#THE BEAR

[afrofairysblog]

I love them

Family’s up.

[rose-of-red-lake]

Some interesting bits here that the Bear writers may have pulled from, based on acclaimed celebrity chef Charlie Trotter and his wife, Rochelle. 👀

Charlie Trotter / Carmy parallels

From Chicago, left to work at some of the best restaurants in the world as a young man, and returned to Chicago to open a restaurant using money borrowed from his family.

His main restaurant, Trotters, had a side deli, "Trotter's To Go" that served quick, cheap food during the day.

Was dyslexic so drew his recipes instead.

The first chef in the industry to change menus daily, even hourly, and never repeated ingredients

Known as a meticulous tyrant and intense perfectionist in the kitchen

Mom's name is Donna-Lee (Donna + Lee?)

Gave Grant Achatz from Alinea his start and later became Trotter's rival for stars (Achatz is seen in S3 talking to Luca at the Ever dinner).

Rochelle Smith Trotter / Syd parallels

Classically trained chef, earned a culinary degree.

Started her own culinary consulting business.

Mother died when she was 11 and was raised by her father in Chicago.

Met and fell in love with "her soulmate" Charlie on her culinary journey.

[skynobi]

🚮

[yannaryartside]

does someone else suddenly remembers that Carmy YELLED for Sydney while having a mental breakdown, asking people to get her to him, all while his official girlfriend was actually a few meters by?

Because I do, and every time I am like

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Never letting this go

[carmenberzattosgf]

it’s definitely casual dominance!! also because you’re both such busy bees that it’s just easier for him to—grab. things like “wait, wait, gimme a kiss ‘fore you go” and he cups your jaw, guiding you toward him just for a quick peck. it’s just a carmy thing 💫

You get it. You get me.

I think the first time he does it, it catches you off guard quite a bit. The way he pulls you in just by your jaw is so effortless, reminding you how strong he is. How easily he can move you around. Although his hands are rough, he holds your face gently, but firm enough to keep your lips on his until he lets you go.

It brings a heat to your cheeks that leaves you grinning well after the kiss is over. The whole action becomes a habit for him whenever you have to leave, which results in everyone at work seeing how easily and willingly you let him pull you in for a kiss. He can’t say he doesn’t like everyone knowing you’re his though… especially on that much of a level…

I have so so so many thoughts on casual dominance Carmy; I could yap about it all DAY.

[xblackreader]

for those who fell victim to the shameless to sydcarmy pipeline remember where you came from

[donetbhlmao]

confused about people who talk about carm and syd’s mentor-mentee relationship. name ONE THING that man mentored her through. ONE.

[kpopgirlbtssvt]

I am in love with this!!!

Elementary School

Carmy x Fem!Reader fluff A/N: the teacher x carmy vibe is my hyper fixation; it's a fun troupe.

The Bear Masterlist

“1-2-3, eyes on me!” “1-2, eyes on you!” you smiled as you heard the 15 little voices respond to your attention-grabbing technique. “Okay, my friends, we need to pick up all of our toys before we go home. After clean up, we’re gonna pick up our backpacks and paintings from art class, then go outside to wait for our adults!” you announced.

“So you’re pickin' your girlfriend up from kindergarten?” Carmy rolled his eyes at Richie’s laughter. “You want Eva to get inta her school? Be fuckin’ nice.” Richie laughed again, shaking his head as the two left the restaurant. “It’s just funny, Cousin. She talks to fuckin’ four-year-olds all day. She talk to ya’ bout your big feelings?” Carmy glared at him as he unclipped his keys from his pants. “Shut the fuck up, Richie.” 

You stared at the whiteboard before you, trying to think of a positive affirmation for the kids to say the following morning when your door swung open. “Hey there, sweetheart,” Richie announced. “Hi, Richie, how you doin’?” you smiled, thankful for the distraction; Carmy was hot on his tail and shot you a smile. “Hey baby, he insisted on comin’.” you laughed and shrugged, “I assume you want to harass Teacher Jackie about gettin' Eva into school here.” Richie shrugged, “Carmy said this is like the best school in Chicago….” you shook your head. “She’s down the hall in room 3. She also just broke up with her boyfriend, so if you flirt a little… might get an interview for next semester's admin.” Richie was intrigued and quickly walked down the hallway, leaving you and Carmy alone. 

“Sorry ‘bout him… how was your day baby?” you shrugged, “No one had any accidents, so that was a good thing.” Carmy nodded and stepped closer to you, resting his hands on your hips, “That’s good.” “I also had the best lunch ever…” Carmy chuckled “Oh really?” you nodded, biting your lip playfully. “Yeah, this guy I know slept over last night- he woke up early, made me breakfast, and packed me lunch… need to thank him tonight…” Carmy shook his head before kissing you softly as you moved your hand to Carmy’s neck, “Dam Cousin, can’t be makin’ out in here.” Richie snarked, resulting in you pulling away from Carmy prematurely. Carmy sighed “Later.” you nodded in confirmation that this wasn’t the end.

[james-spooky]

i’ve connected the dots 🫵

[carmyberzattosjournal]

S2 Entry 1: Want More?

Photo credit: Pinterest

Summary: Carmy needs to make his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) feel good after she has a grueling day at work. (1043 Words) SMUT.

Warnings: Swearing, comfort, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, p in v sex, finger sucking, dword use, Soft Dom!Carmy.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in CB Journals Season 2 and will be tagged with #cb journals s2.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Prompt: Snowstorm

I remember a conversation happening at Noma that went a little something like this: what is your favorite time and place to have sex?

I, of course, didn’t participate, being a socially terrified barely-adult who had no experiences (yet) and also too focused on my prep to hold a conversation—though the being focused part held more weight in my decision not to speak up because, and I hope I’ve established this, my connection to food is catastrophic. Talking divides attention. Humans are not built to multi-task; at best, we can flip back and forth between a few tasks in rapid succession, but if you wanted to get good at something—and I mean really good at something; knock people on their ass, smoke those motherfuckers for daring to challenge you—you need to cut out all the noise, bury all the bullshit, and put yourself to work.

So, yeah, I didn’t participate. I don’t even remember what the rest of the conversation was, I’ll be honest, because I tuned it out the moment I heard the question. But it’s been haunting me as of late. Not because I wanted to know what all the other chefs were talking about, but because I might have accidentally found the answer for myself.

Late November, about 10 pm or something. Wind howling against the windows, ice pelting the glass, no car horns, no trains, no people yapping or yelling outside, no noisy neighbors. This soft, gentle quiet that permeated the bone-crushing cold that was my apartment bedroom minus one radiator.

Because landlords are fucking demons.

The only other sounds are of us, of her moans, these saccharine, high-pitched, breathy noises that tumble from her mouth in a dulcet melody, the creaking of the bed, of the ragged breaths I’m dragging past my throat. Her hands are still cold as they rest limp against my abdomen but are warmer than they were when she first tangled them in my hair. She’s helpless, powerless, vulnerable; has forfeited her entire being to me. I’m cold, I’m tired, I’m mentally drained; do what you want to me, Carmy.

Do what I want? What I want is for you to feel like you’re in heaven, my love. I want to hear you whine in my ear about how good it feels, how full you are, how you don’t want me to stop. I want you to arch your back just. Like. That. And flutter around me with another mind-numbing orgasm, babble my name like it’s a prayer.

“Is that good, pretty girl?” I murmured in her ear. “Want more?”

I already knew the answer.

Didn’t mean hearing it wasn’t spine-tingling.

“Please, Carmy.” She weakly hiked her leg higher up my side.

“Please, what, princess?”

Did I understand what she meant? Yes. Even without her saying it, her leg tightening around me, the shadow of her larynx as she swallowed and fought for words, it told me everything I needed to know. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy making a mess of her. I love listening to her stumble over and give up on her words because she feels too good to corral them into a coherent sentence. Makes me feel powerful. In control. Fuck, I needed to feel like I was in control because everything else in my life was spiraling out of control.

“M-more… Harder…”

I hooked my hand under her knee and brought it up, fucking her even deeper. She arched her spine, threw her head back, swore.

“Like that?”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, yes, just like that… Don’t stop…”

 She dragged her fingernails up my torso, dug them into my chest. She was so tight, so hot, so slick; I was fucking delirious. The only thing more important to me than my high was hers. I needed to hear her fall apart again. Come on, princess, show me how pretty you are when you come apart.

“Gimme another one, huh, pretty girl?”

Her coherence went two orgasms ago. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck… yes, sir… fuck, that’s so good… Please… please…” She didn’t even know what she was begging for at that point. It was just babbling. Her beautiful, complex, multi-faceted mind, forever going 7 directions at once, synthesizing information from everything and everyone, solving life’s most complex problems—off. Quiet. Empty Like the city outside, buried under 12 inches of snow. And the night was still young.

“Daddy, please…”

Daddy?

“Please, what, princess?”

She called me daddy?

“W-wanna cum…”

Fuck, I could get used to being called that.

I brought my hand down between us and rubbed her clit. She arched her back and whined my name. That’s it, pretty girl. That’s really fucking good, isn’t it? That’s exactly what my baby girl needed after such a rough day at work, huh? Needed Daddy’s dick filling you up and making you forget everything you were so stressed about.

She clamped a hand around my wrist, the one that was holding her leg, and dragged it up so she could close her lips around my thumb. She sucked, pressing her tongue against the pad, and despite my dulled sensations, it was fucking disastrous how fucking good that felt. It was a stunning sight—her eyes closed, cheeks reddened, sweaty hair sticking to her forehead, her plush lips around my thumb because she just needed a sensation in her mouth.

I could burn it into my memory if it wasn’t for how fucking close to coming apart I was. I didn’t have words. The heat in the pit of my stomach roared into an inferno, sent a wave of blistering warmth up my abdomen and my chest. Fuck, she was going to ruin me by being like this, and I wanted every bit of it. Please, keep being so needy. Please, call me Daddy again, beg me for more, whine my name, lose your words, suck on my thumb because all other sensibilities have escaped. You know I am for you; I want you to feel so good that you can’t think anymore. I need you to feel so good that you can barely breathe.

She pried her eyes open to meet mine.

“Go ahead, pretty girl,” I whispered.

Late evening. Middle of a snowstorm. That’s my answer.

Tags: @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899 @carmenberzattosgf

[bleachblondebitches]

Sydney in Season 2, Episode 3 of The Bear "Sundae"

[sunflowermp4]

THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING!

The shame of it all is that The Bear once had the potential to be a great show, one about how often the underside of creative greatness is a monomaniacal selfishness that treats relationships with people as either obstacles to surmount or as means to an end, collateral damage in the pursuit of some impossibly idealized vision.

Many of the world's most brilliant and ambitious artists are pretty unpleasant human beings, in large part because the personality types that allow people to ascend to those heights don't lend themselves to what most of us consider cool or well-adjusted behavior.

...rather than saying something challenging and probing about the nature of exceptional creativity, the show retreats into the most juvenile of fantasies on the subject: that being a fucked-up person and artistic genius have a causal relationship to each other rather than a correlative one.

this is really good

[kpopgirlbtssvt]

I LOVE HIM SM!!!!

TOMATO LINGUINE.

carmen “carmy” berzatto x fem!reader — fluff

summary. you surprise carmy with a homemade meal to welcome him home after a long, tiring day at he restaurant. you’re nervous. he’s pleased. you’re tired, and so is he. luckily the couch is calling your names

word count. 834

never wrote him before so im shitting my pants. but he’s been on my mind and needed an outlet. also no s3 spoilers

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Being Carmy's girlfriend isn't always so straightforward. It's great, but it isn't easy. He dislikes the help and aid of others, not because he doesn't like the care or the way it feels, rather, he believes he doesn't deserve it.

So over the past couple of months, you had been subtly increasing the ways you look after him - doing little things to show your love. First, you started small, preparing a water bottle in the fridge overnight, attaching a cute post-it note for him to read as a pick-me-up during service the next day. Then, you moved onto organising his stuff by the front door - lining his clogs and his commuting shoes beside his backpack, placing his coat next to it as an attempt to make his morning easier. You just wanted to help lighten his load, even if that means organising things for him that he’s bound to never forget.

You had been working up to making him dinner. It was an awfully scary thing, not because you were uncertain with your way around the kitchen, but worried in the chance Carmy were to hate it - or make a critique you couldn’t stomach.

You knew he would be tired coming home tonight, a critic in the restaurant will do that to him. You wanted to make him something to eat for when he returns, something homely and welcoming, just something comforting to make up for all of the stresses from today.

You decided on pasta, an all round dish with very little room for error. A jar of sauce would be blasphemy in his apartment, an insult almost, so you made your own simple sauce - placing tomatoes and garlic in a dish, coating it with one of Carmy’s fancy olive oils before throwing it in the oven to roast. It was one you had made a bunch of times for yourself before, so you were fairly confident with it. Sort of.

Remembering little tips he had taught you, you implemented them with everything you cooked - like right now, saving the water from the linguine to incorporate later. And to season throughout, not just at the start or end. You wanted to impress him. You always wanted to impress him.

The key in the door jingles and you rush to add the finishing touches - sprinkling on some chopped herbs, and placing a piece of homemade garlic bread on the side. 

“Hi,” you softly call out, hearing his shoes hit the skirting board - no doubt after he had just kicked them off.

He paces over to you, moving sluggishly as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist, chin hooking over your shoulder. “Hi,” he says back, voice tired against your ear. “Smells great in here.”

“Good. I’m glad you think so,” you smile, pressing a kiss into his temple. “I made you dinner.”

“You uh, you did?” he pulls back, a sheepish smile on his face.

You hum, moving aside to pick up the bowl. “But I can put it in the fridge if you’ve already eaten…”

“No no no,” he shakes his head, reaching to take the bowl from your grasp. “I– I haven’t all day, so uh, so this is perfect,” he nods faintly, reaffirming his words.

Your gaze flickers from the bowl to his eyes, growing antsy. “Please just try it, this is killing me,” you say, scrunching your face from the anticipation. 

He twirls the pasta on his fork and takes a bite, humming in a pleasant tune as he chews.

“Is it good? Is it bad? Too much garlic?” you ramble, nervous from his lack of verbal response. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “It’s uh, it’s tremendous,” he smiles, 

“You’re not just saying that?” you joke. “Not trying to spare my feelings, are you?”

“No,” he chuckles earnestly, shaking his head. “I mean it… it’s almost perfect,” his smile softens as he twirls his fork for another bite. “Did uhm, you use my olive oil?”

“Only a little bit– hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he nods once more, chewing his mouthful. “It’s great, I love it,” he grins faintly, leaning in to kiss you. “Thank you.”

–

With full, happy bellies, each of you lay on your sides on the sofa - snug to one another to share the small space. Carmen props the side of his head in his fist, elbow bent beside your head. 

“How are you feeling?” you ask, referring to the  moment of comfortable almost silence.

You notice him hesitate, and to assure him, you copy his movement - propping your head in your hand, your other reaching to the side of his face. You stroke over his sideburn, fingers grazing back into his messy, unkempt curls.

“Tired,” he exhales, eyes closing from your touch. 

“Me too,” you murmur. You adjust, eyes silently asking him to do the same. Moving forward and twisting, you lay your head on his chest - your arm wrapping around his waist tightly. “Get some sleep, Bear. Busy day tomorrow, you need the rest.”

this is probs a one time thing btw x

[justagirlwholivesindelusion]

it’s funny that ayo and jeremy will reject sydcarmy until they’re blue in the face but jokes on them, this isn’t my first rodeo with a pre-canon couple in tv show. endgame sydcarmy i will be seeing you season 14, episode 3 of the bear.