#[ END OF DAY RESULTS ] Queue

[starfilled-galaxy]

Should I do that thing where I post a random xenogender label from my hoard every day?

It'd go on for 60 days (as of currently, idk if i'll add any more xenos to my hoard within those 60 days lol)

It could be fun...

I'd add the gender name, flag, description, link to more info aka coining post/wiki page, and alt text if its one of the flags that has it (some dont</3)

[happytapirstudio]

Happy World Tapir Day 2024!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[rebloggingrexan]

#reigen arataka. i don't know who this is.

my result:

everyone take my 114 result ‘which character are you’ uquiz

[motazmohammed]

Hello my supporting friends ! 🇵🇸🍉❤

I am Mohammed Saqr , 22 yrs , a Palestinian youngman, from Gaza, seeking to save my 12 _ member family from the hell of the war by moving to a safe place till the gruesome war ends.

Our suffering and hardship started on 14th October, 2023 when my family was forcibly displaced from the north to the south under a life-threatening situation. As a result, our houses were completely destroyed and demolished, and our business accordingly went with the wind. Nothing has been left to be a source of livelihood. No shelters to house us nor a livelihood source to live on.

We have been living miserably in tents since the early days of the war. Life had become very hard and tough. No means of life still exists. Getting the least level of life is now hard and impossible. All our hope is to secure the daily basic necessities but this seems more often impossible that is why we are suffering the hardship of life. You can't imagine how hard it is to get food, drink water, medicine and other facilities. Life has become dire and sad in addition to the hot weather inside the hot tents that adds to our pain and unbelievable sufferings. Words can't show the miserable situations and circumstances we are experiencing nowadays due to the unfair war.

A part of our daily sufferings to get the least of what we need. Imagine how you feel when you wait for at least four hours in queue .Things are the worst one has ever

experienced. That is why I am asking for you generous contribution to help me secure the least of what we daily need and to find safety and peace for the twenty-member family who are now tasting all forms of torture and sorrow.

Every day we wake up to find things move from bad to worse. No sign is there for the war to end and this add to our unhappiness and miserable life. Despair and hopelessness have become new forms of our life as we are now homeless , displaced and jobless.

Please don't spare this moment of helping a family in bad need. You add happiness and hope to people who lost every single thing in their life. You can help us by donating whatever you can or by sharing my link to other generous donors.

Thank you so much for supporting us in these dire times.❤

Our campaign has been reblogged by @bilal-salah0 @90-ghost @nabulsi

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@roseillith @lady-shadow-and-darkness @nabulsi @iloveplantssomuchiwanttobeone

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@kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams

@troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud

[idoiising]

saja boys meeting you at a fansign

genre : fluff

contents : reader is not a fan of theirs and they take it as a challenge , mild beefing with jinu, baby saja aegyo im sorry,

you couldn’t believe you’d given in. your friend had been bugging you for days about this new boy group that had debuted and you were getting tired of it.

she had been blowing up your phone with edits, memes, and variety show clips of these guys non stop from the moment she caught wind of them. you didn’t understand what the fuss was all about at all. where did they even come from? no big company behind them, no obvious ties to the industry. you were convinced something fishy was going on.

totally not because they were charting higher than the groups you loved.

regardless of your opinion on them, you had ended up in line for their fansign and would have to act interested for the next hour.

“you’ll fall in love with them after seeing them in person y/n, i swear!” your friend had exclaimed, her phone in your face displaying the results of the fansign lottery she had entered god-knows how many times to win these tickets.

you looked around at the others in the queue as she tried to predict which member would be your favourite. god, everyone here is obsessed. every single person other than yourself was completely dripped out in saja merch. not a causal fan in sight.

that thought became solidified when the doors finally opened and security began to allow everyone in. utter chaos erupted from all around you. screaming, crying and shaking fans pushed you from every direction. all you could do was allow yourself to be moved by the crowd into the building.

the building was a decent size but the sheer energy of the fans was taking up a lot more space than the room was set up for. you’re pretty sure your feet got stomped on twice and your hair got yanked out of the style you’d put it in this morning amidst the chaos, as well as losing your friend in the crowd .

after around fifteen minutes of elbow-jabbing hell you managed to squeeze yourself through to your assigned seats only to find your friend already sitting there “jeez, that was insane” you laughed as you sat down, hoping your friend would joke back and make fun of the crazy people too.

she didn’t respond. her attention was glued to the empty table up front, her hands nervously playing with the lion keychain on her purse. your eyes widened a little in shock. you had never seen her like this; so wound up over celebrities that she’d only known of for a few days.

before you could tease her, the room erupted into crazed shrieks once again.

the saja boys had arrived. they walked out in a line, hair swooshing perfectly and jewellery swinging just like in all the ads. yeah, they were hot. you couldn’t deny that. but you live in the city, there’s hot people everywhere! you weren’t convinced to join the mass psychosis of the pride just yet.

the boys bowed and thanked everyone for coming before taking their seats and setting up for the signing. security started to choose people to line up, your friend being one of the first.

you could’ve sworn you saw the light leave her eyes for a second, shock overtaking her at the thought of being one of the first people to go see them up close. you put your hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“you’ve got this, go see them!” you smiled. as much as you thought she was overreacting, you knew she would beat herself up if she didn’t go up there. she nodded anxiously and let security guide her to the front.

you pulled out your phone and began recording her as she went along the line of idols, it was the least you could do for her after not being very enthusiastic about this whole thing.

once she finished chatting to the last member, she quickly skedaddled back to you and threw herself back down on the metal chair. the feet screeched across the floor a bit but no one noticed over the sound of her hyperventilating.

“oh my god, y/n……oh my god” she repeated, face in her hands.

you laughed nervously, worried that she would work herself up into a serious panic attack or something.

“mystery touched my hand…i can’t wash it ever again.” she choked out, showing you her very normal looking left hand.

“yeah…glad you enjoyed yourself” you said.

before you could show her the video you took, you felt a tap on your shoulder. a tall security guard stood over you in a defensive stance. he looked like he was expecting you to pounce on him.

“your turn”

your heart almost fell out of your chest, making you panic for a completely different reason. you couldn’t go up there, you weren’t sure you even remembered all of the members names. you weren’t a real fan, surely it wasn’t fair that you should meet a group you don’t even care about when there were thousands of people who would kill to be in your position right now.

“oh no thank you, i’m just here for emotional support. she can go again though!” you pointed towards your friend who was still cradling her hand like it had been blessed.

the security guard relaxed his muscles and stared at you as if you had just grown a second head.

“you don’t want to go? you need to go. it’s unfair if one fan gets double the time with saja boys. you have a ticket, you see them” he stated plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

you looked to your friend for a second and mouthed a ‘i tried’ before reluctantly getting up from your seat and joining the line to meet the saja boys.

it takes you far too long to realise you don’t have anything for them to sign other than a crumpled napkin that’s been living in your back pocket for god knows how long.

jinu

the first member at the table is jinu. you know his name since he’s the one speaking in most of the promos and ads you’ve seen. he’s still finishing up talking to the girl in front of you but once she moves away he locks his attention onto you.

you look away awkwardly and sit down opposite him, only looking back up once you’re settled in your seat.

“hi” you say quietly, not really sure what to say to him. you’ve been to fansigns before but you’ve known the groups well and had so much to say to them that you’ve never had to worry much about there being an awkward silence before. this was a first for you.

he sees that you’re looking around a lot, not saying much, and assumes that it’s nerves. that’s the case with everyone he’s seen today. and the day before that, and the day before that.

“hey, no need to be nervous, what’s your name?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to try and meet your gaze.

your head shoots up, oh no he thinks you’re having a total fangirl freak out. you need to let him know that you’re chill and that he doesn’t need to do the whole loving idol shtick for you. it’ll make this a lot less awkward for both of you.

“oh nonono im not nervous, i just don’t have anything to say to you really” you start, laughing awkwardly.

“my friend dragged me here, i don’t even know all your names if i’m honest, i’ve only seen you guys do some ads and stuff and i’ve heard the song but i’m not too crazy about it so don’t worry about doing the whole ‘i care about you so much i love my fans’ act. i’m chill, you’re just some guy to me” you smile, genuinely hoping that it’ll relieve some tension from the situation and he can get a five minute break from being an idol while he chats to you.

jinus face completely drops. he looks a little disgusted even. he definitely didn’t take any of that as friendly and genuine. if he lifted a hand and asked for guards to seize you, you wouldn’t be surprised. shit.

“oh” he says, dumbfounded.

you stare at each other, both completely shocked by each others reaction. before the silence starts to make you itchy.

“my names y/n…by the way…” you blurt out, realising that he did ask your name.

something changes in him and you see it. like he’s been switched back onto regular programming. your slight moment of awkwardness reminds him that he does have the upper hand here. you’re not totally disinterested if you’re at least trying to make him comfortable–he can win you over. he smiles sweetly, relaxing his eyebrows.

“nice to meet you, y/n. i’m jinu, the leader of saja boys” he gestures over to the rest of the boys along the table.

“i would give you a heads up and tell you the names of the rest before you speak to them, but i think this is pretty funny” he says, his smile turning a bit sinister now that he’s switched his tone to teasing.

your mouth drops open. what an asshole.

you reluctantly hand over your napkin for him to sign, and he shoots you a confused look before flattening it out the best he can and signing his name with a little ‘:P’ next to it.

you narrow your eyes at him as you move over to the next seat, sticking your tongue out at him in defiance.

not like you care about the stupid beautiful saja boys names anyway

(you absolutely do now)

abby

you step over to the next chair and place yourself on it. sitting across from you is the second saja boy on the line up, one of the pink haired ones.

“hi” you say, meeting his eyes.

he says hello as he shifts in his seat, stretching his arms out behind him. you had watched him pull this move every single time someone new sat down in front of him so you were prepared to be met with his muscles up close.

what you weren’t prepared for though was for his shirt to come untucked from his jeans in the process, the waistband of his boxers daring to peek out from behind them and the shadows of his v-line revealing themselves to you.

the force it takes for you to wrench your eyes back up to look at his face could hold back an army. looking away feels like a sin. but you succeed. he grins when he makes eye contact with you again.

“want a copy?” he asks, pointing a finger to his stomach.

you don’t answer, but your face does. eyebrows screwing together in confusion.

he takes that as a yes and rips off a fresh piece of paper from a notebook he has on hand before slapping it across his lower torso and creating a tracing of his abs.

you can feel yourself gawk. who on earth does that? he seems so pleased with himself when he hands you the paper, signed.

“i won’t charge you any extra” he winks at you.

you can’t help but feel a twinge of admiration. he’s looking at you like a labrador that’s super proud of the hole it just dug in the garden. he doesn’t seem like he has any thoughts in his head at all.

you kind of like that.

“thanks.” you smile.

mystery

you slide into the seat across from saja number three, who’s already waving at you with both hands.

“hello” you say, waving back at him.

he’s wearing a longsleeved shirt that has thumb holes, giving him permanent sweater paws. it’s cute.

you decide to comment on it since he seems shy and being the first to speak might make things a little less awkward.

“i like your shirt. i used to cut holes like that into my school uniforms.” you admit, smiling at the memory. although yours was the result of crappy d.i.y. and his definitely cost most than your months wages.

he nods excitedly before creating claw shapes with his hands so you can see better. maybe he just doesn’t speak at all?

you stare at him for a little bit before snapping out of it and sliding your napkin over to him for him to sign. he takes it from you and goes to reach for a pen, but there’s none on this part of the table.

you start searching too once you notice what he’s looking for, but there are none on the floor or in the pen pot that’s sitting right next to him.

he grabs your attention quickly by waving his hands around frantically before raising a single finger to his lips in a ‘shhh’ motion.

next to him abby is posing, muscles on display for the fan in front of him. he’s so busy checking himself out through the fans eyes to notice mystery stealing his whole pot of pens.

you share a mischievous giggle with mystery as he triumphantly signs his name.

they all seem pretty close, maybe they aren’t a perfectly manufactured cash grab group after all.

romance

by the time you reach the fourth member he is covered in a ridiculous amount of hair accessories, necklaces and bracelets that have been gifted to him by fans. you scoot over to the seat across from him and try to keep a straight face as he removes a pair of huge sparkly pink sunglasses that were given to him by the last person.

“ah there we go, i can see your sweet face properly now” he says casually, placing the glasses down on the table.

you almost gasp out loud, the image of him looking so silly completely wiped from your memory. god that was smooth.

he takes the napkin you’ve been getting signed straight out of your hand, letting his fingers brush the back of your hand briefly.

“what’s your name, love?” he asks slowly, with the confidence of someone that knows his face would send poets mad.

“y/n” you stutter out. you aren’t sure how to speak to this guy who’s flirting so heavily with you, even if you suspect that he’s definitely like this with everyone.

he nods, as if it’s obvious.

you watch him as he signs his and your name together in a heart with a little plus in the middle.

he doesn’t comment on the napkin, you’re not sure if he even notices. he’s looking at you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the world, his dopey, loved up gaze piercing through your soul.

you reach to take the napkin back and he takes your hand as you grab it, flipping your hand over and kissing the napkin on top of your open palm.

there’s a faint lip gloss kiss-mark on it now. you didn’t even notice he was wearing any. he looks as if he wakes up in the morning with perfectly shiny lips.

god y/n snap out of it.

you don’t know how long you were just staring at each other for but before you could keep track you were being ushered to move to the next seat.

it takes you another hour until you notice the phone number daintily written around the heart.

baby

you finally reach the last member of the group and notice that he looks super young. he’s definitely the scary rapper that your friend always talks about, you remember something about his ‘crazy duality’.

he had been watching you as you were talking to the other members, unbeknownst to you. its not often they come across people that don’t care much for them already so he’s interested in speaking to you.

“this your first time seeing us?” he asks. it wasn’t a question really. he knows the answer, he just wants to see what you’d say.

you’re taken aback a little by how deep his voice is compared to his youthful face and the way he is styled. the fluffy pastel jumper doesn’t exactly scream baritone.

“uh, yeah. didn’t know a thing about you guys until today actually” you laugh awkwardly, sliding him your napkin to sign.

he takes it from you and nods, signing his name with bejewelled fingers.

“are you a fan now?” he asks cheekily, looking up at you with sparkling eyes. you try not to pay attention to his dimples and the way his cheeks seem to puff up like dumplings when he smiles.

“ah, i’m not sure. i’m just here for my friend” you say, trying to sound as polite as possible even though your words aren’t the kindest.

he scans the crowd briefly before locking eyes with who he assumes you came here with. you look over your shoulder too, towards your friend. she has her phone in the air, recording. yeesh.

the cogs start to turn in his mind, if he cant make a fan out of you now he should at least give you something to watch over and over until you become one.

“aww you’re not a fan of baby saja?” he pouted, grabbing your hands and placing them on both of his cheeks. he keeps his hands on top of yours for a good few seconds, running his fingers over yours while he holds them there.

you stare, shocked. this level of fan service is crazy, you think. you won’t be surprised if security come in and wrestle you away from him right now. surely this isn’t allowed.

“i might be…” you trail off, struggling to find anything else to say when you’re holding his face in your hands so tenderly.

“good!” he chirps, letting your hands fall away from him. he slides your napkin back over to you and waves you off “thank you for coming !”

he knows you’ll be back.

[peachsayshi]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table. 

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away. 

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home. 

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to. 

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current. 

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.  

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately. 

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat. 

that student was his responsibility... 

...and he failed him entirely. 

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango.  “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!” 

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day.��

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down. 

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet. 

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her... 

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on. 

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair. 

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles. 

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!” 

she’s only six. 

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction. 

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty. 

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.  

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.  

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.” 

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him. 

the room is dead silent. 

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice. 

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.  

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place. 

he regrets his words immediately. 

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room. 

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟ���･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next. 

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists. 

“kento?” 

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away. 

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry. 

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement. 

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?” 

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright. 

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug. 

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How the world's leading breach expert got phished

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on May 15 at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE. More tour dates here.

If you can't spot the sucker at the poker table, you're the sucker. Also, if you think you can't get phished, you're the sucker.

I've been successfully scammed six times in my life. Each time, the scam relied on the confluence of several factors that yielded a fleeting moment of vulnerability that some scammer was able to exploit by being in the right place at the right time. I had to be lucky always, they only had to be lucky once.

The first time I got scammed was in 2008, on my first trip to India. As I walked toward the Mumbai airport taxi queue at 2AM, I was approached by two uniformed airport security guards who told me that the taxi rank had been moved in the wake of a recent terrorist bombing in Islamabad, which had resulted in all the regional airports going on high alert. The bombing was real, the airport high alerts were real. The security guards – not real. They were scammers, working with a fake cab that charged me $200 for a $20 taxi ride.

I got scammed again this way in Shanghai, at the Pudong taxi-rank. I was with my wife, daughter and parents and we split into two cabs and the drivers colluded to turn off their meters and charge us extremely high cash fares, dropping us across the street from our hotel so we couldn't enlist the doorman to interpret. Again, it was very late at night, things were confusing, and we'd had to wait for more than an hour for the cab, so we were exhausted and sweaty and divided into two groups so we couldn't coordinate strategy.

Then there was the time I got successfully phished by a Twitter account takeover worm:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That was also a miracle of timing – for the scammers. I got hit on a day when I was running late, when I'd just reinstalled my phone's OS and was being prompted for my passwords all over again, when I had just done a bunch of major publishing and was getting a lot of messages about my new articles. When a friend got infected by a worm that took over his account and messaged me, "Is this you?" with a link that took me to a webpage that asked me to log back into Twitter, I re-entered my password. If I'd been five minutes later in getting to that DM, I would have seen three more identical messages from other infected friends and twigged to the scam. But I just happened to look at my phone in the two-minute window when the scam wasn't self-evident, and I just happened to be distracted and flustered about running late, and I just happened to have had some life circumstances that made the generic phishing lure seem plausible.

In 2023, I got scammed by a fake restaurant. I was on the couch with a friend from out of town who'd come by to watch a movie. We were chatting and decided to order from our local Thai restaurant. The top result on Google was a paid ad (marked out with the word "ad" in 8-point, grey-on-white type) that had a plausible domain name, which led to a replica of my local place's menu, only with the prices set 15% higher. I didn't even notice – not until the restaurant called me to say that they'd had a flood of orders from these scammers, who charged their customers' credit cards 15% over the odds, then placed an order for delivery using their own credit card numbers. I ended up contesting the charge with Amex, getting the scammers' Wix and credit card accounts canceled, and shaming Google into blocking their ads:

https://nypost.com/2023/02/25/cory-doctorow-duped-by-fake-thai-restaurant-scam/

Then there's the guy who used leaked data from my credit union to impersonate their fraud department, calling me up and social-engineering me out of the last seven digits of my card number (not the last four, as is common – most banks use the same nine-digit prefix, so the final seven digits are all you need to derive the whole card number). The scammer called right after I used two dodgy ATMs in New Orleans, during my last hour in town when I was rushing around to get my most favorite sandwich in the world before leaving. It was the day that a Boeing 737 Max lost its door-plug so the airport was a zoo and we barely made the flight, so I lost the hour I'd planned to use to call the bank's fraud department back. Again: if, if, if. If he'd called an hour earlier – or later. If there hadn't been a giant aviation disaster. If I hadn't been traveling. The scammer had to get lucky once, I had to be lucky every time:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I got scammed again last Christmas week. I was in NYC with my wife and daughter and I'd gotten great tickets to see The Outsiders on Broadway. It was my kid's first musical and to her surprise, she loved it. In the cab back to the friend's place we were staying at, we talked about what other musicals she might want to see. She loves South Park, and I'd seen banners advertising The Book of Mormon (which was created by the same people) in LA. So I looked up "book of mormon tickets los angeles" on my phone in the cab and found the production's website and ordered the tickets, working quickly in the cab because it was one of those websites that has a countdown timer so you have to finish your transaction in five minutes.

It wasn't the real Book of Mormon website. It was a scam website, reselling Book of Mormon tickets at a 200%+ markup. That fact was noted in infinitesimal writing on the main screen, which I missed in the crowded taxi backseat while I raced the countdown timer. I figured it out about 20 seconds after the transaction cleared, and immediately emailed the vendor to cancel it. All I got was a series of smug "all transactions final" emails from outsource customer service reps (in the end, I was able to get my credit card issuer to reverse the transaction, but it took months). But yeah, I got scammed by a sleazy company called "Bigstub." Fuck those guys.

Every time I got scammed, the con that got me was nearly identical to a con that I'd avoided on numerous occasions. The fact that I'm actually pretty good at spotting this kind of hustle, 99.9% of the time, didn't mean I was immune it it. It just meant that I was vulnerable under very special circumstances, and those very special circumstances do crop up from time to time.

This is the most important lesson of scams: that no matter how well-attuned you are to cons, you can still be conned. The belief that you are immune to a con actually makes you a mark. It's for that reason that I recount the tales of how I got scammed – to help other people understand that being sophisticated, alert and even paranoid is no guarantee that you will be safe.

I'm not the only person for whom a detailed knowledge of scams created immunity from being scammed. Troy Hunt is the proprietor of HaveIBeenPwned.com, the internet's most comprehensive and reliable breach notification site. Hunt pretty much invented the practice of tracking breaches, and he is steeped – saturated – in up-to-the-minute, nitty-gritty details of how internet scams work.

Guess who got phished?

https://www.troyhunt.com/a-sneaky-phish-just-grabbed-my-mailchimp-mailing-list/

Hunt had just gotten off a long-haul flight. He was jetlagged. He got a well-constructed, plausible counterfeit email from Mailchimp telling him that his mailing-list – which he absolutely relies upon – had been frozen after a spam complaint, and advising him to click on a link to contest the suspension. He was taken to a fake login screen that his password manager didn't autopopulate, so he manually pasted the password in (Mailchimp doesn't have 2FA). It was only when the login session hung that he realized he'd been scammed – and by then, it was too late. Within minutes, his mailing list had been exported by the scammers.

In his postmortem of the scam, Hunt identifies the overlapping factors that made him vulnerable. He was jetlagged. The mailing list was important. Bogus spam complaints are common. Big corporate sites like Mailchimp often redirect their logins through different domains, which causes password manager autofill to fail. Hunt had experienced near-identical phishing attempts before and spotted them, but this one just happened to land at the very moment that he was vulnerable. Plus – as with my credit union scam – it seems likely that Mailchimp itself had been breached (or has an insider threat), which allowed the scammers to pad out the scam with plausible details that made it seem legit.

Hunt's forensics on the scam are very interesting. Of especial note is the fact that Mailchimp had retained the email addresses of thousands of former subscribers who had already unsubscribed, meaning that their data was exposed as well. It's not clear why Mailchimp would do this, but I will note that the company is extraordinarily spammer-friendly and goes to great lengths to make it easy for spammers to add you to their lists, and impossible to get off of all those lists;

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/22/degoogled/#kafka-as-a-service

Getting scammed doesn't mean you were stupid, or careless. Frequently, it just means you were distracted, upset, or distraught. We're living through a moment of total, all-consuming chaos, and the scammers are sharpening their blades – not least because the people running the show are unabashed grifters who openly boast that when they get one over on you, "that makes me smart":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/04/its-not-a-lie/#its-a-premature-truth

Buyer beware – it's ugly out there, and it's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/05/troy-hunt/#teach-a-man-to-phish

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecomms.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[olivianyx]

GET YOUR DREAM LIFE: A CHALLENGE

Welcome to this challenge, babygirls and babyboys 🗣️🗣️🗣️

So are you ready to manifest everything you desired in April? Then start up rn!

I'll show you 5 important, simple steps you can use to manifest your dream life!

This challenge will be done for 30 days throughout April. At the end of this month, the results are guaranteed!

You might be wondering if its gonna be hard... Buuuut! The steps are super duper simple, just follow them!

THE STEPS:

🤍 MENTAL DIET 🤍

Y'all heard it right, maintain a strict mental diet, like literally stop wavering! Stop focusing on things you don't want! Don't accept things you don't want! It's that simple. Only focus on positive and favourable thoughts.

Your mornings should go like, 'uhh it's such a beautiful day. It's gonna be amazing day as always. But it's gonna be fun today! I literally love this life, it's freaking amazing, I literally don't know how to thank myself for this. The fact that I'm the ultimate creator is soo mind blowing for me even though I've always been for my entire life. I'm literally thankful for everything! My life's being too perfect and I get what I want everytime, everything's in my favour always. I literally look soo amazing in every outfit I wear, it's such a slay everyday. Uhh I'm soo lucky to have what I want. Literally my self concept is supreme' and blah blah blah. You can add whatever you want further lol.

So like literally throughout the day steady yourself in this mindset. If you catch yourself wavering, be like *sike there ain't no chance bitch* come back on track! Catch yourself waver ---> stop ---> drop ---> flip it into something positive or favourable.

Literally robotic affirming is the only way you can keep your thoughts in check. So go bestie! Keep your head high, keep a check on those thoughts inside your pretty/handsome head 😩 keep slaying everyday ✨

🤍 ROBOTIC AFFIRMING 🤍

Keep affirming babygirls and babyboys! Like literally don't even stop (unless you're doing smth important, then stop affirming for a while lol) y'all got your dream lives already 💅 so why y'all telling yourself that you don't?? Well y'all do have it, so tell yourself the ULTIMATE FACT that you have your dream lives already 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ tell yourself whenever you're free, like even doing your daily chores such as taking a shit or shower, or brushing your teeth, eating, scrolling through the phone, or walking, waiting in a queue (I'd never wait in a queue... Cus I don't go to places with long ass annoying queues 😭) or listening to music or watching TV, doing the dishes or doing self care (I love my babygirls and babyboys taking care of themselves like there's no tomorrow 😩✋🏻I'mma give y'all a nice smooch 😚) just do it my babies! It's the ultimate way to get (which you already have it) your dream lives! So get tf up babies! 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

🤍 LIVING IN THE END 🤍

This step shouldn't be missed at all babies! So focus on the end! Focus on having it! Focus on thinking from the end! Like you already are living yor dream lives, you have that car you wanted cus you already drive it everyday! You have that sp that loves you till death, that spoils you with their love, money, and what not?! You have that house you've been dreaming of! No, I mean living! You're living in that house already! It's yours my love! You got that perfect sculptured summer body ody that the normal human beings are jealous?? Like you have that body effortlessly 😩✋🏻 FOCUS ON HAVING IT BITCHES 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

🤍 USING SLEEP TO YOUR ADVANTAGE! 🤍

Listen here, my babygirls and babyboys! You sleep 7 to 8 hours a day, and sleep, according to medicals, is a state of complete rest. That means you're not aware of your surroundings. You're just being a black, quiet, space like floaty state (the void actually) so things are easier to manifest Instantly in this state! So why not do psych k or sats or the lullaby method before bed and after you wake up my loves?? It's so much more effective that what you do in the day time! Trust me! Go prepare yourself well for the bed babies 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

🤍 PERSISTENCE 🤍

Since you already affirming that you have your dream lives, you have it already! But you can begin to doubt that why is it not in the 3d... BITCH DON'T EVEN THINK LIKE THAT. Be like 'bitch wtf my life literally feels like a dream come true moment everyday 😭😭 like I'm literally living the life I wanted, I already am experiencing it wtf are you talking about' like literally GASLIGHT YOURSELF INTO THINKING LIKE THAT (cus you already have your dream life) like literally decide that you already have! Hold onto the new story no matter what! 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

So ig I've told you what you needed to do... So all you gotta do is follow the fucking steps babies 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

Okay, take care, love y'all babies! Byeee

- olivia 🤍

[feinecutasy]

Red

Ah, the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans. And the sight of the buxom barista serving it. Silky brown hair flowing atop that hourglass figure. Perhaps he should frequent this place more often.

Zayn loved to start his day with a cup of life-giving black water and a good toast, and he hated it when the normalcy was disrupted. He used to frequent the Hut near the square, but the place was now in renovation. Thankfully, it only took him a few steps to find the place he was now sitting in. Order was restored.

… or perhaps not. The first sip was rich and exhilarating, until it ended with an unexpected, unwelcome, but not uncommon texture. He promptly picked out the culprit, half of which had been in his mouth and the other half still dangling on the cup. A short strand of hair. ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴀɪʀ.

Zayn’s eyes instantaneously darted from the barista to her colleague, who was busy taking the order of an elderly couple. A mop of wavy, short red hair topped his head, which along with his porcelain skin and freckle-covered face stood out in stark contrast against the black t-shirt and dark apron he was wearing. As soon as the queue was emptied, Zayn strutted to the ginger, back straightened, arms stiffened in an attempt to inflate his already bulky frame. He dropped his coffee cup on the counter loudly enough to garner the barista’s attention.  “Mate, can you make me a new cup of coffee?”, he questioned, his voice lowered. “I found a strand of red hair inside the cup”, he continued, the word ‘red’ deliberately emphasised. The ginger rolled his eyes and looked puzzled for a moment, but quickly accepted his request with no retort. Once again, it was the girl who brought the coffee out to him. “Thanks”, he smiled cockily at her before returning to his table.

Order was restored, and Zayn was back to his outpost where his eyes continued to busily clap about and mentally undress all the dainty damsels inside and outside. He actually wouldn’t have minded had the busty barista’s hair been the thing that was in his cup. Why does it always have to be the wimps and runts that ruin his day? Now that he had shown the loser his place, he could feel waves of satisfaction coursing through his body. He took a sip to celebrate.

And he spat the coffee out. Another strand of red hair. Unbothered by the stain on his cuff and the liquid still dripping on his hand, he looked inside the cup. Intricate overlapping rings of keratin formed from definitely not just one strand of hair floated on the surface of the beverage. However hot the coffee was, Zayn’s blood was now boiling ten times hotter. He bolted up from his chair and headed straight to the ginger, his face red from anger. “Are you done fucking with me?”, he said threateningly. The younger man looked even more perplexed, though before he managed to utter anything, his coworker had already chimed in to his defense.

“What is it again?”, she said with visible disinterest on her face.

“There’s. Fucking. Hair. In my coffee. Again.”

“Could be anyone’s hair”, she nonchalantly replied.

“IT’S RED!”, Zayn screamed at the top of his lungs, pointing at the other stressed employee, “Who else in this place has red hair beside that scum?”

“Mate, it's ʏᴏᴜʀ hair”, the girl replied after a long sigh, then turned away from Zayn for a moment to pick something up.

The absurd statement had temporarily overridden Zayn’s desire to smack the gob of out the red-haired pansy with an even stronger urge to give the bitch in front of him a well-deserved slap. Thankfully, the last morsel of rational thinking convinced him against it and as a result, he just hurled a deafening string of profanity at the staff. Zayn stomped out of the coffee shop, unperturbed by the concerning gaze of all the other customers.

The outside air cooled his head down and allowed his breathing to return to normal. That was when he was made aware of two things. One, his bag was still inside the shop – in the heat of the argument he had completely forgot to take it with him. Two, he needed to empty his bladder. Stat. Wasting no time, he slammed the shop’s door open and dashed straight towards the gents. In his haste, he didn’t register the fact that the two staff members were smiling warmly at him, and others in the shop were gleefully chatting with each other, as if no commotion had ever taken place just mere seconds ago.

The loo was small but odourless and clean, with a sink near the entrance and a toilet in the corner. Zayn habitually checked his face in the mirror and grinned at the dark-haired hunk looking back at him. He turned towards the bowl to finish his business. For some reason it was taking longer than usual. Too long, in fact. When Zayn was finally done relieving himself, he was barely able to keep his balance. His head felt heavy all of a sudden. Pants still a distance away from his cock, he placed his hairy hand on the wall to steady himself. It was getting abnormally hot inside the room.  Beads after beads of sweat dripped from his head and chest down his lower body, soaking all of his clothing wet. Irritated by the now damp sweater scratching against his skin, he frantically threw it on the nearby sink. Zayn couldn’t think clear. But he wasn’t feeling unwell either. The feeling was akin to that time when he downed two bottles of gin in the company of his lads. Physically he might be mildly disoriented, but deep inside he felt free. Inhibitions were broken, and the need to mentally exert oneself was gone. If someone approached him right now and asked him what his name was, he probably wouldn’t be able to answer. For now, he just needed to rest for a while.   

Zayn’s sweaty black slid against the wall as he took on a more comfortable position. He was near naked at this point. His member was out, his boxer briefs stretched around his shins and a pulled-down pair of jeans obscured the dirty socks that were separating the skin of his huge feet from the rank, imposing Adidas running shoes. His beard was itching a little as droplets of sweat made their way through it. He tried to wipe them off, but when he looked at his palm, it was his facial hair that came off. Before he could even blink, the hair had dissolved into the sweat. His arms and chest soon met the same fate, leaving only his pubes untouched by the depilatory secretion. Once bushy and swarming with hair, now only smooth, unblemished skin remained beneath the coat of glistening sweat. Zayn was not even sure if his sight was functioning properly. It’s hard to think right now. When he saw the sheen of the layer of sweat that had almost covered his whole body, it didn’t even cross his mind that his once olive skin had somehow taken on a pale, creamy colour.

The warmth of his body coupled with the room’s temperature had made his ball sack much saggier. Or perhaps it was because his balls had almost doubled in size. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to tell. His cock head felt funny though. The skin around his circumcision scar had expanded downward, wrapping around his cock head to form a long, drooping prepuce. He caressed the covered head with his fingers, and was immediately overwhelmed as his now oversensitive cock answered his touch with immense pleasure and began to ooze out a stunning amount of precum. The size of his dick hadn’t changed much – in fact thanks to the added extra skin it did look like it had gained a bit of length – but the sheer size of his testicles and the sagginess induced by it easily dwarfed the stature of his manhood and made it look relatively tiny.

Zayn’s groggy mind was still overloaded with pleasure that he hadn’t noticed his pubes had turned a fiery red. Elsewhere on his head, the new hair emerging out of his scalp would soon turn out to be of the exact same colour. As the fog his in psyche lifted and whatever that had been causing his intoxicated state disappeared, he felt lighter, much lighter. In mind and in body. The seed of carefreeness had bloomed in his bubbly soul.

As Zayn tried to recollect himself, he realised that he had been in the toilet a bit too long. He hoped no one was prevented from attending to their pressing matter while he was here. Feeling slightly guilty, he stood up and pulled his pants and trousers back on. On his way to retrieve his sweater, he caught his reflection in the mirror.

Looking back at him was a shirtless young man with glinting green eyes. He had lush, wavy locks of red-hair, still damp from an earlier bout of sweating. Freckles dotted his face and most of his pale body, interspersing with the occasional rosy complexion where blood was flowing through his strong veins. The youngster was lithe and fit, though with a certain imbalance in his build. Whatever transformation he had undergone, it had greatly slimmed up his upper body, but left the rest seemingly untouched. Zayn’s thighs had neither lost their definition nor their heftiness. The tight jeans he was wearing still struggled to contain his firm, muscular behind and his engorged genitals produced a visible bulge on the front. He shifted his big feet comfortably in his smelly socks and huge running shoes.

Zayn grinned confidently at himself in the mirror – for this was him, always had been and always will be. Redhead, smooth, freckled, happy-go-lucky. He put on his sweater, which now clung loosely to his body, washed his hands, and made his way out of the loo. The ginger barista hollered upon seeing him:

“Mate, your cappuccino is ready!”

“Alright, cool, thank you!”, Zayn smiled warmly back at the bloke. Within seconds he was back to his seat, bag by his side.

Ah, the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans. And the sight of the cute ginger barista serving it.

Perhaps he should frequent this place more often.

[severepoison]

BLOG RULES

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[rwshfordgirl]

I saw that your requests are open. Could you please write a story of Pedri and tennis reader? Maybe they had crush on each other from face away and during the Olympics they meet each other and start low-key going out and end up hard launching their relationship when both of them win the gold medails (It would be great bonus of the reader is Spanish as well)

Olympics

all the images were taken from pinterest.

pairing: pedri x tennis player! reader

a/n: i swore he had participated in the olympics last year, i didn't remember seeing him during euro hahaha by the way i miss the olympics so much!!! I LOVE the Olympics, i remember when my city hosted it. i had to make a small change in the plot, i hope you don't mind and i apologize for the delay, thanks for the request, i'm loving writing fics for him <3 hope you like it.

import warning: i have the feeling that i've already seen a fic involving pedri and a tennis player, i could be wrong because i looked and didn't find it. i don't know if it's a similar story to mine, but in any case if the author of the fic sees this post and feels uncomfortable, she/him can talk to me, i can modify or remove it.

JULY, 2021

Three days after your arrival at the Olympic village, you finally discovered the quietest times for each meal of the day. Even if this involves limited food availability, having peace during meals is essential.

It's 8:30 p.m., the restaurant is really empty, there's you and a few other athletes from nations you can't identify. The members of your coaching staff eat dinner earlier than you, they prefer the commotion and your fitness coach has already warned you that it's best for you to have dinner and go to bed early.

In the village restaurant, there are areas with some typical foods from each country and you promised yourself that you would go through each one, trying everything as if you were on a trip around the world. But today you miss home, you needed something that reminded you of Barcelona.

You made your way towards the Spanish space, the only place with a line at that time, apparently the men's football team was also hungry for Spanish food.

The boys play, laugh and talk loudly in the queue, nothing that bothers you, since all you can think about is what you are going to order to eat. "Escalivada perhaps."

"Lo siento." The male voice of the boy in front of you returned you to reality, he had accidentally stepped on the tip of your foot and turned to apologize.

Your eyes passed over the man, someone you had known from afar, Pedri, he studied with your cousin during high school and his face was always spread throughout Barcelona in the advertisements of the team he played for. An unforgettable face.

Pedri also feels unable to forget your face, when he saw it was you, he promptly remembered the occasions when he met you. He liked it when your cousin organized parties and invited you.

"Hi." You said almost in a whisper, but with a slight smile on your face.

"Hi." He said in the same way you did.

But that was it, the Spanish national team's top brass called him for something. They said goodbye with a subtle wave.

That same night, when you were already at your accommodation, a notification made your cell phone vibrate. It was a notification from Instagram.

"Pedri started following you."

You smiled and promptly followed him back. The beginning of something.

JULY,2024

Tokyo was your first Olympics, and it will always be the most special of all. Besides being your first, it was thanks to the sporting event that you reconnected with Pedri.

Three years ago, right after the Spanish player started following you, things changed. You now attend Barcelona games, Pedri watches your tennis matches. Everything you didn't know you needed.

The results of the Tokyo Olympics were not the best, you left there in fourth place and Pedri won a silver medal after a final against Brazil.

You wanted, you really wanted to leave Paris with any medal. Pedri said, "Don't be too hard on yourself, my love, everything will be fine." Every time I saw you training hard for the upcoming Olympics.

But the combination of Pedri + hard training worked, today you can say that you will return to Barcelona with a medal in your hands. You reached the women's tennis final.

"Cariño, everything has already worked out. I'm rooting for you so much."

Pedri's message made your eyes water, he can't come to see you, he's in training with the national team. Pedri will also return home with a medal around his neck, the men's football team was in the final.

And you promised, if you both left Paris with medals, the rest of the world would know you were together. Something people suspected, photos of you two leaving markets together and walking through the streets of Barcelona, likes and comments on photos. People just didn't have confirmation.

But now they will, after an electrifying match against a Chinese athlete, you are a gold medalist. No words to describe it. You went from fourth place in Tokyo to the gold medal in Paris.

"I knew you could do it." Pedri's voice was muffled on the phone.

He was crying along with you on the video call.

The rest of his team were shouting your name from the back and congratulating you.

"Tomorrow is your turn."

And it really was, Spain won two golds in a row in less than 24 hours. A game as electrifying as theirs, but decided in extra time, as France was also desperate to win the gold at home.

"We are both medalists."

You said in Pedri's ear right after he spun you around on the field.

"Golden couple."

He said after giving you a little kiss.

"We're going to have to take a picture biting the medal."

"As you wish."

"You know that when we have our first child, we have to call her Olimpia." He joked.

"No way, let's leave that idea aside."

"Oh come on, it's a name that represents us."

"Pedri, I'll get that idea out of your head very soon." You smiled "Come on, let's take the pictures."

[trainsinanime]

The darkly ironic thing is that if you are worried about the recent news that someone scraped Ao3 for AI research, then you're probably vastly underestimating the scale of the problem. It's way worse than you think.

For the record, a couple of days ago, someone posted a "dataset for AI research" on reddit, which was simply all publicly accessible works on Ao3, downloaded and zipped. This is good, in a way, because that ZIP file is blatantly illegal, and the OTW managed to get it taken down (though it's since been reuploaded elsewhere).

However, the big AI companies, like OpenAI, xAI, Meta and so on, as well as many you've never heard of, all probably had no interest in this ZIP file to begin with. That was only ever of interest to small-scale researchers. These companies probably already have all that data, received by scraping it themselves.

A lot of internet traffic at the moment is just AI companies sucking up whatever they can get. Wikipedia reports that about a third of all visitors are probably AI bots (and they use enormous amounts of bandwidth). A number of sites hosting software source code estimate that more than 90% of all traffic to their sites may be AI bots. It's all a bit fuzzy since most AI crawlers don't identify themselves as such, and pretend to be normal users.

The OTW hasn't released any similar data as far as I am aware, but my guess would be that Ao3 is being continuously crawled by all sorts of AI companies at every moment of the day. If you have a fanfic on Ao3, and it isn't locked to logged-in users only, then it's already going to be part of several AI training data sets. Only unlike this reddit guy, we'll never know for sure, because these AI training data sets won't be released to the public. Only the resulting AI models, or the chat bots that use these models, and whether that's illegal is… I dunno. Nobody knows. The US Supreme Court will probably answer that in 5-10 years time. Fun.

The solution I've seen from a lot of people is to lock their fics. That will, at best, only work for new fics and updates, it's not going to remove anything that e.g. OpenAI already knows.

And, of course, it assumes that these bots can't be logged in. Are they? I have no way of knowing. But if I didn't have a soul and ran an AI company, I might consider ordering a few interns to make a couple dozen to hundreds of Ao3 accounts. It costs nothing but time due to the queue system, and gets me another couple of million words probably.

In other words: I cannot guarantee that locked works are safe. Maybe, maybe not.

Also, I don't think there's a sure way to know whether any given work is included in the dataset or not. I suppose if ChatGPT can give you an accurate summary when you ask, then it's very likely to be in, but that's by no means a guarantee either way.

What to do? Honestly, I don't know. We can hope for AI companies to go bankrupt and fail, and I'm sure a lot of them will over the next five years, but probably not all of them. The answer will likely have to be political and on an international stage, which is not an easy terrain to find solutions for, well, anything.

Ultimately it's a personal decision. For myself, I think the joy I get from writing and having others read what I've written outweighs the risks, so my stories remain unlocked (and my blog posts as well, this very text will make its way into various data sets before too long, count on it). I can totally understand if others make other choices, though. It's all a mess.

Sorry to start, middle and end this on a downer, but I think it's important to be realistic here. We can't demand useful solutions for this from our politicians if we don't understand the problems.

[rocket-mxn]

"Nonsense!" The captain chimes. "This type of thing is my specialty, after all!" For the most part, that is. Weapons and interdimensional energy were NOT his cup of tea , but.. that doesn't mean he wasn't eager to lend a hand. "At least let me give it a look. What seems to be the problem?" He asks, tilting his head curiously.

Well this wasn't something she expected to see while out on her own. A tiny alien - and then she meant tiny. As for the question, wellll...

"Um, yes. I do happen to have a tiny bit of a problem here. And although I would appreciate the help, it would perhaps be for the better to not help me with this one. The weapon uses energy from another dimension as fuel and, well, I'm unsure of what would happen if you went anywhere near it while it's open. The energy is quite... dangerous for other living beings."

[historical-fashion-polls]

the normal pinned post for the blog can be found here

hello my spooky lovelies! 👻🦇🎃🌙🩸💀🕷

in celebration of the spookiest month of the year, I have allowed some mischievous spirits onto the blog to pause our normal queue and instead host (ghost host, if you will) a month-long halloween-themed bracket tournament of some outfits that have been featured on the blog since its inception 🎃🦇

here is how this will work:

there will be seven different brackets, each based around a halloween-y color combo (listed below with links to the masterpost for each bracket)

each poll will last ONE DAY rather than the usual week, after which a winner will be decided to go on to the next round

due to the number of outfits in each bracket, five brackets will start at the same time (sept. 28), and two will begin partway through october

the brackets will not compete with each other, so there will be seven winners at the end

the round one matchups have been chosen roughly based on date (so, it might be an outfit from 1837 versus one from 1843), but the mischievous spirits have little regard for orderliness, and have shuffled the various matchups so that in the second round, a 1950s outfit might be competing with one from the 1880s

as a result of this, various matchups may not be very comparable (especially as the tournament progresses), so use whatever criteria you see fit to pick which outfit you'd rather wear 🎃🖤

with all those logistics aside, I encourage you to peruse the brackets, choose your favored champions, and even fill out a bracket if the... spirits... move you!

THE BRACKETS (updated daily(ish))

SPIDER (green and black)

VAMPIRE (red and black)

SKELETON (black and white)

BAT (all black)

GHOST (all white)

PUMPKIN (orange and black)

WITCH (purple and black)

(as always, if you have questions, please feel free to reach out! 🎃)

[lesmisshippingshowdown]

Les Mis Shipping Showdown Semi Finals: Official Winners Reveal

(crawls onto the blog tastefully hungover) sorry this is late, lads. next time i will remember my vital modly duties before making social plans for the exact same night steals expire

Anyway, onto what's really important in life: The Les Mis Shipping Showdown semi finals.

Without further ado, the winners ARE:

Enjolras/Grantaire (83.8%) vs. Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta (16.2%)

In the end, Enjoltaire nation managed to extend an already resounding popular vote lead through the power of steals, securing their place in the grand final. JBM nation also produced some fantastic steal works, and it was amazing to see both fanbases get properly involved in the stealing game after being rather quiet in preceding rounds! But here we are, the most popular Les Mis ship on AO3 (by some 10,000 works) is in the final. One could say this was inevitable all along, but whether or not they take the overall victory is still up in the air, considering the formidable opponent they'll be up against...

Cosette/Éponine (67.8%) vs. Enjolras/Combeferre (32.2%)

You wouldn't guess it from how close this result is to the original popular vote totals, but this was an INTENSE AND PROLIFIC steal game from both sides. We already knew it would be, with both ships successfully stealing their respective quarter finals in their favour, but the numbers say it all - Team Eposette produced 59.3 points' worth of steal works, with Enjolferre nation's grand total coming to 54.4 points. In the end, the leaders of the tournament's overall steal points championship won the day, and it looks like we'll be debating an age old question in the final: yaoi or yuri? 🧐

Now onto the admin side of things:

TROUBLESHOOTING

To our knowledge, every steal submitted for this round has been counted into our total and either reblogged or queued. If you can't see your post on this blog yet and are worried it's not been counted, please follow these steps in order:

Check your notes for a like from my main (@lonelyroommp3) - if your post has been seen and queued (but not reblogged here yet) my url should be in there :)

Make sure neither myself or my co-mod @glindalesbian are blocked - we can't see your steals if this is the case

If, and ONLY if, you come up short on these options, send us an ask so that we can double check if your steal has been counted. Your deadline for checks & appeals is 22:00 BST (UTC+1) TONIGHT. After that point I will be taking the results as official and queueing the final polls.

FINALS SCHEDULE + SPECIAL MOD NEWS

The GRAND FINAL POLL will be dropping at 20:00 BST (UTC +1) this Friday, 11th April. This will be a week long poll as usual.

There will also be a third place playoff poll between Enjolras/Combeferre and JBM dropping at 19:00 BST (UTC +1) on Friday, 11th April. This poll will only run for three days.

As a friendly reminder there is NO POLL STEALING in the final or the third place playoff. You've made it this far with a little help from your incredible fanwork making capabilities, but now you're on your own - it's time to settle this the old school way, with good old votes and propaganda.

Also, please note that both mods will be away this weekend and not able to answer asks with any regularity, if at all. This is for a VERY important reason: @glindalesbian is GETTING MARRIED ON SATURDAY!!!!! Everybody send them your congratulations and best wishes. Or else 🔪

(So basically, please behave in our absence and only message us if it is genuinely, truly urgent. We’re like your parents leaving you alone in the house for the weekend and begging you not to throw an absolute blowout discourse rager)

STEAL OFF 2 REMINDER

Finally, a reminder that Steal Off 2 opens for submissions at 00:01 BST (UTC+1) on Monday 21st April. Start getting your final works ready, and check the linked post for more details & rules.

Of course, the leaderboard has shifted a little over the course of this week with 4 ships submitting steals for the semi finals. Right now it looks a little something like this:

Cosette/Éponine (168)

Enjolras/Combeferre (88.6)

Jehan/Montparnasse (76.1)

Valjean/Javert (70.3)

Turning Woman #3/Musichetta (19.1)

Courfeyrac/Marius (18)

Enjolras/Grantaire (15.6)

Combeferre/Courfeyrac (5.5)

Marius/Cosette (5.3)*

Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta (5.3)*

Éponine/Montparnasse (2.7)

Enjolras/Feuilly (2.2)

Combeferre/Grantaire (0.7)

(*technically tied for 9th place. we might figure out a tiebreaker system later)

[probablyasocialecologist]

The first thing you’ll notice — perhaps helped by a translation app, as tourists and monolingual English speakers are not among Familjny’s usual clientele — is that the food is outrageously cheap. Once you’ve worked out what dishes you want, you queue up to a little niche. You ask here for what you want, and you’ll be given a bit of paper. You take this to a larger niche, from which you can see the kitchen, and you give it to a uniformed staff member, who would usually be middle-aged or older. They will dollop the particular parts of your meal onto your plate. Then you sit down, and you eat it, and when you’ve finished, you put the plate and your cutlery onto a rack — there is nothing so servile as waiting staff. There are some drawbacks to this system, to be sure. I have only once or twice been in a milk bar that had a toilet, and because at lunchtime especially there are always a lot of people queueing, you are not encouraged to linger. You eat, and then you go home or back to work — but you’ll have been able to have a decent three-course meal of soup, a main course, and a slice of cake for the equivalent of, at the very most, £5, in a country where the cost of living is almost comparable to Britain’s.

[...]

In Poland, the milk bar idea has been dated by some to the late nineteenth century, when the bulk of Poland, including Warsaw, was under Tsarist Russian occupation. Milk bars would offer locally produced food to benefit Polish farmers, and there would be no alcohol to cloud the minds of Polish workers, and also, importantly, little meat, which would make the food both cheaper and healthier. But nearly every milk bar in Poland was opened between 1945 and 1989, becoming the local example of a subgenre of cheap communal eating facilities built and encouraged by state socialist governments; what distinguishes it today is the fact that it still endures, for reasons which are complicated and surprising. Communal eating was regarded as being of crucial importance by Bolshevik thinkers from the start. Partly, this was a consequence of their pioneering feminism. Both for Lenin and for explicitly liberationist thinkers like Alexandra Kollontai, one of the central tasks of the revolutionary government that seized power in October 1917 was to free working-class women from ‘kitchen slavery’, as exemplified in the St Petersburg’s textile industry, which saw women work in factories all day and then go home and cook (and clean) for their menfolk. Early plans were highly ambitious, and they were integrated with avant-garde architecture and urban design; a few remnants of this programme survive in the larger cities of Russia, and Ukraine in particular. When researching a book on Soviet architecture in the 2010s, I went looking for a few of these, and the results were often sad to behold. In St Petersburg — then Leningrad — at the end of the 1920s, a team of architects, some of whom had worked with Vladimir Tatlin on his famous unbuilt twisting tower in tribute to the Third International, were charged with designing communal kitchens in the factory districts of the city. All three of them survive, but they have been turned into dodgy nightclubs, cheap malls, or worse: the finest of the group, a fabulous, dynamic, futuristic building, in the Narvskaya Zastava district, had been subdivided into little units by, among others, McDonalds. In Moscow meanwhile, enormous Constructivist bakeries were built around the city. One of the largest of them, Bakery Plant No. 5, was turned into a museum of Constructivism in 2022; the year, that is, of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, a vainglorious nationalist slaughter that would have horrified the socialist modernists behind these buildings. In the 1920s, housing was sometimes built in such a way as to encourage its inhabitants to eat collectively. In Moscow’s experimental Narkomfin Communal House, duplex apartments were connected by a walkway to a restaurant, a library, a nursery, and a gym, with a roof garden on top; inside the flats, kitchens were either tiny or, in the ‘fully collectivised’ apartments, absent entirely, with the assumption that you could always eat in, or take your food from, the communal restaurant. For its Constructivist architect Moisei Ginzburg, this would liberate women residents entirely from the assumption — unavoidable in the early twentieth century — that they would be cooking the dinner. But in the Stalin era, Soviet food culture became much more hierarchical. These dreams of vast avant-garde dining halls serviced by streamlined, automated processes and administered by happy class-conscious workers were replaced with, at the top, a series of luxury restaurants for the nomenklatura; at the bottom, factory canteens; and, in between, the stolovaya — a network of public dining halls across the country, expanded especially in the more egalitarian Khrushchev era, during which period modernist glass box cafes also appeared in the larger urban centres, as a return to the 1920s dreams of automated communal luxury.

17 February 2025