guided by their brain, not by their heart, so the Universe is never going to listen to them”, - she seemed to be full of emotions, so she took a deep breath, - “I emphasize it always, that following the brain can only lead you to unhappiness. If you want your wildest dreams to come true, you have to follow the heart. I’m thrilled to announce that in my new course I’ll show you exactly how it’s done.”

And naturally, a dozen of screenshots with ecstatic expressions from the die-hard fans have followed. Jenny spent especially long reading this one from a woman whose husband was about to file for a divorce, but for some reason has changed his mind while this lady was listening to the course. “Wonders do happen sometimes”, - thought Jenny, excited.

6 notes · View notes