#How to Hide Comment On Facebook

[mokubetech]

To hide a comment on Facebook, navigate to the post containing the comment, then either tap and hold (on mobile) or click the three dots (on desktop) next to the comment. Select "Hide comment" from the menu. The comment will then be hidden from everyone except the commenter and their friends. Detailed Steps: 1. Find the comment: Go to the Facebook post where the comment is located. 2. Tap and hold: Press and hold the comment you wish to hide. 3. Select Hide: From the menu that appears, tap "Hide comment".

[fromdove]

HOW I THINK SOCIAL MEDIA IS LIKE IN ㅤㅤㅤㅤ GOTHAM CITY

tiktoks where people are like “day 54 of trying to get batman to notice me by looking helpless and holding a brick outside of wayne tower.” and then like. a day later they upload another one like “guys it worked. i threw the brick at a window and he SWOOPED DOWN AND YELLED AT ME. i think we’re engaged now.”

BATMAN FAN ACCOUNTS. “batm4nslut6969: yall i saw him last night and his thighs were THIGHING. i can’t.” “i want him to run me over with the batmobile. respectfully.” “what does it say about ME that i’m in love with a man who beats people up in alleys.” “he punched my cousin and now my cousin’s life is on track. king.”

you’ll see a tiktok like “get ready with me to testify against the penguin 😘” and they’re curling their lashes like “trial’s at 10 i’m wearing valentino. hope the DA is hot.”

facebook moms in gotham be like “hi!! anyone else’s toddler develop shadow powers after playing near the narrows??? normal or???”

“guys u wont believe what just happened i was literally just tryna get a tuna sandwich and then scarecrow gassed the 6 train again 💀” followed by: “ok but like did anyone else get lowkey productive on fear toxin bc same”

and like imagine those "what's in my bag" videos but it’s like “what’s in my gotham emergency kit” and they pull out like mace, an inhaler, one (1) batarang they found in an alley, a granola bar, and a tiny bottle of holy water just in case it’s some demon this time.

every batman chase has like. three angles. one guy from his apartment, one guy hiding in a dumpster, and one guy who just happened to be doing a GRWM video when batman crashed through the laundromat window behind him like a medieval poltergeist in kevlar.

there’s also that one tiktoker who’s like. always posting “day in the life as a gothamite 🥰” and it’s literally her dodging debris from a police chase while trying to get a matcha. like she’s got wireless earbuds in while the riddler is detonating something in the background. caption: “when i said i wanted chaos i meant eyeliner not explosives 😭😭😭😭”

people be going live from literal crime scenes. like “hey besties so i’m outside ACE chemicals rn and idk what’s going on but i just saw a clown sprint past. anyone know what’s happening???” and everyone’s commenting like “GIRL GO HOME” and “go inside nowwwwww” and “live laugh leave gotham.”

you'd see youtube videos like “i lived in gotham for 2 days and here’s why i left” and it’s just footage of a man watching fire rain from the sky while eating a pretzel in pure silence.

twitter’s a HELLHOLE. people tweeting like “batman knocked over my hotdog stand again. this is the third time. i’m filing a restraining order” and “why does bruce wayne look like he hasn’t slept since 2003” and “if the joker had a podcast i’d listen. just being honest.”

ALSO fancams of villains??? OF COURSE. edits of scarecrow like “your mental health isn’t scary but he is 😍🔥” and joker fan edits with lana del rey playing over it like “he slayed literally. like a bunch of ppl.”

there’s discourse about EVERYTHING. “does batman exploit underage sidekicks??” vs “no they CHOSE to be there 🙄”

imagine gotham love confession tiktoks like “i met him in an alley while harley quinn was robbing a jewelry store” and the comments are like “literally gotham's version of a meet cute 💘💘💘💘💘💘💘”

theres podcasts like “the ethics of vigilante justice” and then they go off topic and start debating if bruce wayne and batman have ever been in the same room and one of the hosts is like “they have different jawlines 🙄”

the gentrification discourse?? YEAH. “just moved to crime alley!! rent was SO cheap!! the vibes are kind of ✨✨ except for the screaming at night. also someone left a human tooth in my mailbox. i think that means i’m accepted into the neighborhood??”

and of course. OF COURSE. the joker thirst edits. like i wish i was kidding. i wish. but someone posts “what if he kidnapped me actually. like what if i let him.” and it’s a picture of him looking crazy with 15 different filters and a caption that says “he’s literally me (i need therapy).”

and GOTHAM INFLUENCERS. OH MY GOD. the way they would be the WORST. “hey guys today i’m doing a billionaire morning routine <3” cue 6 am ice bath in the wayne building gym someone does a house tour and people in the comments are like “i think that’s *insert famous rich socialites name's* old penthouse????”

homeless ppl getting filmed for fake charity clout. omg. “today we’re giving a makeover to this unhoused gotham citizen 🥺”

gotham meme culture is top tier. like they’re actually so funny. because they have to be. it’s trauma response meets terminal irony meets "oh the joker blew up a costco again time to live tweet." they have memes like: “you vs the guy she told you not to worry about” - it’s a pic of bruce wayne (or some rich socialite) in a suit and then batman looking like roadkill in a cape or something like “just got mugged by harley quinn and she said i have bad taste in shoes. kinda valid tbh.” or “why is scarecrow hot now. like when did that happen.” “penguin looked at me sideways in the club. should i press charges or kiss him idk.”

some of them are rich rich. and also literally host giveaways with captions like: “win a week in my tower penthouse if you repost and comment ur favourite crime i’ve survived 💋”

the drama is UNREAL. like gotham reddit?? a cesspool. like there’s this one post every week like : “AMA: i dated bruce wayne for 3 weeks in 2018 and he ghosted me after i found a batarang under his couch.” and then batman side of reddit is like “this guy tried to sell me fake kryptonite at a gas station AMA” and the replies are like “was it the guy in the trenchcoat outside the CVS?? i knew he was shady.” oh and you know there’s a gotham reddit thread called r/gothamCitizenSupport and it’s just “does anyone know how to get joker gas out of your vents” “batman smashed my windshield again how do i file an insurance claim” “my roommate joined a cult and now she glows in the dark?? normal or should i move out?”

you know the “hot takes” girlies?? yeah they’re deranged. “ok but like… what does batman really do for the economy.” or “i’m just saying gotham has more billionaires than public libraries and i feel like that’s not a coincidence???” or “why is no one talking about the gentrification of *xyz place name* just because ivy turned a building into a forest resort spa”

the comments are always fighting for their lives like: “he saved my life leave him alone??” or “girl i got evicted because catwoman turned my apartment into a goth club shut up”

ALSOOOO there are entire sides of gotham tiktok like:

“batman sighting alerts”

“gotham thrift hauls (featuring actual riddler merch)”

“bruce wayne conspiracy theory corner”

“citizen thirst traps featuring blurry robins”

“updates from people who work at arkham: the podcast”

and every time a villain escapes it’s like “uhhh guys. just saw mr. freeze at the bodega. he said he wants vengeance.

"guys...my parents just told me we're moving to gotham because its cheaper...help me what should i expect?"

OH AND BATMAN WOULD HATE IT. and there are so many compilations like “BATMAN GETTING FED UP WITH CITIZENS PART 7” where it’s just clips of him looking pissed af. dramatically because someone asked for a selfie mid-chase or tried to ask him to do fit check in their video.

[emberwhite]

I spent the last 11 months working with my illustrator, Marta, to make the children's book of my dreams. We were able to get every detail just the way I wanted, and I'm very happy with the final result. She is the best person I have ever worked with, and I mean, just look at those colors!

I wanted to tell that story of anyone's who ever felt that they didn't belong anywhere. Whether you are a nerd, autistic, queer, trans, a furry, or some combination of the above, it makes for a sad and difficult life. This isn't just my story. This is our story.

I also want to say the month following the book's launch has been very stressful. I have never done this kind of book before, and I didn't know how to get the word out about it. I do have a small publishing business and a full-time job, so I figured let's put my some money into advertising this time. Indie writers will tell you great success stories they've had using Facebook ads, so I started a page and boosting my posts.

Within a first few days, I got a lot of likes and shares and even a few people who requested the book and left great reviews for me. There were also people memeing on how the boy turns into a delicious venison steak at the end of the book. It was all in good fun, though. It honestly made made laugh. Things were great, so I made more posts and increased spending.

But somehow, someway these new posts ended up on the wrong side of the platform. Soon, we saw claims of how the book was perpetuating mental illness, of how this book goes against all of basic biology and logic, and how the lgbtq agenda was corrupting our kids.

This brought out even more people to support the book, so I just let them at it and enjoyed my time reading comments after work. A few days later, then conversation moved from politics to encouraging bullying, accusing others of abusing children, and a competition to who could post the most cruel image. They were just comments, however, and after all, people were still supporting the book.

But then the trolls started organizing. Over night, I got hit with 3 one-star reviews on Amazon. My heart stopped. If your book ever falls below a certain rating, it can be removed, and blocked, and you can receive a strike on your publishing account. All that hard work was about to be deleted, and it was all my fault for posting it in the wrong place.

I panicked, pulled all my posts, and went into hiding, hoping things would die down. I reported the reviews and so did many others, but here's the thing you might have noticed across platforms like Google and Amazon. There are community guidelines that I referenced in my email, but unless people are doing something highly illegal, things are rarely ever taken down on these massive platforms. So those reviews are still there to this day. Once again, it's my fault, and I should have seen it coming.

Luckily, the harassment stopped, and the book is doing better now, at least in the US. The overall rating is still rickety in Europe, Canada, and Australia, so any reviews there help me out quite a lot. I'm currently looking for a new home to post about the book and talk about everything that went into it. I also love to talk about all things books if you ever want to chat. Maybe I'll post a selfie one day, too. Otherwise, the book is still on Amazon, and the full story and illustrations are on YouTube as well if you want to read it for free.

[regulus-lantsov]

⁺｡˚⋆˙Kardashian who ? | OP81⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: Oscar Piastri x actress!user ( she her ),

genre: social media au,

warnings: Cursing, pr nightmare, kardashian slender

summary: in which the Kardashians are in their downfall era and yn is ready to be the one who burried them

fc: Zendaya

instagram ->

liked by oscarpiastri, kimkardashian, taylorswift and others

yourusername : Met Gala and miami gpppp !

tagged : oscarpiastri, landonorris

landonorris : You are my lucky charm, yn

yourusername : Fuck, I'm dating the wrong driver 😭 I should have dated the race winner oscarpiastri : Babe 🥺 yourusername : KOALA

kimkardashian : Beautiful ! I wish I could be at the Met

user55 : Yn didn't even liked Kim's comment

user6 : Yn is the first one praying for their downfall and I'm here for this

oscarpiastri : Three pictures of me ? Wow babe

yourusername : It was just to hide my secret relationship wiht Lando oscarpiastri : Can he ask your number in japanese ?? yorusername : NEVERMIND BYE LANDO THIS IS HOT

lewishamilton : 🤩🤩

yourusername : You outfit was incredible ! Please teach me your secrets

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris, charles_leclerc and more

oscarpiastri : race duuump ( go watch Challengers, my girlfriend is in it )

tagged : yourusername

yourusername : AHA LAME

oscarpiastri : Babe 🥺 yourusername : Fuck you still got me with that.

yourusername : Whose facebook mom is this ???

yourusername : FUCK THIS IS MY FACEBOOK MOM

landonorris : Cold, As and Fuck !

charles_leclerc : Son !

user57 : How did he pull her ?

user69 : Oscar is sooo peaceful. My boyfriend would have been jealous if I kissed two men. Even in a movie

oscarpiastri : I'm just proud of my babe 🥺 yourusername : Stop being sweet !!! oscarpiastri : 🥺🥺 user67 : couple goals

twitter ->

Instagram ->

kimkardashian

liked by hayleybieber, dailymail, krisjenner and others

kimkardashian We are the Kardashians

tagged : All the Kardashians and Jenner

user56 : This is so petty 😭 Ma'am you are just mad THE Yn is ignoring you.

user78 : Posting in the Marylin's dress that she ruined 😭😭 Ma'am !

kourtneykardashian : We are the Kardashians

krisjenner : Can you keep us with us ?

oscarpiastri and yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, pierregasly and others

yourusername and oscarpiastri We are the Piastri family and no one needs a show to know us. And without implants

tagged : landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourusername

landonorris : Am I the son or the third husband ?

georgerussell : the dog yourusername : SON ! oscarpiastri : Stop adopting everyone YN yourusername : I just adopted, Lando, Ollie, Kimi, Doriane, Yuki, Pierre and ... oh yeah kimiantonelli : Mother ? yourusername : SON

oscarpiastri : my fiancee is gorgeous

user56 : FIANCEE ??

charles_leclerc : *Piastri-Leclerc

user67 : They said 'let's be the downfall of the Kardashians'

user5 : And we are all here for it

user78 : She's so pretty my god

Twitter ->

END

Take care of your yourself and request are still opened ! And pretty please, tell me how upgrade it

Byye

[yeompei]

here, kitty, kitty!

— how would the love interest’s respond to you bringing a cat home ?

a short drabble, 0.8k words, featuring, xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus and caleb

————————————————————————

# xavier

he’s obviously on board, the cat is “sleepy looking, so we have something in common.”

buys expensive cat food and toys, and is now spotted even more often at the apartment, just playing with the cat. “i’m here for the cat, not you,” he would say when you asked why he was there for the sixth time today.

all medical bills and vet visits are now strictly his because he wants to see how the cat is doing at all times. he’s more like a worried dad most of the time. one time, he took the cat to the vet because it was “walking funny.”

let’s it sleep with him on the couch, petting it softly

# zayne

a little apprehensive at first, claiming that “cats can have a multitude of diseases” and rushing it to the vet to get it checked out and make sure it has all its shots.

when he comes over to your apartment he pretends not to be interested in the cat at all but when your out of the room, he’s petting and cooing all over it

toys and other objects appear all over your living room, following random comments like “they were on sale” or “i bought it by mistake” which you never believed but pretended to anyways.

studies some vet terms so when you get worried, he can reassure you. he buys some textbooks [secondhand from a friend he knows] and researches on websites in his free time.

# rafayel

hes terrified by the monster you’ve let into your house.

everytime he enters your apartment, his eyes dart around looking for the cat and trying to stay as far away as possible. he’s confused about why you would even let such a thing into the household, complaining about how much it must cost. [even though you don’t particularly care]

the cat seems to like him, following him around as he’s screaming and jumping onto the couch in fear. “[name] help! it’s coming towards me! it’s gonna eat me!” he borderline screams. the cat just sits and stares at rafayel, meowing and tilting its head in a way that makes his heart melt a tiny bit. not that he’d ever admit it.

a little jealous of how affectionate you are with the cat, whining, “well, the cat will be here all the time! come hang out with me.”

eventually warms up a little bit to the cat, but stays cautious of it. he even lets it lie beside him at one point [the closest it’s ever gotten to him, and it was because he was too exhausted to move]

# sylus

oh, he’s more in love with the cat than you are.

his entire wallet now goes to feeding and clothing the little creature in the cutest outfits known to mankind. little bows and dresses are now adorned on your cat, which seems to enjoy the attention.

likes playing with the cat!! he’s in his office and dangling a little mouse above the cat, which is jumping up and down trying to catch it, while taking calls at his desk. he now has a cat tree in his office at all times, the biggest one he could find, because “only the best for his beloved cat,” in which you scoff and express “that’s my cat, sy!”

likes showing off the cat to luke and kirian, he shows them pictures and videos he’s taken like an old facebook dad, all while the twins smile and nod because he does this every hour of the day. he calls them over, holding out another video of the cat rolling on the floor. “isn’t it the cutest? i need to get a new outfit for it soon,” he smiles as the twins sigh.

# caleb

he’s always known that you’d get a cat eventually. you’d been talking about it for ages, ever since you were a little kid.

likes petting the cat, joking that you’re parents now and that you have to provide for your child.

whenever the cat destroys or breaks something, he always hides it from you and takes the blame. how could he let his kid get scolded?

the cat is getting spoiled by this man. everytime you refuse to give it a treat, it’s immediately at caleb’s feet, pawing and trying to get his attention because it knows that caleb will do anything it wants.

catsits when you’re too busy to take care of it because of your missions, sometimes takes it with him to base. the subordinates all coo and fawn over the cat, petting its ears as it purrs contentedly. you eventually get mad at him for taking your beloved cat to his base. “are you serious, caleb! it’s a cat! you can’t bring it to a place with dangerous weapons! what if it gets hurt?” you scold him as he holds the cat in his arms like a baby. “how could i just not? everyone there loves this cat!”

[ might be ooc,, pls ignore that lol.. & also ignore spelling mistakes :p thank u for reading! -velle ]

[biancasaidstfu]

As I ponder the events of yesterday and what that means for me in the fandom, I’m sitting here laughing to myself about one theory (that I’m hoping is true for the sake of my heart and sanity).

If that was an intentional misdirection, imagine how stressful it was waiting for the comment to be discovered. It could have been weeks before someone came across it. 🤣🤣🤣

I will answer this on the subject from yesterday just because I’ve gotten numerous asks so maybe I can wrap them all in this one post before we officially axe it.

I think this was strategy. I never said his mom was lying like some bitches are trying to say I did. I think this was put out intentionally to be noticed.

Why?

Because I think it’s getting harder to hide. I think it’s become more noticeable and this was a bomb of a comment to throw out to try and get people to pull back a bit.

No one is going to tell me his mom confirmed a relationship before he did. One he’s never even acknowledged. Give me the biggest fucking break.

They know these accounts are being watched. You mean to tell me she said that thinking no one was going to see it AFTER old family pictures were taken from someone’s Facebook and posted on tumblr to try and prove the same relationship?

Look, people think I’m nuts or under some sort of MKUltra delusional programming, but here me when I say this:

IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE.

If you think it does? Good for you. Here’s your medal 🏅 but it doesn’t for me.

Unless I see cold hard undeniable proof, I’m still sat where I’ve been sitting.

FIN

[starrieangel]

🩵 Post Crash Rescued! Curly Headcanons 🩵

Headcanons for a recovered Curly, and just babbling about what his life might be like ♡

Random Headcanons for my favorite character 🩵 I seriously think abt him a lot and what his life might be like, so this is the culmination of all of my Curly daydreams ~

He's way better at technology now. Like before he acted like a dad who could barely use facebook, but after learning how to use a computer using just his eye movements, you could say he's reasonably tech savvy. 

He has a speech impediment. I imagine he couldn't talk on the tulpar because of some sort of paralysis or maybe nerve damage, but with some speech therapy and physical therapy, he learns to speak again. He's still not great at it though, his voice is very soft, so mostly uses his aac device so others can understand him. 

His shorter leg gives him more pain than his longer one. He has to use a cane sometimes for that side. (My reasoning is because the shorter leg is the one Jimmy hacked away oops, he's a worse surgeon than Anya I guess)

He's not all that insecure about his appearance, all things considered. Yes it's weird to look in the mirror and see someone totally different, but he just tries to keep good humor about it and stay positive (laugh to keep from crying at times). I'm sure he does mourn his good looks, but most of all he misses his hair. He doesn't think he looks ugly though, and he doesn't talk down to himself for his looks, because he wasn't all that vain to begin with. 

That being said, he does actually get pretty upset when people stare at him in public. He doesn't say anything, but you can sense he gets a bit quieter when he notices it. It's worse when it's kids, or (his absolute nightmare) a kid crying or making a comment about his appearance, saying he looks scary. That always makes him feel bad. :( 

He carries candy in his pockets. Not for himself, but to give to kids, because he doesn't want them to think he's scary. He actually really appreciates when a kid approaches him and just asks him a question instead of crying or running away. He'll crouch down and let them look at his prosthetic up close, or explain to them how his aac device works. ♡

Even though he hates the negative attention he might get, he still normally doesn't wear sunglasses or a mask to hide his face. He doesn't want to feel like he has to hide, just wants to be a normal guy, which he is..! But he still tries to frequent the same places, to get less attention. For example, the baristas at his favorite coffee shop all recognize him, and the baggers at the grocery store. It makes him feel like a regular joe again. :)

He has an emotional support cat in his apartment ♡ If this is after the Tulpar, then it's for the trauma of losing his crew at the hands of his best friend, etc. If it's an earth au, then it's just to cope with the trauma of being in some sort of accident and having to start a new life, and the hardships of relearning to walk and take care of himself again. 

He was already a cozy guy, but now he's even cozier. Loves warm drinks, sitting with his cat, fireplaces, books. He loves books. He kind of liked reading before, especially historical fiction, but he always liked his other hobbies more. Now that it's harder to do his more active hobbies, he utilizes that time to read all of the books he's always wanted to read. I imagine if he worked, he would work at a bookstore :) (Manager of course, he is the Captain, afterall!) ♡

[solarvee]

thank you God..

part two.

oscar piastri x christian!reader

masterlist

After Miami, it became official: Y/N was real, not some private running joke on F1 Twitter. And now, the fandom wants more.

But Y/N’s Instagram? Still private.

Her bio read only: 📍Kentucky 💛 Psalm 34:18 📖 Library girl & homebody 🧃 sweet tea enthusiast

No grid photos. No tagged selfies. No “Oscar and I” soft launch moments.

So the internet did what it does:

They started digging.

@gridgirliez (F1 fan account):alright y’all, time to connect the dots 🕵️‍♀️🧡 this is a THREAD of everything we know about oscar’s gf (aka mystery girl, now Kentucky Queen):

1. Her name is Y/N — confirmed by Oscar’s post + Lando saying it in a livestream once back in 2022 👀2. She's been with him since he was 14, so she’s known him through every racing level (😭)3. She lives in Kentucky and has never left the country (except Miami just now)4. She's Christian, a bookworm, and shy as heck — her Insta is LOCKED

But the fandom is nothing if not resourceful.

Photos started popping up across the internet — all taken from her friends’ public accounts:

Caption (from her friend @grace_infaith): Sundays with my soul sisters 🤍 Top comment: @f1brainrot: SO YOU’RE TELLING ME SHE’S BEEN SITTING IN A FIELD IN KENTUCKY WHILE HE WINS PODIUMS IN BARCELONA?? this woman has range

Caption:(from her friend @emma.smiles) senior breakfast crew ☕🫶

Comment:@chaoticmclaren: she’s so normal it makes me feel insane.

Caption: (from her friend @lilia) if you're wondering where Oscar Piastri’s hoodie ended up, it’s safe. it’s with Jesus. and Y/N.

Comment:@pitlanecrybaby: not "with Jesus and Y/N" I CANNOT BREATHE

Some fans even went back and analyzed Oscar’s old interviews for hidden references to her.

“I don’t really go out much when I’m home. My girlfriend prefers movie nights.”

“No, she’s not at the race. She’s watching from Kentucky, probably with her Bible and popcorn.”

Suddenly, the picture became clear: Y/N wasn’t hiding. She was just living. Softly. Quietly. Lovingly.

And Oscar?

He’d been quietly bragging about her for years.

@f1romance:idk who needs to hear this but oscar piastri being madly in love with a small-town christian girl who wears his hoodie and works at a library is everything this sport needed.

Even her mom’s Facebook got found.

📸 Post from Y/N’s mom:

Top comment:Wait… this is the real mom? She’s adorable?THE PARENTS ARE PARENTSINGProtect them at all costs 🥺

As the months went on, fans respected the boundaries. No one leaked her private photos. No one crossed the line.

But they celebrated with her. In every tweet, in every fan edit, in every soft little thread about how love could be quiet and strong and unseen — and still change everything.

And Oscar?

He noticed.

One night after qualifying, he posted a story — no caption.

Just a blurry Polaroid of Y/N in the hotel hallway in Miami. She was laughing, in one of his old team hoodies, holding a bag of takeout and barefoot.

No makeup. No podium lights. No crowd.

Just her.

The music over the story? 🎵 “She’s all I ever wanted / And I’d do it all again.” 🎵

And the fans?

They didn’t need her Instagram.

Because the way Oscar looked at her — and the way the world finally saw why — was enough.

—

Oscar’s flight had landed late the night before, and by the time he made it to Y/N’s porch, the autumn wind had turned his knuckles red.

He knocked once — lightly.

And the door opened immediately.

Y/N didn’t say anything at first.

She just stepped out, barefoot in a flannel pajama set, hair still messy from sleep. Her eyes were glassy as she pressed her face into his chest, arms wrapping tight around him like the cold might pull him away if she didn’t hold on.

“You’re really here,” she whispered.

“I always said I’d come home to you.”

Thanksgiving Morning

Y/N woke up to the smell of cinnamon rolls and turkey already in the oven.

Oscar was sitting at the kitchen table in a hoodie and pajama pants, peeling potatoes with her dad, trying (and failing) to keep up with his Southern storytelling.

Her mom handed her a mug of coffee with a knowing smile. “He’s been up since six. Said he wanted to help.”

Y/N, still groggy, leaned against the counter and watched him laugh at something her dad said about football. The sun streamed through the kitchen windows, lighting up his profile like something out of a dream.

She whispered, “He’s really here.”

Her mom smiled. “And now you know why we prayed so hard for him to be.”

Later That Day — Before Dinner

Her grandparents arrived first, followed by church friends and cousins and people who’d known her since she was a toddler.

Everyone wanted to meet Oscar.

Some were quiet and kind. Some asked too many questions. One elderly aunt accidentally called him “that Piastry boy” the whole night.

Oscar took it all in stride — shaking every hand, laughing at every dad joke, saying “Yes, ma’am” and “No, sir” in a slightly awkward Australian drawl that everyone found endearing.

And when her pastor’s wife pulled him aside to ask if his relationship with Y/N “honors the Lord,” Oscar answered with the gentlest sincerity:

“Yes, ma’am. I love her with everything I’ve got. I’ve loved her since I was a kid.”

Later, Y/N found out he’d asked her dad for permission to keep seeing her seriously — “with the future in mind.”

She nearly burst into tears stirring the gravy.

Dinner

The dining table was long, crowded, covered in casseroles and prayers.

Oscar sat beside Y/N, holding her hand tightly under the table. Every time someone passed the mashed potatoes, their shoulders bumped.

When her grandfather asked Oscar to say grace, he froze — cheeks pink, eyes wide.

“I… I’ve never done that out loud.”

Y/N squeezed his hand.

He took a breath. And said one anyway.

It was simple. Shaky. Grateful.

He ended it with: “Thank You for letting me be here. For letting me be part of this family, even for a little while. And thank You for Y/N.”

Everyone said amen.

Y/N blinked back tears.

That Night – After Everyone Left

The house was quiet again. Only the crackle of a leftover candle on the mantle and the ticking of the old wall clock filled the room.

Oscar and Y/N curled up on the couch in matching sweatpants, a fleece blanket over their laps. She fed him cold pie with a fork while they watched Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.

“Do you ever get tired of my people asking you so many questions?” she asked softly, brushing hair out of her face.

He shook his head. “No. They care about you. That’s the kind of family I prayed you’d have.”

She looked down at their intertwined fingers.

“I wish every day could be like this.”

Oscar kissed her temple. “Someday they will be.”

Instagram Post — Next Morning

@oscarpiastri:Thankful. 🧡

Top Comments:@mclarenf1: that hoodie has done more miles than some of our cars @landonorris: guess who DIDN’T get invited to thanksgiving @y/n’smom: we’re thankful for YOU, sweet boy 😌

The world saw a glimpse of their day.

But only they knew the real weight of what it meant.

It wasn’t just turkey and traditions. It was the first time they didn’t have to say goodbye over FaceTime. The first time he passed her the gravy bowl instead of sending a heart emoji. The first time they felt like home in the same place, at the same table.

—

Y/N was holding Oscar’s hand in the back of the taxi, knuckles white.

The heat of the Australian summer pressed through the windows, but she was sweating for other reasons.

She had never left America until now.

Never left her family for Christmas. Never stepped into his world — the one she’d only ever seen through FaceTime and childhood photos on the fridge.

And now she was just minutes away from walking into the Piastri household, with a red ribbon in her hair and a bag full of homemade cookies tucked in her lap.

Oscar glanced at her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Terrified.”

He kissed her hand gently. “They already love you.”

They’d told his family he was coming home alone this year — tight schedule, no time for company, Y/N spending the holidays with her family.

It was a lie, of course. One crafted carefully with the help of Lando (again), his sister Hattie, and his mum, who definitely suspected something but played along.

They pulled up to the curb just after 6 p.m.

His childhood home was glowing — white string lights draped around the veranda, a wreath on the door, and the sound of holiday music faintly drifting from inside.

Y/N didn’t move.

Oscar turned to her. “Breathe.”

“I’m wearing jeans to an Australian Christmas.”

“You look perfect. And you brought biscuits, which means you’ve already won over my nan.”

She laughed nervously. “What if they think I’m too shy? Too church-y? Too American?”

He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “You’re mine. That’s all they’ll care about.”

They walked up together. Oscar knocked twice, then opened the door and stepped inside like he always had.

“Mum? Dad? Hattie?”

From the kitchen: “Oscar! About time, we’ve got the ham in and—”

And then silence.

Y/N stepped in behind him, almost hiding. Face flushed. Eyes wide.

Susan Piastri appeared in the doorway — dish towel in hand, eyes locked on the girl standing behind her son.

It was a full beat of stillness.

Then: “Oh my goodness.”

Y/N barely had time to register anything before she was pulled into a hug — tight and warm and motherly.

“You came.” Susan’s voice cracked. “You actually came.”

“I hope that’s okay—” Y/N started, voice barely above a whisper.

Susan pulled back and cupped her face. “You are so welcome here. I’ve been praying for this for years.”

Oscar’s dad came in next — stunned, grinning, immediately taking the cookie tin with a, “She bakes too? Marry her, Oscar.”

Hattie tackled Y/N with a squeal. “You’re real. You’re here. I can’t believe it.”

And just like that… she wasn’t the mystery anymore.

She was family.

That night was filled with the kind of joy that makes your chest ache.

Oscar and Y/N helped decorate the last of the sugar cookies with his little cousins. His nan held her hand while they watched Home Alone and told her Oscar used to sleep with a stuffed kangaroo until he was nine.

They sang carols around the piano. She hummed more than she sang. No one minded.

At dinner, someone asked her to say grace.

She looked at Oscar in panic.

But he just smiled and nodded — you’ve got this.

So she bowed her head and said a prayer — trembling and sincere and soft — and when she lifted her eyes, every person at that table was smiling at her like she belonged there.

Like she always had.

Later that night, Oscar found her in the backyard.

The stars above Melbourne were different from Kentucky’s — scattered and unfamiliar, but beautiful.

He came up behind her, arms sliding around her waist, chin on her shoulder.

“Wanna know what my mum said after you went to bed?”

“What?”

“She said, ‘You know she’s part of us now, right?’”

Y/N blinked quickly, fighting tears. “I’ve never… felt like this before. Like I’m in something. Like I fit.”

“You do,” he whispered. “You’re not just my girl anymore. You’re ours. You’re home.”

She turned, wrapped her arms around him, and smiled through tears. “Merry Christmas, Oscar.”

He kissed her forehead.

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

Instagram Post – Christmas Morning

@oscarpiastri:Turns out Christmas is even better when she’s beside me.

🎄❤️

Top Comments:@landonorris: you’re welcome for literally making this happen AGAIN @mclarenf1: What a season. What a soft launch. What a couple. @y/nsmom: Thank you for taking care of my girl 🥹 We love y’all!!

—

Y/N tugged Oscar’s hand as they made their way down Main Street, where Christmas lights were still strung between lampposts and the old town clock tower counted down the final hours of the year.

The square was packed — at least for Kentucky standards. A few hundred people milled about, bundled in coats and gloves, holding hot cocoa or cornbread from the food trucks. The air smelled like kettle corn, pulled pork, and woodsmoke.

A bluegrass band was playing from a small makeshift stage, kids ran past them chasing each other with glow sticks, and someone in the distance let out a firework early.

Oscar flinched. “Is that legal here?”

Y/N grinned. “Barely.”

It had been his idea to spend New Year’s back in Kentucky — “Your turn to show me how you celebrate,” he’d said, when they boarded the flight home after Christmas.

She hadn’t expected him to blend in perfectly, but somehow… he did.

In jeans and a Carhartt jacket (borrowed from her dad), with his arm looped around her shoulders and a barbecue sandwich in his other hand, he looked like any other small-town boyfriend — not the same guy people watched race in Monaco six months ago.

Well, almost.

“Wait… are you—?”

Oscar turned mid-bite as a group of teenage boys hesitated in front of him.

Y/N tensed beside him, but Oscar smiled calmly. “Yeah. I’m Oscar.”

“You race, right?” one of them asked, awe in his voice.

“I do.”

Another blurted, “My dad said you were dating that girl from down by the library—” He froze when he realized that girl was literally standing right there.

Y/N just laughed. “That would be me.”

Oscar wrapped an arm around her waist. “She’s the real superstar.”

The boys walked off whispering furiously, already pulling out their phones.

An older man at a food stall winked at Oscar as he handed him a funnel cake. “You’re the Aussie racer boy,” he said. “My daughter’s got a crush on you. Her husband ain’t thrilled.”

Oscar blushed and handed over a twenty. “Tell her I said thanks.”

Y/N leaned in and whispered, “You’re famous everywhere. Even next to the tractor supply.”

Oscar just chuckled. “I like it here. People stare, but then they offer me  peach cobbler.”

As the countdown grew closer, the town square lights dimmed and couples started clustering near the stage, eyes turned to the clock tower above.

Y/N stood in front of him, her back against his chest, his arms around her as they swayed a little in time with the soft acoustic cover of “Auld Lang Syne” coming from the stage.

“I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss,” she murmured.

Oscar kissed her cheek. “I’ve been saving mine for you.”

She smiled. “Of course you have.”

10... 9... 8...

She turned to face him.

His eyes held that look she’d seen so many times on a screen — tired, kind, full of love.

5... 4... 3...

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered.

“Always will be.”

2... 1...

The square erupted into cheers.

Fireworks shot up behind the clock tower.

And Oscar kissed her.

Right there in front of everyone — her church friends, her old teachers, the barbecue guy, the high schoolers still staring.

He kissed her soft and slow, like they had all the time in the world.

Like this little town was the center of the universe.

And when they pulled apart, the only thing either of them could do was smile.

Instagram Post – January 1st

@oscarpiastri:Midnight in the middle of nowhere. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

🎆🤍

Top Comments:@landonorris: middle of nowhere? bro I looked it up on Google Maps and it literally vanished when I zoomed out @mclarenf1: Happy New Year to our most wholesome couple 🧡 @grace_infaith: I took this photo and they kissed so long after it I had to look away out of respect

That night, Y/N curled up in her room under the quilt her grandma made, Oscar snoring softly beside her on the twin guest bed across the room (too polite to argue with her parents’ rules).

She looked out the window at the final flickers of leftover fireworks.

And for the first time in years, she didn’t feel like time was ticking away without him.

It felt like time had finally brought him home.

—

The frost was still clinging to the grass when Oscar and Y/N stepped out onto the porch with mugs of tea and flannel blankets over their shoulders.

The town square’s celebration had ended hours ago, but the memory of fireworks still echoed in the quiet between them.

They were finally alone.

Really, truly alone.

Y/N pulled her knees to her chest on the porch swing, one hand curled around her mug, the other picking absently at a loose thread in her sweater.

Oscar sat beside her, their knees touching.

No cameras. No cheering. No races. No church friends dropping off cinnamon rolls.

Just… them.

“Have you ever thought about it?” she asked softly. “The future?”

Oscar gave a half-laugh. “All the time.”

She nodded. “Me too.”

The silence stretched again. Comfortable, but heavy.

Then Y/N said it.

“I don’t want to leave America.”

Oscar blinked. Not surprised. Just… heart-pulled.

“I know,” he said. “You’ve said that before.”

“I meant it,” she whispered. “I’m not scared of the plane anymore. I proved that. I can come visit. But I can’t… I don’t think I could live anywhere else. This is home. My family. My church. Everything I know.”

Oscar leaned his head back against the porch post. “I get it. Truly, I do.”

She looked at him then. Really looked.

“And you?” she asked. “You don’t want to leave Australia, do you?”

He was quiet.

“No,” he said eventually. “Not forever. I miss it when I’m away. It’s home. And racing will always keep me based in Europe part of the year. But when I think about settling down — having a real life? I want my kids to grow up with my mum’s cooking. I want to drive down the Great Ocean Road with you in the summer.”

She smiled faintly. “I want mine to run barefoot through Kentucky fields and spend Sunday nights at my parents’ dinner table.”

They both laughed. And then they both looked a little like they might cry.

“So what do we do?” she asked, voice cracking.

Oscar didn’t answer right away.

He reached for her hand instead, tracing soft circles into her palm.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know it’s us. Whatever we decide, wherever we end up — I want it to be with you.”

She swallowed hard.

“I don’t want either of us to have to give everything up.”

“Then we don’t,” he said gently. “Maybe it’s not about one of us moving permanently. Maybe it’s about finding a rhythm. Something in the middle. We split time. We build a home base somewhere new. Maybe in the States, maybe somewhere slower in Europe. Something that feels like both.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Like… Tennessee?”

Oscar laughed. “Tennessee?”

“Halfway between Kentucky and Not-Kentucky.”

He squeezed her hand tighter. “I’d move to Tennessee for you.”

She smiled. “You’d hate the humidity.”

“I’d hate it with you. That makes it better.”

The porch was quiet again.

Birdsong had started. Somewhere down the road, a tractor started up.

Y/N leaned her head on Oscar’s shoulder and whispered, “I don’t have all the answers yet.”

“Me either,” he said. “But we’ve got time. And we’ve got each other.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Text from Oscar later that day:

Oscar 🦘:Start a list.Every city you’ve ever thought, “Maybe.”Every place that made your heart feel a little bigger.

Y/N 🪷:That’s easy.Wherever you are.

—

Y/N had never said it out loud, but sometimes, late at night — when Oscar was asleep on FaceTime and the sound of her fan filled the dark — she thought about how many moments she’d missed.

She thought about all the times he’d called her from a hotel bed after a win. How she could hear the adrenaline still in his voice, could see the champagne in his hair, but she hadn’t been able to feel the moment.

Not really.

He’d been on podiums while she’d been in drive-thru lines. He’d traveled the world while she refilled church coffee urns and catalogued library returns.

And he never complained. Never made her feel small.

But she started wondering if she’d been making herself small.

It hit her hardest on a quiet night in early May, back in Kentucky.

Oscar had sent her a photo from dinner — something simple in Melbourne, a family-style table with his parents, his sister, and a couple of his childhood mates.

They were laughing, mid-bite. She knew the place: his favorite Italian place thirty minutes from his family’s house.

She’d never been there.

She’d never sat at that table, clinked that wine glass, (not that she wanted to, she doesn't drink) and smiled across the candlelight at his mum.

It wasn’t about the food or the photo.

It was about showing up.

She didn’t tell Oscar at first.

She spent a week quietly researching places near his parents’ house — close enough to see them, far enough to have space. She didn’t want a mansion or some modern marble castle. She wanted something that felt like a front porch and soft blankets. Like her.

Something homey.

And then she found it.

A small white cottage tucked into a quiet gated neighborhood on the outskirts of Melbourne. Green shutters. A picket fence. A garden bed out front just waiting for spring flowers.

It was everything she never thought she’d want.

Because it wasn’t in Kentucky.

But it was near him.

And for the first time in her life, she was willing to go where her heart was — even if it meant a 20-hour flight away from everything she’d ever known.

Text Message — Sent at 1:03 AM (her time)

Y/N 🪷:I found something. It’s in Australia. Half an hour from your parents. I hate the idea of getting on a plane again. But I want to see it. With you.

Oscar 🦘:You’re serious?

Y/N 🪷:I think I’m ready to start showing up for the life you’ve been building. You never asked me to. But I want to.

Oscar 🦘:I love you. So much. Send me the link. Let’s book a flight.

She hated every second of the flight.

Oscar kept her hand in his almost the whole time — soothing her through every bump and stretch of ocean. He brought lavender spray and her favorite candy and downloaded her Bible app’s “Peaceful Psalms” audio.

And when the wheels touched down?

She didn’t cry from fear.

She cried because she was there.

The drive to the cottage was short. Familiar. Lined with eucalyptus trees and corner stores. He pointed out places she’d heard about for years — the park where he learned to ride a bike, the gas station where he and Hattie used to get slushies after school.

And then, they turned into the neighborhood.

Quiet. Private. Safe.

And beautiful.

The cottage looked even better in person. Creamy paint. Tiny front garden. A wraparound porch.

He unlocked the door with the realtor’s code and stepped back so she could be the first inside.

She stood there for a moment.

Then walked in slowly, her hands tucked to her chest like a prayer.

Hardwood floors. Exposed beams. A kitchen with warm light and a window over the sink.

The bedroom looked like something out of a Jane Austen novel.

“This doesn’t look like a racer’s house,” she said softly.

He smiled, stepping up behind her. “It looks like your house.”

“No,” she corrected, voice tight. “Our house.”

They sat on the back porch as the sun dipped low.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “Still. I don’t think that ever goes away.”

“You can still go back when you need to,” he said. “We’ll figure out the rhythm. You’ll never be trapped.”

She looked at him. “I just want to be where you are.”

Oscar reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny, folded piece of paper.

She opened it.

It was a list — her handwriting, from months ago.

“Places that feel like maybe.”

Next to the line she’d scribbled “Wherever you are,” he’d written in soft pencil:

“Then let’s build it together.”

Instagram Post – Weeks Later

@oscarpiastri:She flew twenty hours. I’d follow her forever. New chapter coming soon 🏡🤍

—

They stood in the middle of the living room barefoot — Oscar in sweats, Y/N in one of his hoodies — just looking.

No furniture yet. No photos on the wall. But the keys were in her hand and her heart was pounding like she’d been handed the future wrapped in ribbon.

“We really bought a house,” she whispered.

Oscar smiled, slipping his fingers between hers. “We really did.”

They couldn’t move in yet.

Not officially.

Not until after they got married — a choice they’d made together, one rooted in their shared values, faith, and the life they were building on trust and commitment.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t prepare it.

And that’s where Hattie and Mia came in — Oscar’s sisters, both with Pinterest boards and strong opinions.

“You’ll come back after the season,” Hattie said, sketching out the living room layout on a napkin. “And it’ll already feel like home.”

“Y/N, I’m buying you throw blankets,” Mia added. “You don’t get a say.”

Y/N laughed, blinking back tears.

She never expected her world to be made this lovingly in someone else’s country.

The next few days were a soft kind of magic.

Y/N and Oscar didn’t spend the night. They didn’t even bring in a mattress.

They came over in the early mornings with coffees in hand and boxes full of framed memories. They walked through each room slowly, whispering dreams into the walls like prayers.

“This’ll be our bedroom,” she said, standing in the patch of sunlight that poured through the arched window. “Maybe pale yellow curtains. And books stacked on your nightstand.”

Oscar nodded. “And this—” he opened the closet door, “—will finally be where your clothes live instead of in a suitcase.”

She smiled. “You’re sure you don’t mind my sundresses taking over?”

He laughed. “I’ve already made peace with it.”

In the kitchen, she opened drawers. Ran her hand along the countertops.

“This is where I’ll cook for you,” she said quietly. “The real way. Not just over FaceTime.”

Oscar wrapped his arms around her from behind. “You already do everything real.”

She turned. “Even when I was far away?”

“Especially then,” he whispered.

Hattie and Mia came the next day with paint swatches and samples, dragging in pillows, tea towels, and a rug Oscar couldn’t decide if he loved or hated.

But Y/N? She adored it.

It was sage green with little florals tucked between faded stripes. It looked like something she would’ve found in a boutique in town or bought at a church fundraiser.

“It looks like you,” Mia said with a grin.

“Like us,” Y/N corrected softly.

By the time they said goodbye, the cottage was still empty in the technical sense — no bed, no couch, no clutter.

But the walls were warm now.

The linen closet had hand towels already folded. The kitchen had her grandmother’s cookie recipe tucked into a drawer. There was a tiny magnet on the fridge shaped like Kentucky.

And on the mantel above the fireplace sat a small, framed Polaroid from Christmas:

Oscar and Y/N on the porch at her parents’ house. Matching flannel. Hot cocoa. Home.

Before their flight out, Oscar and Y/N walked through the house one more time.

“Feels like a beginning,” she said.

He nodded. “We don’t have to move in yet. But it’s ours.”

She touched the doorknob, then turned to him, voice softer. “Do you ever wish we didn’t wait?”

Oscar smiled gently. “Sometimes. But I think waiting is its own kind of love.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to his chest. “I’m just so excited for forever with you.”

He kissed the top of her head. “We’ve already started it.”

Caption:They’re not moving in yet. But they’re already home 🖤 #futuremrandmrs

Text from Oscar to Y/N, on the flight back to Europe:

Oscar 🦘: Someday, I’m going to carry you over that threshold like in the movies. Not because we have to. But because we waited. And we made something real.

AN- here's chapter 2!! i definitely wasn't expecting to make this a series but here we are! hope you enjoy it!!

[starkspondwater]

I Want To Know You- Kyle Broflovski x Insecure!Shy!Reader

Part 1 x , Part 3 x, Part 4 x

It's the Monday after the party, and all Kyle wants is to talk to the girl that's been on his mind all weekend

a/n: Hey hi! This is a fluffy continuation of Party Game Kisses, also manically written during a boring day at work.

Spanish translation by @glitterycollectivestudent here on wattpad

SFW and a little fluffy!

Walking through the hallways of school that next Monday felt…odd to you. You had attended your first (and probably only) party and had not only spoken to the object of your little heart’s unsung affection, but had your first kiss with him too! All of that you could allow yourself to feel good about, it wasn’t as though anyone would actually be able to know or tell that all of that had happened. You were pretty sure those among the circle spinning the bottle were too drunk to care anyhow. Today, however, you felt as though there were eyes on you, despite the fact that glancing around showed no one’s stares. Taking a swift detour into the bathroom, you peered into one of the mirrors looking for anything that might be cause for concern.

(H/C) shoved into a clip and a mostly bare face stared back at you. Eyes looking down, you saw that your clothes looked fine as well. As far as you knew, there was nothing out of place. Perhaps you were growing paranoid with all the increased activity, which means surely it would go away as things settled.

Walking into homeroom and slinging your bag down by your seat, you settled in for the morning. Chatter filled the air as student’s filed in with the warning bell ringing overhead, one in particular caught your eye of course. Strolling in with his group of friends was Kyle Broflovski, his familiar green hat perched atop his head and a stray ginger curl poking out at one side. This was normal, seeing him in the mornings and getting the usual butterflies. What wasn’t normal was him looking directly back at you, a small smile on his face nearly causing you to choke on your own spit. A warm flush crossed your cheeks as you quickly looked away. To your horror, this did not just happen once, but three separate times throughout the half hour you spent there. Every time you glanced over, you were met with green eyes looking back. ‘What in the hell is happening?’ you thought, trying to keep your cool.

Alternatively, Kyle felt over the moon! The morning after the party he had decided to look up the shy girl that had captured his interest, surprised to find that you both were already facebook friends. ‘I might have a little social media problem if I can’t even recall who I'm friends with…’ but the thought quickly got shoved to the back of his mind as he clicked on your profile. 

Your profile picture was a simple shot of you at some family event, he assumed, smile pointed at the camera waiting to be captured. Scrolling, he saw a few pictures you had posted of books you were reading, good food, and of some things around town, normal things one would expect on any profile. To his growing surprise (which really, he knew little to nothing about you. Everything is a surprise at this point) he saw a few game related memes shared with you as well as some of your comments on them. So you liked games, he smiled at the thought, happy to find something in common with you at least! 

This Monday Kyle had a mission. He really wanted to talk with you and maybe possibly sort of gauge your interest in him. After all, it wouldn’t do to just humiliate himself in front of a girl he liked…again. He found you easily that morning, his tall form allowing him to see you flitting between bustling students as you made your way around. He really could not understand how he hadn’t noticed you like this before, at least to this extent. Your hips swung as you walked, bringing out curves that you seemed to try to hide behind a baggy jacket. He quickly recalled just how those curves felt under his hands days before, he knew just what you were hiding. Following the rest of his classmates into the room, he met your eyes, and to his glee, you blushed.

He didn’t even care about the guys ripping on him later, he was enamored. In between times he did manage to meet your gaze you looked so thoughtful, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth and bringing back memories of how plush and soft they felt against his own. When the bell rang he stood and turned with the intent to hopefully speak to you, only to see a completely empty seat. This…might be harder than he thought.

Despite having short legs, you made quick work of getting to your next class. With every breath, embarrassment filled your lungs as you tried to calm down. You had been caught more than once staring, and each time a smile graced his lips. He must’ve thought it funny, you were sure, kissing the little invisible girl and then catching her making eyes at him in class was sure to bring a laugh to any of those guys. Shame wanted to rise up into your belly but as the bell rang and the teacher began to speak, you buckled in for 45 minutes of history and shoved down your anxious thoughts.

“So are you going to tell me why you were practically gawking at (Y/N) this morning?” Kenny sat beside Kyle in 3rd period and was not about beating around the bush. Kyle, for all his confidence in dealing with his friends, actually looked bashful, scratching the back of his neck.

“I just thought she was pretty is all-”

“Oh yeah, those sweater puppies are something, huh! What do you think, she a double D or something?”

“Kenny!” Kyle’s red face shut up the blond who was midway to cupping his own hands to his chest. “We talked a bit at Clyde’s party and I just think she’s nice…”

“Who?” Stan leaned back in his seat, head tilted to better see the other two. Despite the warning glare from Kyle, Kenny put on his best shit-eating grin and answered the raven haired boy.

“(Y/N), that girl Kyle keeps trying to penetrate with his eyes-” “Kenny!” Kyle slammed his head down on his desk as his two friends laughed, lightly chatting across his head.

By lunch, Kyle was beginning to think you were avoiding him. Being tall has its advantages, and searching over a sea of people flooding the hall he spotted you quickly. Yet, within seconds, it kept seeming as though you were…actively fleeing? Everyone had to eat, though, and his gaze wandered over the cafeteria with purpose.

“She won’t be in here.” Stan’s voice broke his concentration.

“Huh?” Kyle felt his ears heat up at being caught. Stan knew he might be chewed out for helping his friend and ‘telling his business,’ as the red head would put it, regardless of how good the information was. So be it, he thought.

“I just thought you might want to talk to her is all, so I asked around. Wendy said she normally eats in the library.” Kyle said nothing, stuck between betrayal at Stan and excitement to see you. He sighed, it wouldn’t do to lose his temper at this point, no matter the reason.

The library was silent, devoid of the usual light chatter of students studying or hanging out. Kyle kept his steps light, something telling him that you were easily spooked like a deer. The tables that sat in the open area of the large room were completely empty as well as the small closed off computer room attached to one wall. Disappointment was an understatement for how he felt. He at least wanted to say a simple “hello,” or “how are you?” but he messed that up entirely. Just as he passed the last row of shelves, something caught his attention, making him back pedal a few steps. There, sitting on the floor in the corner, a book in one hand and a small sandwich in the other, was you.

Kyle slowly approached, though it became apparent you would not notice him at all, too engrossed in the bound world in front of you. He observed you for a minute, taking in every detail from your small hands that somehow deftly maneuvered your book as you ate, to the way your eyes devoured the words on the page, and again how you kept biting your bottom lip. Crouching down, he softly said “Hey.”

You yelped, dropping both your book onto the floor and your sandwich into your lap. Eyes wide, you stared at the boy in front of you that looked just as shocked as you with your outburst.

“Oh God, shit, I- I didn’t mean to scare you!” Kyle looked panicked as he tried to fix the situation. Looking down, he picked up the discarded book, his own hands making it look much smaller than it had looked within your own. He briefly thought about how it may feel to hold them before he took a big breath, gingerly offering you the book. “I just wanted to say hi.” 

“Hi,” you gently took the book, hugging it to your chest. “I’m sorry, I just don’t normally, uh, see anyone in here at lunch.” You fiddled a bit with the edges of the pages as you spoke.

“It can get pretty noisy in the cafeteria, I get it,” Kyle chuckled, and a pleasant feeling filled your chest. “What are you reading?” He sat back, crossing his legs. This startled you for a moment, he could see that, but thankfully, you kept speaking.

“It’s just an old fantasy book, like one of the cheesy ones from the 90’s or something,” you said, holding out the cover for him to see. It honestly looked like something one would find painted onto the side of a van, making him grin. “It’s not bad though, just kind of a fun read.”

“It looks fun,” Kyle said, trying to wrack his brain for what to say in order to keep you talking. “Do you…Do you normally read fantasy?” At this you perked up.

“I do, but I like to try other genres when I can…” and to Kyle's delight, you spent the rest of lunch talking to him.

At the end of the day, the green capped teen cornered you at your locker.

“Hey, I really enjoyed lunch,” he said shyly.

“I did too,” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and flushed. “You could eat with me again…if you’d like?” You swore your heart stopped beating as he beamed at you.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something…” glancing back at his friends Kyle saw Stan give him a quick thumbs up while Kenny wildly motioned for him to keep talking to you. Cartman, to his credit, just raised an eyebrow instead of shouting something to embarrass his ginger friend. “I was going to get tickets to that new movie for Friday…would you want to see it with me?” With each word his face grew more and more red, and by the end was just starting to hide the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

It took you a moment to realize that he was asking you on a date. A funny feeling settled on the bottom of your stomach and all you could think was Why?  He was leagues above you, which you thought you established with him the other night. You weren’t anything special, you rarely talked to anyone in class, and hell, you didn’t even think he knew your name before Saturday night. 

“Why me?” your voice felt small, as though trapped in a cage within your throat. At his confused expression, you pressed on. “I’m sure you remember what I said at the party…when we were in the closet, y’know, when we…” you trailed off. Understanding filled Kyle's features before he took on a look of determination.

“I find you incredibly interesting…and pretty. Really, really pretty. I was actually looking for you at lunch, that’s why I was in the library. I wanted to get to know you more…” You looked up with wide eyes. The tall boy in front of you just called you pretty. This boy, who played sports, who had so many friends, who was funny and witty, who could have any girl here, wanted to get to know you.

“Uh, then yes!  Yes I would like to go out with you.” Your face might have felt on fire, but it still split into a wide smile, matching Kyle’s.

“Awesome! I’ll pick you up at 7!” and with that he turned and sauntered off to his friends.

“Nice, dude!” Stan patted his shoulder while Kenny whooped, muffled by his parka. Kyle felt on cloud 9 until Cartman spoke up.

“Did you even get her number, Jew?” he said with a smirk, causing Kyle to immediately freeze. “Thought so, dumbass.” The other two boys laughed as Kyle sheepishly made his way back to you, rectifying his mistake. He couldn’t feel too bad though, he had a date!

[my-silly-poker]

insulin scam warning

Hey gamers,

for a long time on tumblr there's been a guy who really, really wants you to believe they need insulin, on many different blogs, with different paypals and different names. They make a new blog, put a few reblogs on it so it isn't obvious it's brand-new, and then start spamming asks to people for donations.

Here is their most recent blog, but their username will likely change by the time you see this. Kyra45 reports updates on them here

Here are examples of past iterations of this scam, which have been taken down

Donation scams on tumblr are extremely common and anyone who has a tumblr account will encounter them at some point. The insulin guy has been a long-running one for months now. Scambusting blogs like kyra45 do a lot of work to track and call out these scams when they surface.

Scam Spotting Tips

They send an ask often accompanied with a follow despite having never interacted with you before. Ask yourself: How did you find your blog? These interactions usually come out of nowhere when you have no original posts or interests they could've found you through, because they're just going down the lists of random blogs.

They reblog just enough posts to make you think that their blog is in-use when it is actually only a day or a few old. Enable timestamps and try find the blog's oldest post; if a blog seems old but still seems suspicious, be wary of post backdating

They often disable or delete comments on their donation post to hide comments that call them out. Open the notes and see if it says "some replies have been hidden, blocked or removed." Blocked/hidden comments sometimes still appear in reblogs of a post but not the original, so open a random reblog and see if telling comments appear there.

It isn't unusual for the story and the ask to either be exact copy-pastes of each other, or otherwise have very telling suspicious details, such as: using different names, having different goal amounts, contrasting story details, etc.

Like many of the above examples, they often have a completely random string of words as their blog name.

Reverse image searching can be a helpful giveaway if it works, but don't trust it - scammers often steal images from private Facebook groups/profiles so people don't find the source and think it's original

When you receive an ask from a blog like this, reporting them for spam or phishing and reporting the PayPal account for fraudulent activity does help get these accounts taken down.

[buzzcutlip]

Cracks and Gaps - The Worst Day (part I) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Mature (Explicit in the following parts) 7434 words ao3

You meet Carmen in Copenhagen through a mutual friend and bond over shared experiences. After following his rising career from afar, you reconnect in Chicago when he renovates his late brother's restaurant. As an editor, you can't miss an opportunity to find out more about the comeback of this chef prodigy.

A/N: I've started writing this story a looong time ago last year. There will be two more parts. I would like to thank @carmyboobear for being the most incredible beta and helping me out on the rocky journey. They're a very special person to me, and also a fantastic and inspiring writer themselves. Please, check their Carmy stories if you haven't!

THE WORST DAY

The first time you meet Carmen, you are both a little over twenty and in Copenhagen. He is staging at Noma, and you are interning at a design studio where everyone is very “green.” From one of your conversations with Carmen, you learn that Pop-Tarts and Cheetos are illegal here. In Europe. Most of the sodas that stained your tongue crazy colors when you were a kid are banned too. He lectures you on Scandinavian agriculture and food production.

Carmen is skinny and short—still a bit taller than you, though—with sharp, high cheekbones and bulging eyes. You don't know enough about each other to be “friends,” but he is a good companion. Your high school friend Becky knows Carmen’s older sister; that’s how you found each other in Denmark’s capital.

On two rare occasions, you get drunk together, and that happens only when he is stressed from work. Like, stressed STRESSED. You'd think he only drinks special natural wine from Lofoten or something, but his choice of poison is canned Budweiser. Maybe he misses home as much as you do. Maybe that’s what leads you to almost kiss him the second time. Carmen lives on a boat, and he takes you there, where you drink vodka mixed with herbs and licorice that Carmen concocts, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrates. The drink tastes good. Weird. You don't hide your grimace. Neither of you comments on the alcohol ratio. It's more vodka than anything else, that's for sure.

Carmen is not your type, physically or character-wise—you are an introvert yourself, so you need someone to bring you out of your shell. Obviously, doing an internship on a different continent is a huge step, one that is only on you. He also smokes a lot and probably doesn't wash his hair. You've heard about his crazy mother and bonkers family from Becky, so you understand why Carmen is Carmen. Why he’s run off to Europe. It's just—his face—his eyes, when he's telling you about his dream job at Noma or Alchemist—they glow, and he becomes so animated, the quiet excitement seeping to the surface, and there's fondness blooming in your chest. He also knows a thing or two about sports, as you do, the subject bringing you back to Chicago, and the longing for “home” and “familiar” is terribly strong in the moment, enhanced by the alcohol. And Carmen, the boy sitting opposite you, with burns on his hands and ripped jeans, is both of those things put into one.

Nothing happens between you two, but the urge to press your own lips against his lingers after you leave in a taxi, not brave enough to ride a bike under the influence.

You try to stay in touch after Copenhagen, messaging Carmen on his empty Facebook profile, sending a text once in a while, mainly at Christmas, and when you have some terrible junk food, just to make fun of him. When he FaceTimes you, he’s in Paris, and you’re in Dublin. The next time, he’s in California.

He rarely ever answers messages on the phone. Usually, it's an emoji, sometimes a word or two. Soon, there are no answers, and you can't be bothered. You carry on with your life in Chicago, and it doesn’t take long before you start seeing Carmen Berzatto in the paper, on the internet. The young prodigy chef, everyone says. Reluctantly, you read the articles, thinking about the Copenhagen Carmen, smiling at his photos. He's grown up, filled out. His hair is curlier, his shoulders wider, his biceps stronger. He looks good. Good and sad, you think to yourself, and decide not to text him to congratulate him on his star career. Carmen is not one to care about what you think of it.

It's only when you hear from Becky that Mikey Berzatto has died, that you think of Carmen properly, after years full of work in the magazine office, one shitty almost-boyfriend, and summers spent in Europe, writing about sustainable travel and solo adventures. Becky says that he's inherited a restaurant from Michael. You decide against sending him condolences—too personal.

But about ten months later, there's whispering that a fancy restaurant, The Bear, is replacing The Beef of Chicagoland, and it's actually your boss who tells you that you should go check the place out.

You are not into that whole haute cuisine thing, to be honest. You never understood those tiny little portions and strange ingredients and their combinations. You prefer good pasta with Bolognese sauce or roasted chicken with mashed potatoes. Sometimes you wonder if Carmen's strange relationship with his family is what's keeping him away from his Italian roots and forcing him to work in pristine, starched whites in sterile kitchens, cooking intestines and antlers, making it art.

---

Becky gives you Natalie Berzatto’s phone number to get in touch with her to try to schedule an interview for the magazine feature. Your boss, Rob, hopes that Carmen could even make it to the cover soon when The Bear takes off. You’re not sure how you feel about bypassing Carmen completely and going straight to his sister.

So one Thursday, in early May, you decide to walk there, unannounced. You corner the building, passing a big glass window, and before you make it to the main entrance, you nearly collide with a very wonky wooden stepladder. With Carmen Berzatto on top of it, fiddling with a screwdriver or a similar tool, and a signboard.

The second you make contact with the ancient stepladder, Carmen shouts, "Fuck!"

“Sorry,” you yelp, and one glance at the man high up confirms that you are indeed dealing with the Chef himself.

“Could you watch out?” he says angrily as he makes his way down, measuring every step carefully.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, waiting anxiously for Carmen to—hopefully—recognize you. To anyone walking by, you must look like an idiot, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting motionless and stiff for a guy to climb down a ladder.

You don’t know what you had been expecting but definitely not Carmen staring at you with his huge, bloodshot eyes for seconds that feel like minutes. You nearly turn around and walk away, no joke.

He looks—

“You look—” you start. Terrible. But also, like, gorgeous. Terribly tired but hot. Is it awful of you to think that?

“Hi,” Carmen says, one hand going into the big mess of his hair, the other one into his pants pocket. He's avoiding your eyes, which makes you even more nervous, makes you think it was not such a great idea to come here.

“Hi!” you say, probably overly enthusiastically. “You're back in Chicago,” is the first thing you can think of.

He nods. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Well, congrats on the new place,” you say, gesturing to the building behind him, newspaper covering the windows. “I'm really sorry, I thought it was already open,” you explain, tugging on the hem of your lilac sweatshirt nervously. Can he tell you’re lying? “Becky mentioned something about it.”

“No, we’re opening next week,” Carmen says, holding a cigarette between his fingers.

“I'm really curious,” you smile carefully, testing the waters, wondering how he's going to react. You haven't seen each other in more than five years, and Carmen's never been exactly friendly. Not like mean, but definitely not easily approachable. “I work for this magazine, and we would love to do a feature on this,” you say, leaving out that it's you who would be writing it. Who wants to write it. Not only about the place but about Carmen, the enigma, the quiet boy, the excellent chef.

He only nods, clearly not sharing your enthusiasm. “Maybe later,” he taps the cigarette against the palm of his other hand. “When we're ready for this kind of thing.”

“Of course,” you agree quickly.

“Might be a while.”

“So what is the big plan?”

Carmen looks at you, measuring you. Like he thinks you have some ulterior motive. He lights up the cigarette, taking a long drag from it, and you fight not to scrunch your nose in disgust. The older you get, the more you hate the smell. Especially when someone is blowing out the smoke aimlessly—almost—in your face.

“My partner—Sydney, she’s hung up on the stars. So I guess a fine dining kinda place,” Carmen says, flicking the cigarette butt in the general direction of the gutter. The second sentence comes out more like a question than a statement, but you are still processing the first one.

“You run a business with your girlfriend?” you swear you don’t mean it to sound so accusing.

Carmen takes a step back, physically—bumping into the stepladder behind him—and mentally, too. “No! She—Sydney’s my business partner.” The defensive tone tells you exactly how your words sounded though. You wince. “We’ve been working on the new concept together with Nat, and the whole crew, actually. It’s—it’s a family business, I guess—uhm. We had only like three months to finish, and—”

You can see he’s really flustered. He’s starting to stutter, hand nervously scratching his neck. You hate the sight, hate that you’ve made him feel like this.

“I’m sorry!” you interrupt him. “It came out all wrong. I shouldn’t have said that,” you say urgently, hoping to see him relax back to his non-caring, nonchalant, tired-looking self. How could you mess up so quickly? Is that your special ability or a curse?

“‘s fine,” Carmen says, and he does relax a bit, shoulders dropping an inch. He doesn’t look friendly though. Or in the mood for a chat. “I just—she’s a business partner,” he repeats obstinately, face red.

The moment grows awkward. In your coat pocket, you touch a pack of chewing gum and start fiddling with it. “I—my office is nearby so I thought I could come around and see the progress,” you say into the void, trying not to cringe too much. “Maybe I would take a few colleagues for dinner.”

“The reservations aren't open yet,” Carmen says in a flat voice. You can’t call him out because it’s probably true anyway. Plus, you just lied again—the offices are not close; you had taken the L—and you feel bad about it.

There’s not much left to say, you realize. He’s not giving you any space to turn this “accidental” meeting into a proper conversation. You shuffle your feet nervously, feeling stupid.

“Alright. It was nice seeing you!” you say, as it’s about time to end this. “Hope everything’s gonna work out great!” you add in a cheerful tone, already setting to walk back to the station.

“Yeah. Thanks. Bye.” Carmen says back, lighting a second cigarette.

What a nightmare, you think as you walk through the busy streets.

—

In the following weeks, you almost forget about The Bear. Rob complains about the nonexistent article on the new, already hyped-up restaurant and wasted opportunities, but what can you do? The not-at-all-accidental meeting with Carmen had been a disaster you actively try to erase from your mind. Working on your regular column and material for the website keeps you busy. Then Becky calls out of nowhere, and you two arrange lunch at The Marq. You end up swapping hilarious stories from the last two months you hadn’t seen each other, and you secretly pray she doesn’t ask about Natalie Berzatto or her brother. You're out of luck, because she does—of course she does—and you have to lay the cards on the table.

“You did contact Nat first though?” is the first thing Becky asks.

“I didn’t,” you shake your head. “I didn’t want to exclude Carmen right at the very beginning,” you admit.

“Oh god,” Becky rolls her eyes at you, taking a small bite of her salmon cake sandwich.

“I knooow,” you quickly stop her, feeling like ordering something stronger than the simple soda you’ve been drinking.

“I think you should still call Natalie,” Becky says, pointing at you with a determined frown. “I went to see her and her new baby just last week. She asked about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Apparently they could really use some help getting the word out about The Bear. A good excuse to talk Carmen into an interview maybe? An exclusive one?” She wiggles her eyebrows, knowing how cool it would be for you to come up with this.

“Maybe,” you muse, playing it cool. Inside, you are already hyped up about the possibility of scoring the first interview with the former best chef in the world. Is he still good at all? Why did he disappear? Why is he back?

—

The anxiety of the following days forces you to actually text Natalie. You’ve been checking online websites and Instagram accounts apprehensively, worried that a medium might publish something about The Bear before you get a chance. Rob isn’t a dick, but you wouldn’t want to look incompetent in his eyes. So far, you’ve been able to steer away from conversations about the new Carmen Berzatto restaurant at work. Your work ethic makes it difficult for you to let The Bear go without a fight.

That’s how you find yourself in front of Natalie’s door. When she opens it, she doesn’t hide her fervor.

“Oh, finally! Hi! Please come in.” She ushers you inside. You’ve never seen her in person, only on Becky’s Instagram, maybe, and even though the exhaustion is apparent on the woman’s face, you can spot the similarities with Carmen in her features right away.

From the dark hallway, she leads you to the sitting room. When you look around, it’s hard to find a clutter-free space. Every surface is covered with baby clothes, baby diapers, baby wipes—clean and dirty—bottles—full and empty.

“Sorry for the mess,” Natalie appears next to you, snatching away a baby muslin from the sofa. “Have a seat, please,” she nods. “The baby’s asleep. Hopefully for the next—” and she checks her watch, “another twenty minutes.”

As you sit down, Natalie collapses into an armchair, not minding what appears to be a pile of freshly washed newborn onesies and other clothes underneath her.

“Thank you so much for stopping by,” she says sincerely, and you notice the many stains on her purple t-shirt.

You smile. “No problem.”

“Becky said that you know stuff about Instagram and social media and marketing and all that?” Natalie’s eyes are wide and hopeful.

“I would say so,” you nod.

“I’m not sure what Becky mentioned already,” Natalie says as she starts pulling the baby clothes from under her and folding them absentmindedly. That definitely says something about the state she’s in, without Becky describing the situation to you—not only with The Bear but also Nat herself. “Carmy’s putting so much into the restaurant—we all are—so much hope,” she babbles, “none of us have slept properly in weeks—months! And now the baby...” Natalie’s gaze becomes unfocused for a moment before she blinks rapidly. “The timing’s not so great,” she forces out a weak laugh, and you smile again, already feeling bad for her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“I understand. It’s hard,” you empathize, feeling genuinely bad—not for The Bear—but for Natalie.

“I’m not a marketing guru, but I can research things,” she carries on, more confident now. “But I can’t be there all the time, y’know? It’s just not possible. If—if someone could help with keeping the place afloat and spreading the word—” she stops talking and folding, looking directly at you. “That would be just so awesome,” she finishes quietly, her bottom lip wobbling.

You know that Nat’s not trying to emotionally blackmail you, even though the situation kinda feels like it, and you do feel for her.

“I can help, yes.”

“I’ll talk to Carm and Sydney, and we’ll figure out how much we can offer you!” The relief and excitement are apparent in the way Nat jumps up from the armchair.

“That’s alright, really,” you say calmly, putting a hand on her arm now that she’s closer. “We can discuss this later,” and you give her another encouraging smile.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying comes from somewhere in the house. Poor Natalie freezes, her hand going to touch her chest. She takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Thank you. Thank you,” and she takes a hold of your hand, squeezing it. “I’ll tell Sydney to get in touch with you—or you can actually just go to the restaurant; they know about you.”

That makes you slightly uncertain as you remember your first attempt at an unannounced visit to The Bear.

“Alright,” you nod with a polite smile. After all, you’re getting something out of this too.

—

Sydney texts you exactly 22 minutes after you leave worn-out Natalie and her baby behind and invites you to come to The Bear the next day. To make yourself appear more untouchable, you reply that the soonest you’re available is next Monday. Make them wait.

It gets you on edge, though, and more than once you think of Carmen in his tiny Copenhagen kitchen, how things used to be. How easy it is to grow apart. Not that you’d been friends exactly. Hard to be anything like that with a person as closed off as Carmen Berzatto.

On the agreed Monday, you dare to finish early at work and take the train to The Bear. Your stomach is in knots, even though you’ve been pretty brave about the whole thing. It’s just—you’re not sure how Carmen’s gonna react when he sees you, and you’re already thinking about the worst possible scenarios. Just stop! you tell yourself resolutely, forcing yourself to concentrate on the simple but well-thought-out marketing plan you prepared to present. Without being asked. If Carmen sees that you actually KNOW things, he might change his opinion about you. Not that you KNOW his opinion, but—maybe he would actually acknowledge you finally.

It’s just after the family meal when you arrive. A tall man who introduces himself as Richie lets you in instantly, and he’s clearly been informed about your arrivall. As soon as Sydney is notified of your presence, she rushes to you from the kitchen in the back, wiping her hands on her apron. You notice right away that she’s friendly and calm, and it relaxes your nerves. There’s no doubt she loves the restaurant and her job, and you see that she worries as much as Natalie does, or even more.

“We’re opening in two hours, so it’s a bit wild in the back, but maybe you wanna see the kitchen?” Sydney offers as she’s showing you around the newly restored restaurant, opening the heavy door. “A quick peek,” she adds as a loud cracking noise comes out of the exact door.

You’ve been to a couple of kitchens, and you must say that this one’s definitely on the chaotic side of the scale. People in white aprons run here and there, no one’s still, not even for a second. There’s a good amount of shouting and a huge amount of swearing. In the middle of everything, there’s Chef Carmen Berzatto. He looks like a character from Cartoon Network. His wild hair is sticking out in all directions, dark tattoos covering his arms and hands, face sweaty, eyes ready to pop out of his head. He’s shorter than most people you see circling the kitchen, but the loudest one. He shouts orders, and you notice the vein on the side of his neck—it sure is ready to burst. You wonder how far he is from having a heart attack.

“Or maybe next time,” Sydney mutters, gently pushing you out of the way and shutting the door again. She leads you to one of the brown wooden tables where you settle again.

“Is he always like that?” you ask Sydney, actually glad that you’re not in the room where the storm’s currently happening.

“Only when he’s stressed,” Sydney explains shortly, an apologetic smile on her lips.

When it comes to money, it’s obvious The Bear doesn’t have much to spare, that much is clear. Sydney is extremely apologetic and sweet about it.

“There’s a marketing budget—previously non-existent—that we’ve set aside and can offer. It’s just not much, I’m afraid,” she tells you, jittery.

You want to reassure her, to tell her that you're doing it for Carmen, for an old "friend." But from what you've gathered, Sydney doesn't even know that Carmen knows you.

So you just smile and reassure her anyway. "I'll put it on my resume. I can use more cases with social media for hospitality," you lie.

Nodding, Sydney clarifies, "Yes, just Instagram. Please. Carmy doesn't want to put anything in the press. Yet."

When a curious Richie joins you at the table, you present the Instagram plan to both of them. Even though Richie can't help making a few rather stupid remarks that only he finds funny, they both listen carefully. You see a lot of skepticism on Richie's face, probably because he doesn't understand some of the big words, you guess, but Sydney seems to be really into everything from pictures of the food and the weekly specials, to quick reels showing potential customers a little bit of behind-the-scenes action.

"Oh, I'm sure Cousin will be thrilled to have people sticking their noses into his business," Richie says, and you're not sure how serious he is. But Sydney shushes him, and you carry on, showing her the mock-up of the possible Instagram feed to set the mood for the profile.

For the next three weeks, you go to The Bear twice a week to gather some content—photos and videos. You talk to the crew and film those who are okay with it. Your presence is met with mixed emotions, but Sydney's gratitude and kindness make up for every suspicious glare and exasperated sigh when you find yourself in someone's way. Besides the restaurant, you take your neighbor's dog for a long walk every Saturday morning, call your mom and dad to check in, scroll Instagram instead of finally starting an actual book, and often wonder why Carmen is so hostile towards you.

Generally, you try not to hang out in the kitchen directly, especially not when Chef Carmen is present. Being uncomfortable in a new environment makes you positively anxious, causing you to go through a whole pack of your favorite cinnamon Simply Gums a day.

You also remember to always tie your hair up—not that the staff there wear hairnets or anything, but you don't want Carmen to find another reason to frown at you. He's been basically only frowning or ignoring you. Hard to tell which one is worse.

You always clean your hands super thoroughly, like during COVID, singing the "Happy Birthday" song to time it before daring to even stick your finger in the restaurant. Sydney offers you an apron to protect your work clothes, which you refuse. You sense from some people there that you're not entirely welcome.

But the more you avoid Carmen, the more likely you are to bump into him. You know Murphy's Law. So one morning, he just appears from around the corner, carrying a tray of mushrooms.

For a second, you're actually horrified that he's going to introduce himself. Before that can happen, you blurt out, "Uh—do you remember me? Copenhagen?"

Carmen stops and looks at you, wiping his wet hands on the towel attached to the string of his white apron. "Yeah," he confirms, "yeah, I do." He says your name, all soft and correct, along with your surname, and with his eyes fixed on you, you're frozen to the spot, affected whether you like it or not. Then he leaves to taste Tina's roasted peppers.

Obviously, your mind can't let the episode slip away. As you type copy for the upcoming Instagram posts, you pause every so often to cringe at how embarrassing you behaved. Of course, he remembers you, for fuck's sake! You're working in his restaurant—kinda.

"Hey! Copenhagen! You wanna see this?" Carmen yells a bit later from the other side of the kitchen, and you falter, deciding whether you're really going to answer to him calling you that.

You bite your tongue and trail hesitantly to the station where Carmen is with Tina and Ebraheim, gathered around a saucepan.

"Tina, chef, this is excellent. Well done," Carmen says to her as you approach, then turns to you.

"This is what we wanna share with the world. Perfect red pepper sauce. Simple but delicious."

"Okay," you respond, taking in the expectant way all three of them are looking at you. Like you're some kind of magician. Or a fraud.

"Just," Carmen adds before he sets off, "no recipes leave this kitchen," and he waits for you to confirm.

"Right."

Slowly, you start to question why you're helping The Bear. Is it because two years ago you thought of Carmen and what you might have felt for him? What could have been? More than the chef himself, you find yourself growing fond of the place and the employees—some of them! Seeing the Instagram followers number increase fills you with pride and satisfaction. Fuck Carmen.

---

Mornings are usually the only time when Carmen isn’t around, and you try to time your visits so your paths don’t cross.

Wanting to snap photos of the new tableware and make a quick, fun video reel, you head into the kitchen. There's no one around—Sweeps is probably hiding somewhere, and Sydney might be in the office. Not wanting to bother anyone, you set your always-heavy handbag on a chair and start looking for everything you need. There's no reason for you to feel like you're sneaking around, but you can't help feeling nervous. That’s when your clumsiness strikes, and you manage to knock over a glass of water. Rolling your eyes, you get on your hands and knees to wipe the spilled water with a rug that you hope is meant for cleaning, as you’re very aware of every item having its particular function here.

You straighten up and stretch to get one more plate from the shelf. Then you lose your footing on the still-wet tiles. Your foot slips, and the top plate falls to the countertop with a loud cracking noise. You react quickly, trying to break the fall, but there's no use. The plate shatters to pieces.

Of course, it’s Carmen himself who emerges from the door leading to the office, and you wince—both physically and mentally—preparing yourself for a very unpleasant collision.

“What’s going on?” he asks as he approaches you, eyebrows pinched. He’s not wearing his chef whites, just a simple white t-shirt and dark jeans.

“Sorry, I—” you start apologizing as Carmen stands next to you, assessing the damage.

“What—what’re you doing here?” he asks in a very flat voice, staring at the pieces of ceramic.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to tidy this and also pay for the plate, obviously,” you ramble, reaching down for the shards.

“Don’t,” Carmy barks, stopping you by grabbing your shaking hands in his. His hands are big, the tattoos making them look harsh and crude, even though the touch is gentle. “Don’t cut yourself,” he adds quietly, holding you until you relax your arms and then a second longer.

He must sense your nervousness. “It’s fine, I’ll get it,” Carmen assures you, catching your eye. “Hey,” he lays a soft hand on your arm, “step away, I’ll clean this.”

Nodding, you step back and wait patiently, disconcerted, watching as Carmen carefully handles and discards the shards, then checks the floor for any tiny fragments. He turns back to you.

“Are you okay?” he checks.

“Yeah.” And you’re more thrown off balance by having Carmen pay attention to you, all of a sudden, than by damaging the kitchen’s equipment.

He studies you for a moment, his face unreadable, and you’re the one to look away first. Which you hate, by the way.

“You wanna see some stuff I’ve been working on?”

“Sure,” you agree, taking a deep breath to relax further. “I’m sorry. The loud noise—” you wave your hand in the air vaguely, rolling your eyes at yourself. “Just scared the shit out of me, I guess,” you finish with an apologetic smile.

“You’re alright,” Carmen confirms and disappears for a bit. In the meantime, you have a small meltdown, shaking your head at yourself for being so, so very terribly lame. Luckily, before he returns with a tray of different dishes, you pull yourself together.

Carmen sets the tray down, revealing an array of colorful and sophisticated meals that instantly catch your curiosity.

“Any allergies?” he asks.

“Passion fruit—easily avoidable. Sometimes kiwi,” you list. “And grumpy chefs,” you add cheekily, feeling bold.

Carmen pauses. “I’m not grumpy. I’m focused.”

“You weren’t like this in Copenhagen,” you say softly, leaning a bit closer to him, your body language signaling that once you had been comfortable around each other.

“I’m more focused now,” Carmen retorts, stubborn and maybe a bit offended. “Back then I—uhm—I felt comfortable around you. It was easy.”

“And now?” you almost whisper.

But Carmen ignores the question, pushing the first bowl closer to you. “Here, taste this… or take a picture and then taste it.”

And you understand that the re-bonding is over.

---

Soon, you drop the habit of visiting the restaurant only in the mornings. One reason is that spending time with Carmen, talking to him or watching him cook and explain things, makes you late for work twice in a row. That usually never happens as you take pride in being on time at the office. You don’t work at The Bear for money, but you hardly think about it that way. When you decide to pop in during the morning, Carmen shares his deadly strong black coffee that he mills himself with you. It’s bitter but heavenly. Secretly, you like drinking it while chewing your favorite cinnamon gum, which somehow makes the taste even better—smoother and richer.

The second reason—you discover that Carmen is much calmer in the evenings after service. Less jittery, more relaxed. His blood flows slower, you think. His heart pumps with more ease. Sydney and he share thoughts and plans for the restaurant with you while you all sit at an empty table. It’s nice, you think, while watching Carmen’s hands play with a napkin. His hands are especially nice.

It’s Saturday and raining as you find yourself sitting in Gordon Ramsay's Burger. Nothing could’ve surprised you more than Carmen asking you to go out eat together. Had he felt bad for ignoring you at the beginning? You’re watching the rivers of raindrops on the big glass window, waiting for Carmen. As usual, you’re ten minutes early, and after you order a Life’s a Beach, the first thing on your mind is you're just early, he didn't stand you up, and then: this is not a date, babe! Which instantly startles you into sitting up straight and looking around, as if someone could see your embarrassing thoughts. Why are you even thinking about this?? Then Carmen arrives, wet patches on his shoulders and jeans that cling to his thighs. He chooses the Chicago hot dog and three different burgers with a bunch of sides. While he only nibbles on them and writes down notes on his phone, you feel bad for wasting the food and eat more than you should. Carmen studies the buns very carefully and asks you a lot of questions about the food, some of which you find amusing and actually—endearing. When you go to bed that night, your belly’s uncomfortably full. You dream that you’re pregnant and about to go into labor, and you’re pretty sure that Carmen’s the father. And, honestly, do you need a book of dreams to explain the meaning? Fuck.

---

All goes to hell next week when Carmen sees you eating a sandwich from the corner shop down the street. Instead of having your regular lunch with Becky, you’ve chosen to run to The Bear so you could see Marcus unveil his new dessert. But before that, you popped into the nearby deli to order a mozzarella and sundried tomato sandwich. No one at The Bear had ever explicitly invited you to the family meal, and you would never dare to have free food there. But the way Carmen looks at you while you sit on the step by the back exit, eating the rather dry sandwich, is indescribable. The stern look on his face is back, with a closed-off facade. His eyes are cold. Before you take it all in, you wave at him awkwardly, chewing. Carmen retreats back inside wordlessly, leaving you confused and a little hurt.

Unfortunately, the atmosphere surrounding you doesn’t improve when you return to work, the stupid sandwich sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone. You have a big argument in the meeting room while planning the next month's issue. Then one of your co-workers makes a nasty remark about your single life. The afternoon drags on painfully slowly, which forces you to message your cousin—an astrologist extraordinaire—to check what the heck is going on with the universe.

Tuesday morning is rough. The second you wake up, you know you’ve overslept because you never get up without the alarm ringing angrily. A single glance at your phone proves it to be true. Right after, you notice three missed calls from Sydney and two from Nat. There are no text messages, though.

At first, you intend to call Rob to beg for a home office day, something you rarely ever use. But as soon as you check your calendar, you’re reminded of the big conference happening from 11 a.m. until 5 p.m. You rush to work, finishing your makeup on the train, then enter the office building to quickly run through notes with your colleagues. The first time you have a chance to make a quick phone call is when you finally go to the bathroom. It’s Natalie who you manage to reach first, as the lunch rush at The Bear is just unfolding. Over the cries of Natalie’s baby, you hear half-sentences about a recipe, Carmen, and a leak. It’s hard to put it all together. At 4 p.m., Nat finally sends you a text. It says: “Recipe’s published in Taste of Home. Carm’s mad. Says someone leaked it.”

It contains a link to the Taste of Home website, with Carmen’s perfect Berkswell Pudding recipe in the Top Recipes of the Week, marked “Chef’s tip.” You check it again to make sure, and surely—it’s one of the dishes Carmen introduced to you just last week. You didn’t dare to photograph it, much less taste it. You remember concentrating on the way his lips moved when he explained the preparation process, not much on the cooking itself.

What’s clear to you is that the "Someone" from Nat’s message is actually you.

A gloomy dread settles in your stomach as the meeting goes on and on. You barely pay attention, which makes everything even worse. You’re scared of what’s happened in the restaurant, and you’re worried that you’re going to miss something important in the meeting.

When you run for a second quick bathroom break, instead of peeing, you think of your next step. You could try to call everyone in the restaurant, try to find out what the hell is going on. But you don’t want to be seen as hysterical. You check Instagram and possible messages to find traces of a catastrophe. There’s nothing. Again, you open the website with the recipe. The photos are pretty sloppy, definitely not something Carmen would prepare. As you check the ingredients, you notice there are some major differences from Carmen’s dish. All in all, the only thing that stops you from texting Carmen is your pride. And true fear.

Absolutely dreading facing Carmen, you make it to The Bear during dinner time. Which, obviously, is the worst possible timing. You’re only praying that he’s not in the kitchen but hiding in his office, deep in paperwork.

It’s Sydney who you meet first as you sneak into the restaurant through the back door. She grabs your arm.

“Don’t go to talk to him now! He’s in a really, really bad mood. Natalie and I were trying to call you.” There’s genuine worry on Sydney’s face, her eyes big and honest.

“I don’t understand what happened,” you frown. You can feel a headache approaching from the intense day in the office. “I think he should tell me himself if there’s a problem.”

“I’ve been trying to work it out with him, to explain—”

“Explain what?” you question, more sternly than you usually are around Syd.

She falters. “It’s just this stupid thing—and we love having you—don’t let Carmy upset you,” Sydney half-explains. It doesn’t make much sense, and you shake your head, heading to the office. You’re more mad than afraid now.

You don’t wait for an invite after you knock shortly. Closing the door behind you, you find Carmen leaning against the desk, a bottle of water in his hand.

Everything inside of you drops the second he lays his eyes on you. There’s no doubt he’s angry.

“Didn’t Natalie tell you you don’t have to come here again?” Carmen asks curtly. “I’m surprised you think it’s okay to be here.”

Not expecting Carmen to be this harsh from the beginning, you swallow instead of answering.

“I hope that you’re happy now,” he says meanly, putting the bottle down on the desk.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you croak out, sincerely meaning it.

Carmen straightens up, watching you like a feline. “The recipe. It’s out. One fucking thing I asked not to get out, and now the whole of America can see and fucking even cook it at home.”

You’re frozen to the spot. From the very beginning, you knew that Carmen is not a person to mess with, hoping that you would never experience his anger directed at you. Now it’s happening.

You want to say something about no one being able to cook the way he does, but it’s pointless. Instead, you’re fighting off the flush on your face from embarrassment. You feel like a child being scolded, but you don’t want to look like one.

The muted but still loud kitchen noises bleed through the closed door. A shout, clattering. Not loud enough to stop Carmen from piercing you through and through with his ice-cold eyes.

“I promise I didn’t do anything like that,” you say, desperately wanting the chef to believe you. “I swear!”

Carmen pinches the bridge of his nose, one hand propped on his waist. You wait, breathless, for his next move, scared to death. The shirt you have on is wet with your sweat. The really badly smelling kind—the one your body produces when you’re stressed or scared. And you’ve been stressed since the very morning. You flinch when you move your arm and the odor hits your nose, hoping that Carmen can’t smell you. You would be mortified. The strap of your tote bag is digging into your shoulder painfully, but you don’t dare to move to put it down to relieve your arm.

“This all doesn’t—it doesn’t make any sense,” Carmen starts pacing, looking down at the floor and not at you anymore. You’re not sure if it’s better this way. “You come here, wanna do a fucking interview with me, or some shit, then you show up again—this time wanting to work here. For free! So, please, tell me—how does it sound, huh?”

Petrified, you realize how exactly it all sounds. When Carmen says it like this, it makes you look like a fraud. Like a terrible, terrible person. A liar. Your mind goes weeks back, back to the moment you actually thought of maybe digging some scoop in here, maybe convincing Carmen to do the interview after all. But it’s far from how he’s making the situation sound.

“Carmen,” you start without knowing what you want to say. Carmen’s stopped walking around the tiny office like a caged animal, and he’s again looking at you. There’s so much tension in his face, back hunched. “It sounds bad, but may I explain—”

“You may not,” he cuts you off briskly. His neck—normally a place you find sexy—is all red, and the thick vein there is getting more and more prominent by the second. “No one fucks with my business, you understand?” Oh—and he’s shouting now.

The natural defense, you didn’t know existed, is to make yourself smaller. Somehow, anyhow. You hang your head, avoiding looking at his face. You just can’t meet his eyes, even though Carmen’s bowing and tilting his head to force you to.

“It’s like I have to start asking the staff to sign an NDA,” he carries on.

Carmen’s getting slowly closer and closer to you, pushing you against the wall by the door. He’s not touching you but only because you’re not allowing it. You’re sick with humiliation. Lost for words, probably for the first time in your life.

“—and Nat fucking leaves me here—us, all of us—and that’s just not fair. I would expect so, so much more from my sister. Not that my brother was much better,” he chuckles humorlessly, but you see it’s more like an effort to catch his breath. “Lousy fuckers… Do you think you do your job well here, chef?”

He’s scaring you now. The hair by his temples and above his forehead is damp, and his gesticulation is wild and weird.

“Do we disgust you here, is that right, hm?” Carmen probably finally sees your frightened expression because he adds, “Why would you buy food somewhere else and then come here to eat it?!” You understand that he’s referring to the day he saw you eating the sandwich by the rear exit. Unsure whether he expects you to reply, you decide to stay quiet. Your knees are starting to shake, from exhaustion after the long day and perhaps, from Carmen’s current behavior.

“It made ME sick,” he says, his face just inches from yours when one of his hands slams into the thin wall right next to your head. The noise echoes in the room, and you’re desperately hoping it’s not loud enough for the others to hear from outside. You would die on the spot if they knew what’s going on here.

“Who do you think you are?” Carmen shouts some more, loud, by your ear. It vibrates through you and never stops. You’re shivering all over, you notice. It’s not okay, not okay!

At last, you raise your head, chin jutting out. “No one’s going to talk to me like this. No one,” you spit out in the chef’s face, taking him by surprise. “Don’t you ever shout at me again,” and you jab him right in the middle of his chest, instead of punching him there like he deserves.

When you’re leaving his office and rushing to the back exit, you hear Carmen yelling.

Everything feels tense and your hands are shaking. Your jaw is set so hard your teeth could crush from the pressure. The fresh air hits your face, and you focus on breathing deeply through your nose. The sounds remind you of a steam engine. You walk for about a minute, mind blank with the shock. Only when you turn a corner do you allow yourself to stop, which causes the first tears to fall. You’re so mad at yourself. Why the fuck are you crying?! There’s so much frustration in the crazy mixture of emotions you’re feeling. You’re completely overwhelmed with it, not knowing what to focus on at first.

Out of habit, you look for your phone in your handbag to check the screen. The fucking heavy bag that’s been killing your shoulder. Frustrated, you let it slide off your arm and down to the sidewalk. You don’t even care if it breaks, as it lands with a noisy, dull sound. It had been years since you got properly yelled at, and you’re angry that it affects you this much. You promise yourself to take a few seconds here, in the middle of an empty street, then call a cab. At home, you can cry.

PART II

[cantfightmoonlight]

@lunarcovestarters

Bri winced, pulling her legs closer into her chest from where she hid in the confessional, as she tried her best to drown out the eulogies people gave as they entered the restaurant. 'She's one hell of a crazy bitch'. 'I don't really know her all that well. I'm just here for the free drinks'. 'Bri who?'. This was worse than the comments her so-called friends had left on her facebook after she had died the first time. While she might have wanted this birthday party three years ago, now she didn't want to be here. Though, maybe the theme was more fitting than she thought, because as her gaze fell down to the lone cupcake in her hand she found herself mourning her humanity all over again. Maybe her life as a human hadn't been as perfect as she had once thought, but back then, she had been blissfully ignorant. She had two parents who loved and adored her and, while they couldn't often make her performances, they always sent flowers and gifts. Maybe their secretaries were the ones who had picked them out, but she hadn't known that and she had been a broadway star. She had been popular and well liked. Majority if not all of her friendships might have been surface level, but they had always seemed nice even if she had learned, post dying, that it wasn't quite like that behind her back. As a human, she had been a bright and happy girl who floated by unscathed from the world. And in Death? Well, there was a reason she still found herself regretting having ever come back. Here Lies Brielle Rivas, She thought to herself as she blew out the candle. And maybe that's how things should have ended. Yet, here she was, hiding in essentially a closet counting down the days to another miserable year in this miserable town when all she had wanted to do for this birthday was celebrate her friends and her boyfriend instead of herself, who had gone through so much with her and were somehow, for whatever twisted and sick fate, still here.

She would have likely stayed tucked away there all night too, if someone hadn't ripped open the door the confessional. Blinking up at the person before her with wide eyes, Bri scrambled forward to shut the door to the confessional once more. "Sorry this closet is occupied. Please find another," She called out once door was firmly shut back into place, pressing her ear up to the screen in an attempt to hear if they were still there.

[teafootballandmore]

So let’s just quickly sum it up:

He was happy showing her off and making it public and even calling the paps to show her off and she was happy being seen in public and calling the paps while standing next to her rich black athlete until the public found out who she is ne now he’s hiding her?Why?What is there to hide if all of it is lies?

Rodrygo is not hiding Bruna,Militao is not hiding his partner despite having his own circus,vini is not hiding his many gf’s even posted one of them on his story,Declan rice wife was getting slammed online but he didn’t hide her and stood up for her.If it’s all lies like she’s claiming that it is and that people are lying on her name and being hateful why is he hiding her?

And how stupid can she be to put out another statement and lie in it AGAIN,that will get her more hate AGAIN

Three bf’s in 8 years?Yeah right.

Jamie fox is a family friend of her friend but she’s sitting in the front seat while hiding her face?And where is her fiend in some of those pictures?Running behind?He followed her but not the friend who knew him?Sure.

She cherry picked her rumors because she cannot excuse everything.

Why didn’t she adresses the black fishing?Instead she sat there looking like at least one of her parents is black and she’s not a white woman,pretty sure if she out her foundation on Jude it would be a close match.She did not look like a white woman sitting next to Jude during that game,not even a crazy tan fake or real makes you look like a black woman.

Also wasn’t her brother posting racist shit on Facebook?Same brother she visited in Las Vegas in his home like she said herself?

Why didn’t she adresses that she was in his likes when he was still a teenager while she was in her mid twenties?

Also that French woman said she does have contact with her family because they’re racist which we know her mother is(mental illness does NOT excuse that and it’s shameful she thought it did) so that’s not wrong and now suddenly when that’s not helping that French woman lied?

Her and her besties started immediately fighting people and Ashlyn is blocking people and deleting comments calling out her lies and inconsistencies in the story,why?If all of it is a lie why deleted it and not just respond saying it’s a lie?

Also to play the victim by bringing up death and mental illness?SHAMEFUL AND LOWEST OF LOW!!

They were happy to go public and show off the relationship to public to the point they even made sure to get a PR team until the public got a hold of who she is?Now when the public is talking she’s telling them to stop?

She didn’t like what she saw while stalking ALL of the gossip accounts on all apps and all websites?How jobless is she?She just admitted that she does nothing but scrolls on those pages all day long by posting that video.For so many careers she has she sure has has a lot of time on her hands to be doing that.

She wanted them to see it and so did Jude.They even got a PR guy who is advertising PR relationships on his website and he tagged along with them to the game sitting right behind them,

why were they recorded while walking in a random street to the car by a guy who’s known for posting celebrities and by him only,nobody else just him?Well they got what they wanted until people found out the truth she was trying to erase huh?

No matter what she will say now will take away what the public thinks which is that Jude Bellingham’s gf is a “whore and an escort” with a LONG list of bf’s/hookups.

And her friends saying that it’s Jude fans who hate?This is WAY beyond just Jude fans or just Jude fangirls,this is Madrid fans,England fans,other clubs fans,footy bros,gossip pages and journalists,do they think the millions of views and likes are JUST his fans?No,and that’s not good for THEM.

Her friend also embarrassed the shit out of her by saying that Jude loves her and adores her and knows her,well is that why she’s fighting people alone AGAIN while he’s posting some games and stupid videos on his story and staying silent?Is that why he’s hiding her?because he adores her?that’s how he shows her love?

He’s embarrassing her,her friends are embarrassing her and she’s embarrassing him.

If either one of them was a little smart they would shut up.She would shut her lying mouth and go home and look for a new rich black athlete because she’s burned here and he would stay silent and never show himself around her again but they’re both stupid.

He had image of a good family boy with a good career and he ruined that himself,good luck trying to crawl out of that deep hole he dug himself.No matter what she will say now he’s going to be a laughing stock because of his 27 year old gf who is obsessed with gossip pages while pushing 30 years of age.

And that comment about grandma she made to make people pity her?She gave people another reason to clown and insult Jude hope she’s aware of that.

Now people keep saying the image doesn’t matter,really?Is that why Florentino himself had conversations with players before about similar situations?If you had a brand is player with image of dating an escort and someone who is running around and hooking up with black male athletes and that people are calling her a whore would you hire him?Unless you of course want people to laugh at your brand like they’re laughing at you.

Feel bad for jobe and his parents who are being insulted and have to watch their brother and son be slammed publicly due to his own choices.

This is self destruction,how long do we thing he will be self destructing hisself his image and her?I’m giving it minimum of two months.

Thank you anon. That's perfect sum up!!

[suuuupernovaaa]

Accident

Timothee accidentally posts a picture of you, blowing your cover.

The panic sets in like ice flowing through your veins. A tingling at your fingertips shoots straight into your heart. Your eyes are wide, your palms are sweaty. It takes you a few seconds to open up FaceTime and dial his number.

He answers right away.

“Timothee, what did you do?” you ask, your voice low in case he isn’t alone. Your boyfriend is never alone.

The smile he had upon answering fades into something dark. “What?” he asks.

“Instagram,” you reply. “Look at your instagram story.”

When he disappears, you do too, going back to the story. It’s a picture of you perched on a stone wall, looking down the side of a mountain Timothee and you had just hiked. You hadn’t even known he’d just taken it. Your hair was stuck to your neck with sweat, and only part of your face is visible over your shoulder, as you turn to look at him.

His hand is on your shoulder, gripping tightly, possessively, and a hint of a smile plays at the half of your face that’s visible.

You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, an old, plain black one, and the sunset ahead of you makes the picture look like art.

Maybe no one will assume, or wonder. Timothee isn’t even really in it. Just hand.

“Shit, Y/N,” he says, and you swipe back to FaceTime. “Should I delete it?”

“Um… no. Well, maybe. I think people will talk more if you delete it. Maybe just leave it?”

It’s not like he tagged you. You’re not in his following list, because no one is. You’re a total unknown.

“Okay,” he says, the panic in his voice subsiding. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “You don’t have to be sorry. It was an accident. And you can’t hide me forever.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re hiding you. I’m protecting you.”

A soft smile crosses your lips. “I know.”

He winks. “I gotta go, but I’ll have management keep an eye on things online. Call me after work?”

You nod and he blows you a kiss before hanging up.

—

Boy, were you wrong. You’ve been wrong about some things in your life, but never something this big.

They’ve found your instagram, Facebook, and LinkedIn within two hours. You’re getting dozens of requests by the minute, and you’ve never been more grateful to have your socials private before.

The workday passes in a blur of buzzing on your phone. Most of it is follow requests on instagram, but the rest is your friends and family sending you articles about Timothee Chalamet’s ‘mystery girl revealed’.

Timothee Chalamet & the Lawyer from NYC

Timothee Chalamet’s Secret Lover

Timmy’s girlfriend: we talked to her childhood best friend!

It’s endless and you start requesting they stop sending all the nonsense your way. Your mom calls to ask if you’re okay, and your actual best friend reminds you that you knew this day would come, and she’s here for you.

The comments on his latest instagram post are hard to look away from.

user he’s dating that sweaty beast?

user she looks happy!

user who the hell is she???

user FAT GIRLFRIEDN??

reply to user fuck off with your misspelled fatphobia

Eventually, you put your phone on DND to finish your day. The subway ride home is uneventful, and as soon as you set foot in your modest apartment, you call Timothee.

“Well,” he says as an answer, “now I might have to say sorry.”

Despite the stress of the day, you have to laugh. “Maybe. But, this was going to happen anyway. Though one article called me a ‘social climbing hussy’ and I didn’t love that.”

You throw your bag onto the kitchen table and put your boyfriend on speaker phone so you can find something to order for dinner. This day calls for Thai, or maybe Indian.

“Don’t read that shit, Y/N,” he huffs. “None of it matters. I’m like, really sorry people are going to bother you now. But I’m not sorry that everyone is going to find out how in love and happy I am.”

Your cheeks heat, even though he can’t see you. It hasn’t even been a year, but Timothee is already the most special and wonderful thing in your life, and it’s no wonder when he says things like that.

“I wish you were here,” you sigh.

“Me too. Only a few more days.”

—

You stashed your phone in your room to charge, and to avoid, and turned on the TV. Sitting cross-legged in front of your coffee table in your most comfortable pajamas, you’re about to dig in to the most delicious spread of Indian cuisine when the door buzzes.

Could they have found your address?

You get up and press the speaker. “Let me in! You’re not answering your phone!”

Your heart skips a beat and you’re unable to even respond as you hit the button that unlocks the front door. You stand frozen in shock until three loud knocks sound at the door.

Once it’s open, there he stands, and he’s not empty handed. He’s got what looks to be two dozen beautifully arranged roses along with a giant bag full of what you assume is chocolate and candy.

You grab him by the collar and pull him to you, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him, and the scent of him erases every bad thing that’s happened in the past 12 hours.

It’s worth it, your mind whispers.

He sets the flowers and gifts down on the kitchen counter. “I did something, and I don’t know if you’re going to like it, but let me explain,” he says, a wincing smile on his lips.

You bring his face to yours for a quick kiss. “I don’t care. I’m so glad you’re here.”

He takes out his phone and hands it to you. It’s unlocked already, and instagram is open.

He’s made a new post, and your heart flutters.

It’s a picture from a few months ago, taken at a friend’s house. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, and Timothee stands between your legs, both of you laughing, his hands in your hair and yours on his hips. You hadn’t even known your friend had taken it at the time, but it’s been his phone background ever since, he loves it so much.

The caption is simple. “Happy.”

Your reaction surprises you as tears gather in your eyes. “They’re going to really come after me now.”

“I know. And I am sorry. But, Y/N, I know privacy is important to us both… but sometimes, I just want to talk about how happy I am. I think we can find a balance.”

He wipes a tear from your eye.

“I’m proud to be yours, Timothee,” you reply, and his smile stretches ear to ear. “Really, really proud. I love you. I just want to be careful, okay?”

He kisses your nose, then each cheek, and pulls you into a tight embrace. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this, Y/N,” he whispers, and you squeeze him tight.

You’ll navigate this together.

[olderthannetfic]

Pinterest is just full of shit. Antis and TikTok behavior in comments under art reference is absolutely unnecessary. Repeatedly asking for context in a well know fact about fandom A is driving me insane. Even if the goddamn context is in the art! What the fuck.

Absolutely cringe comments that should be left behind in Facebook age, discourse so stupid you wonder why you even spend time to read it, accusations throw left and right, author of X did not approve them! Delete!

Pinterest should have the option to hide the comments entirely. I don't want to see it everytime I scroll down, telling me how "evil" it is teenagers to fuck each other nasty.

"But they're not canonnn" crowd is so annoying, just don't click the art and comment on it. Yes yes your otp is very morally correct in real life but god is it so fucking boring. And you never see me bitch about it because it's my notp. I don't touch other people otp because I don't want to ruin their experiences.

So why can't you do the same to me.

Anyway starting the business of blocking every comments. Yes I mean every fucking comments. I don't care whether it's positive or not. Everyone is a loud antis on Pinterest. I'd rather have ghost town because that app is not for community gathering. I just want my otp kiss. Let's hope there's no limit about blocking people there.

--

[kyra45]

A reminder that scammers are using the situation in Palestine to make a quick buck by stealing images off news sources passing it off as their own or even taking images from real people there and using it as theirs. They are finding public fundraisers on Facebook or elsewhere and saving it to use for themselves. Scammers do not care about what’s happening there; They only want to make money without caring who’s getting affected by it and making it more difficult for Palestine people to get the support they’re needing.

These scammers pretend they’re from Palestine or say their family is in Palestine and usually use a story that sounds real enough but may seem slightly flawed. They may be going around sending DMs asking for donations in private instead and their posts often have a Linktree link to obscure their PayPal. This is a recent development due to their scams getting called out so often they’ve tried to hide it but keep doing the same thing several times over. However, this isn’t to say everyone who uses that is scamming and most of the time these scammers don’t have any other link on it meaning it’s only purpose is to try and hide the PayPal link out of sight but it also means you can track where it appears! Usually a scam account will reuse links across their blogs and give away their scam.

Additionally, these scammers claiming to be in Palestine/have a family in Palestine often will insist they do what they’re doing for safety reasons if you start asking them questions about their methods. They’ll start getting details wrong, make excuses, and then tell you that you just don’t understand anything at all and that you’re attacking them because you just asked a few simple questions. There has been a case of a scammer who used photos of an American family in a hospital claiming they were in Palestine.

Unfortunately, these scams will only get more numerous in time and the scammers will try to profit off of it since there’s plenty of footage they can claim as their own and plenty of images/stories to steal and pass on as theirs. They will not tell you anything with honesty and will continue to lie for as long as they’d like. They don’t stop when called out and usually just change usernames at a rapid pace and block anyone who comments on their posts saying they’re a scammer.

As a result, here is some suggestions:

1. Donate only to verified sources that are confirmed to be going towards Palestine

2. Donate only to accounts who is verified to be someone who is a Palestine resident usually via other users who know them well

3. Always be wary of DMs from complete strangers asking for money on the spot if it’s a brand new account though older ones pop up trying scams too

4. Ask questions to those who send you DMs that only someone in Palestine would know the answer to. See what they know and how well they reply or see if they stop talking to you the instant you ask them anything. Alternatively, ask for their paypal-me link and see if they’re willing to give it to you. Type it into search and see where it goes. Pay attention to the country, the persons name, and the images they have. Record it for archiving purposes

5. Just be wary of asks sent that claim to be someone in Palestine/have a family in Palestine. As far as I know and can tell, these asks are rarely from legitimate users needing support but that’s not to say they’re all scams some may be real people

Overall, just please be careful out there and pay attention to where your money will go. Make sure it’s a verified support method and ensure the funds are going to who needs it. There are links out there that go to legitimate places, and users are free to share this and add them if they’d like.