Lastborn0o1

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[Lastborn0o1 @Lastborn0o1]

Virginia just posted an IG story saying she still loves Vinicius even while he’s on his sickbed.

[FAFO TV 💀 @FAFObyCunt]

Vinícius Jr was recently admitted to hospital😭 after Real Madrid’s match against Atlético Madrid.

He was diagnosed with cellulitis, reportedly linked to his earlier facial surgery.

The condition could keep him out for some time and in a worst-case scenario, it might even End his career😭.

[Delicious Food @DeliciousYeFood]

Very delicious maize

[PELE @alexgodfrey02]

Sometimes when you come to analyze my brain to be unfool, l'll perform asif like I'm a fool, then I'll calculate your reason of thousands pushing me. Then I'll update it to the settings, where I'll now bring it out to my own ideas of wisdom then I'll push it out to the UNIVERSE!!! Fege Daddy 😂😂

[TECHIE LAPTOPS || PHONES || GADGETS @techielaptops]

Dell G7 G7790 17.3 Gaming Laptop PC, FHD 1080p IPS Display, 9th Gen Intel 6-Core i7-9750H 16GB RAM 256GB PCIe SSD + 1TB HDD, GeForce RTX 2060, RGB Backlit Keyboard, Thunderbolt

N855,000

📍Lagos

Interested DM

[Chi Di🍀 @Paulechidi]

Lol, i want a girl child at least just one, also it is the man that determines the sex of a child.

To conceive a boy a couple can meet the doctor for more details, i once read the best time to get your woman pregnant of a boy is during cold weather don't know how true it is.

[𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 🌸 @darling_kayi]

Omg 😱
A ♾️/10 mixed military and alien 👽 movie 🍿🎥

[Suspect @Abbakr_Abbaty]

Football really left this guy before he was ready to leave football😭

[Lilian🌸🦋 @LilyN_1]

This Tyrese Gibson situation is honestly sad to watch because when parents start fighting this intensely over their children, the person I always worry about most is the child.

Tyrese is now seeking an arrest warrant for his ex-wife, Samantha Lee Gibson, alleging that she violated their parenting agreement by taking their daughter Soraya out of Georgia and preventing him from exercising his visitation. Those are Tyrese’s allegations, and the court still has to deal with the facts of the matter.

These two have been dealing with custody and child-support disputes for years, so this clearly isn’t something that appeared overnight. Samantha previously had primary custody of Soraya, while Tyrese later sought primary custody after the reported move to Oregon.

But honestly, I just hope they can find a way to take the temperature down.

Whatever happened between the adults, Soraya shouldn’t have to feel like she’s caught between two parents who are constantly fighting through the courts.

At some point, the focus has to move away from “What did my ex do to me?” and toward “What does our daughter need from both of us?”

Children shouldn’t have to carry the emotional weight of their parents’ disagreements.

I really hope they can eventually find some common ground and give their daughter the stability and peace she deserves.

[Zoey @zoeygyal]

Five loaves and two fish fed a multitude.
There’s a lesson here beyond faith:
Stop waiting until you have enough to start.
Start with what’s already in your hands.

[Shidah k @Rashidah45]

The stage is set, the word is out. THE LAST GAL is officially happening October 2nd, 2026 at Guvnor Street!

🎟️ Get your tickets:
Dial 2524# or visit https://t.co/DLTraIoU7u

See you on the street! 🕺💃
#TheLastGalAtGuvnor

[Francis ❤️❤️ @FYunchung]

Tom Cruise doing the Spirit Tunnel at The Jennifer Hudson Show.

@grok has he retired from acting ?

[Shine✨ @its_shine2]

Hey @grok,swap their skin color and hairstyle leaving other features intact.

[MAY💙💤 @munahtee]

This traumatized most of us growing up😫

Were you there?

[Christina Afangide Okon🇳🇬 BACKUP 🎉❤️ @christyfuns71]

AI movies has a way of making ladies fall for these videos created with FINE GUYS 😂🤣

I can't stop watching one in particular one...chai

[Biyi ✍️ @cornecares]

My bank alert sound is more terrifying than any horror movie. 😂

One “PING!” and I grab my phone like my life depends on it.

If it’s credit: “God, You’re too good!”

If it’s debit: “But what did I do to deserve this?”

Na one sound, but two completely different emotions. 😂

[DFQballer @Drballer01]

PARENTS 🗣️
How would you respond to the school after reading that last message? Do you agree that a grade-school-aged boy should be allowed to wear a skirt to school?

[lova @CFC_lova]

He already knew how Ava Reed took her coffee.
She noticed it the way she noticed everything she wasn’t supposed to: late, and with a small, precise click in her chest.
Two a.m. The diner on 11th still had its OPEN sign buzzing. Rain stitched the windows. Roman Vale sat in the booth Ava always chose when a trial ran past midnight and sleep felt like a rumor.
“Black,” he said, before she ordered. “No sugar. You drink it like you’re daring it to be enough.”
She should have left.
She sat.
“Do I know you?”
“You recorded me for eleven days.” His mouth tipped, almost kind. “You never looked up.”
Roman Vale. Defense. The mistrial that had eaten October. Ava remembered the cadence of his voice better than his face. Stenographers weren’t supposed to remember faces.
“That doesn’t explain the coffee.”
“I’m observant.”
“You’re a lawyer.”
“Same sin, different lighting.”
The waitress set the cup down without asking. Ava wrapped both hands around it so she wouldn’t reach for anything else.
“This is a coincidence,” she said.
“If you need it to be.”
They didn’t exchange numbers that night.
They didn’t have to.
Roman was at the same diner four nights later. Then again. Always after Ava’s longest days. Always already seated. Always leaving space on the vinyl like he’d measured the exact distance she would tolerate.
Once he slid a napkin across the table with a single line written on it.
You pause before proper nouns.
Ava stared at it.
“That’s not public.”
“Neither is this booth.”
Her fiancé, Cole Brennan, prosecuted. Clean record. Early mornings. The kind of man who believed the transcript was the truth because the machine had made it.
Ava had stopped telling Cole which cases kept her late.
Roman never asked about him.
He didn’t have to. He used Cole’s name once, lightly, like a key he already owned.
“He takes his coffee with two sugars,” Roman said. “You used to as well.”
Ava’s pulse misbehaved.
“How long have you been watching me?”
“I don’t watch.” He turned his cup. “I listen. It’s what you trained me to do.”
The attraction was not loud.
It lived in the space between sentences. In the way Roman’s knee found the metal leg of the table and stayed there. In the way Ava stopped correcting her posture when he looked at her mouth instead of her eyes.
One night the rain came sideways and the diner lights flickered.
“Tell me something that isn’t in any record,” Roman said.
She almost didn’t.
“I omitted a sentence once.”
Roman went still in a way that felt like recognition, not surprise.
“Which page?”
She hadn’t said there was a page.
Ava stood. Left money she didn’t owe. Walked into the rain with her coat half-on.
Roman didn’t follow.
Her phone lit up three blocks later.
Unknown number.
Page 47 doesn’t exist if no one reads it.
She should have blocked it.
She saved it under a single initial.
The following week Cole mentioned a sealed addendum from the Vale mistrial over dinner, casual as weather.
“Someone on the defense side has been asking questions about the stenographer,” he said. “Conflict check. Nothing serious.”
Ava cut her steak into pieces she didn’t eat.
“Did they give a name?”
“Vale himself. Said he wanted to thank the reporter for her precision.” Cole smiled, proud of her without knowing why. “You never miss.”
That night Ava went back to the diner.
Roman was not there.
The waitress was.
“He left this.” A folded page from a legal pad. No envelope.
Ava opened it under the fluorescent light.
It was not a love note.
It was a verbatim line she had never typed.
The sentence she had heard in the hallway outside Courtroom 4B when the recorder was off and two men thought the building was empty.
A sentence that would have ended the mistrial differently.
A sentence that made Cole’s current case look like a continuation instead of a coincidence.
At the bottom, Roman’s handwriting, smaller:
You chose the first time. Choose again.
Ava sat in the booth until the cook started stacking chairs.
She called the unknown number.

[Daniel @dan_p_ofem]

Prisoner, Guest, Witness

It’s 1874. Kumasi is humid. The air smells of woodsmoke, palm oil, and red earth after rain.

A Frenchman named Marie-Joseph Bonnat sits in the shade of a compound wall.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
Five years ago, his expedition was attacked, and he became an Ashanti prisoner.
But they didn’t keep him in chains.
They put him to work, watched him, and slowly, he came to understand them.

He spent those years sketching on scraps of paper. Not battles. Not kings.
The ordinary.
Women pounding fufu in the cour de case - the courtyard.

Children darting between the steep, rectangular thatched buildings.

Elders sitting on low stools, talking while passing around kola nuts.

The walls of wattle-and-daub clay, covered in intricate geometric Adinkra reliefs.
The high-pitched roofs. The way every compound opened inward to a shared space instead of outward to a street.

Released at last, Bonnat took his notes and rough photographs back to France.
Parisians obsessed over "dark Africa" stories, but they only ever saw images of war and palaces.
Bonnat wanted them to see the home.
He handed over his materials for documentation, which eventually reached Saint-Elme Gautier.

Gautier never went to Ashanti. He worked in a Paris engraving studio, squinting at Bonnat’s smudged sketches.
His job was to turn them into something a printing press could reproduce: a wood engraving with sharp lines, heavy cross-hatching, and clear storytelling.

So he carved "Bonnat Aschantidorf".

In the center: a courtyard. Not a palace, not a battlefield. Just life.

To the left, two women grind in a mortar. One laughs at something the other said.

In the middle, men sit talking. One gestures as if telling a story.

Kids are everywhere, chasing a chicken, leaning in doorways, being shooed by an elder.

The rectangular structures circle the space like arms. That was the point. In Ashanti, the family was the architecture.
The courtyard was where disputes were settled, food was shared, and news arrived.

When the engraving was finally published in Jules Gros' 1904 account of Bonnat's captivity, French readers leaned over it and saw something unfamiliar: not “savages” or “warriors,” but people doing dishes and gossiping.

For a few minutes, Ashanti wasn’t an empire on a map. It was a neighborhood.
Gautier signed it, the book sold, and the original drawing faded into archives.

But the image stuck because it did something rare for its time: it showed dignity in the ordinary.
Bonnat returned to Ashanti a year later, not as a prisoner, but because he missed it.
He said he’d “finished admiring them from a distance.”

That’s the quiet power of "Bonnat Aschantidorf".
It’s not a painting of a king. It’s a drawing of a Tuesday afternoon in a courtyard, and because of that, it has lasted.

[First and Second Kings 👑 @kings_anyi]

1/2
For six months, I’ve been staying late at the office every night, meticulously logging into our client account portal to silently correct hundreds of tiny, recurring formatting errors in our main client’s billing data.

The mistakes were coming from the senior partner’s old template, but as the newest junior analyst, I didn't want to cause a stir or embarrass anyone I just wanted our team’s weekly reports to look flawless.

Tonight, I finally finished clean-sweeping the entire five-year archive.

I wiped down my desk, shut down my laptop, and walked out, content with being the quiet guardian of our team's reputation.

[𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 @Zayyad_Yazeed]

My coworker found out he was making less than the person he had been training.

He’d been with the company for almost four years.

She’d been there less than a year.

They had similar responsibilities, but he had more experience.

He found out completely by accident.

Our manager had left a compensation spreadsheet open on a shared computer.

He wasn’t looking for salaries.

Then he saw his name.

And right underneath it was hers.

He closed the file and walked away.

The next morning, he asked our manager for a private meeting.

He didn’t mention her name.

He just said,

“I think we need to talk about my salary.”……..

[Racheal Gold Umukoro @GoldUmukoro]

Food for thought...

Sometimes, the deepest wounds don't come from strangers.

They come from the people you once helped with a genuine heart.

Life can be funny sha.

Can anyone relate?