#i believe in you sydney adamu

[ayoarticulate]

sydney scene episode ten thoughts n shit below ‼️‼️

okay, so. syd sees the review from her braised cola short ribs and risotto on her fridge in the last ep, and begins to see all her beef/bear family and moments take over.

i think carmy has become this thing where… he’s sydney’s greatest inspiration and greatest de-motivator. carmen doesn’t know how to properly critique and show people how they can do better without being incredibly intense in a way that takes you down a few inches at the knees.

i don’t think he realizes who he is, so he doesn’t realize the impact his actions have on people in a professional capacity.

syd’s relationship with carmen reminds me of a friendship that i used to hold onto that was genuinely poisoning me. this friend of mine would generally be very mean to me, in a dismissive kind of way, that made me feel like she couldn’t care less about what i was doing, while simultaneously making me feel like i wasn’t enough to be around her. BUT. she’d have these moments where, we’d talk and she’d be so kind and we’d have this great back and forth. but then that conversation would end and the next one would start and we’d be back where it started.

it took me forever to leave that relationship because, we still had our good moments right?? we still had those moments where she was so sweet and everything was good, and that balanced out the hundreds of other times she would make me feel like literal shit. but it’s not! it’s not worth it!

syd and carmy have these fleeting moments in between moments of absolute insanity, and i think syd holds onto those little nuggets of joy as proof of “look! he cares i swear i swear he does!” to justify staying. but it’s not enough.

i think she knows that. it’s so hard to to come to terms with that feeling and that relationship, but sometimes it just is the truth, and you have to go! but letting go in this case means losing the family she fought so hard to make her own. and i think that’s enough to make her freak and think “do i believe i deserve more enough to leave it all behind and start over?”

[hothammies]

the usage of the lyrics “i don't know what you mean to me, but i wanna turn you on, turn you up, figure it out - i wanna take you on” right after carmy's apology to sydney is so serious to me and i wish we talked about it more. i think it's one of the only times where we get an explicit idea of what carmy thinks of syd in a romantic context and i fucking LIVE for it the lighting, the acting, the attempted phone call, the ambiguity of that entire scene to confuse us on whether or not he's thinking about sydney or if he's thinking about claire in the lyrics - all of it is so so so fucking scrumptious AHHH i love that shit i love this show so much

[afrofairysblog]

I just know when Sydney and Carmy get together that Black Wife Effect is gonna be on LOCK IMMEDIATELY!!!!

[g3othermal3scapism]

the kind of thing that makes you proud that nothing else had ever worked out

[cosmic-light-fics]

The Girlfriend Montage

I can't shake this moment from my mind and some interpretations of moments like this in this season have gotten me mad, so here's what I've got to say about the girlfriend montage. Carmy telling Richie he's gotta call his girlfriend, then we get splices of scenes containing Carmy making food for Claire, Claire working in the hospital, and for reasons that are highly debated by some but seem completely obvious to others including myself there are scenes of Sydney interjected into the couple's montage.

I have my thoughts as to why Sydney is in the montage but that's not the point I want to linger on, not now at least.

I am going to focus on this part in particular: the one where Sydney is undressing and we see the Three of Swords tattoo.

To me, nothing is unintentional in this show. Nothing is inconsequential. And this small, two second shot of Sydney proves that in more ways than I can think of.

What I can't shake is how freaking similar it is to a scene we will later see in ep. 9. The sex scene with Carmy and Claire. It's an intimate moment. The room is cast in blue hues. It's all close up shots, quick cuts, and we can barely make out who is who and what is where. The moment is completely intimate and sensual in all the ways a romantic sex scene typically is conveyed.

And it matches the picture above nearly identically.

The choice to show the audience Sydney's tattoo bathed in this blue light that they will later use for Carmy and Claire's sex scene, the choice to capture this extreme close up, the choice to include the strap of her bra and a tattoo with an image that symbolizes heartbreak and betrayal, the choice to put one of the most intimate and vulnerable shots of Sydney in this montage meant for a couple is.... pretty indicative of the romantic undertones hidden in Carmy and Sydney's connection. The first time I saw it, I was blown away by how intimate of a shot that was of Sydney. We've never seen her like that - undressing, her skin that is always covered exposed, seeing for the first time that she has a tattoo. Just like we never saw Carmy like that in his sex scene with Claire, him being so intimately exposed.

I don't know how else to interpret it. Because all of what's stated above is not coincidence. The creators of this show didn't coincidentally put scenes of Sydney into the couple's montage and they definitely didn't mirror the imagery from the picture above to the sex scene in ep. 9 on accident. Just like how they didn't coincidentally have Carmy think of Sydney to calm him down during his panic attack.

[jenniesban]

[balancethescales]

saw some discussion about how the message of s2 seems to go against s1 in that s1 was about the toxicity of the fine dining industry as a whole while s2 undoes all of that work, and id just like to write down some thoughts about that.

it definitely is true that the fine dining experience for many a chef sucks ass. this is perfectly portrayed in carmy, who is a ball of anxiety due to chef jeff winger (and his family but thats a different conversation for a different day), and sydney, whose trauma from her catering business and the to-go order debacle serve as the root of her debilitating fear of failure. but despite all of that, the ptsd the panic attacks the health issues the lack of a social life, they still love food. every chef at the beef/the bear does. you can see it in the way that tina is genuinely excited to hone her skills, the way sydney delights in making the simplest dish for a friend in need, and in the way carmy tries so hard to not fuck everything up. even richie, loud crude shithead richie, finds purpose as a server/host.

so while there is so much to be said about how the restaurant represents carmys past, that isnt the main social commentary of s2, and neither is the sentiment of “fine dining is the standard.” where s1 exposed all of the dark nooks and crannies hidden inside of a restaurant, s2 serves to remind us what a restaurant is supposed to be about, that it is so much more than what the industry has twisted chewed and spit it out to be. to work in a restaurant is to put your blood sweat and tears into pots and pans, put it on a plate, and then give it to someone. plain and simple. it is the oldest act of service, and is exactly what richie comes to respect in ep7, where chef terry tells him something along the lines of how she wants people to see all the work that went into one dish just to make them happy because it makes them feel special and people should be able to have that experience. to be a chef, to be a server, and to be a part of all of the work that goes into making and sharing a meal, is to love. 

ultimately, the overarching plot of changing the beef into the bear is not saying that simple sandwich shops made by regular people arent good enough. season 2 is a reminder that as dark as the fine dining industry can be, if you go into it with an actual love for the craft, an aptitude for service, and remember that everyone is a human being before they are an employee, working in a restaurant can be beautiful.

tldr: the “deep” social commentary of s2 is that capitalism and competition ruins food service by turning it into something horrible when its supposed to be about showing and receiving love through a good meal. the end.

[theonethatyoudreamof]

so it is a love story?!?!?

I won't let you.

THE BEAR | 2.09: OMELETTE

[ayoarticulate]

so close to 100 works of sydcarmy on ao3… so close

[yannaryartside]

Let me be clear, even if I think I may be repeating myself at this point…

If clairexcarmy is endgame, the show will become trash in my memory forever.

Not even for my disappointment in the waste of sydcarmy and the atrocious use of Sydney Adamu on all the Clairexcarmy narrative.

I would consider the show trash because the clairexcarmy ship is the most sickening romance I have resisted in a while. I do say that with my whole chest.

I recently finished the book “whole again” by Jackson McKenzie, that explains (among other amazing psychological subjects) the relationship between codependent people and their “rescuers”. I may do a post detailing this but I think some people already caught this vibe. This shit is toxic, I may make Carmy stay in his unhealthy mental state forever.

I cannot believe, in one neuron of my brain, how someone can write one of the most realistic and humanizing portrayals of mental illness, treat the subject of addiction and toxic patterns with respect and realism of how to treat them, and then go “yeah it all will be fixed by being loved by someone that really doesn’t know you (only the past version of you) and has no interest in helping you grow” while also that love character being the most empty of your whole cast. I am not inventing any of that is literally what they showed us.

If it happens, I will just assume this people got possessed or were unaware of the toxic narratives they carried themselves.

[ambeauty]

Random Thoughts about Sydney and Carmen

The more I thought about it, the more Sydney and Carmen represent Yin Yang to me. In almost every sense, they are complete opposites that have to work together in order to find harmony. Here are some quotes on what yinyang is and how Sydney and Carmen fit into that dynamic:

This drawing illustrates the exact binary of their characters. Male|Female, Black|White, Quiet|Loud, no Mother|No Father. Secondary Education| Self Taught. I can keep going with the ways their characters are designed as polar opposites. The success of The Bear depends upon finding out how to balance their polarities and use them as advantages. The restaurant and themselves need each other to mature and survive. They are attracted to each other’s differences but what they are striving for requires them to resolve their struggle for dominance.

“…yinyang as a process of harmonization ensuring a constant, dynamic balance of all things. As the Zhuangzi (Chuang-tzu) claims, “Yin in its highest form is freezing while yang in its highest form is boiling. The chilliness comes from heaven while the warmness comes from the earth. The interaction of these two establishes he (harmony), so it gives birth to things. Perhaps this is the law of everything yet there is no form being seen”

Carmy is literally frozen. Although he represents a lot of elements of heat in s1, they have almost swapped at the point in time we are in now. She will metaphorically burn it all down by leaving. Carmy has the power to cleanse all of them by finding closure on his path and allowing himself to see a different future. His anger boils over like hot water, while her simmers beneath the surface like lava. Her quiet inability to speak up for herself will lead to destruction. But if they work together, communicate, they will find harmony and continue to give life (birth) beautiful things. As evidence by the education they have already passed on to their staff. As focused on by Chris in 307: Legacy.

“The philosophical principle of Yin and Yang evolved into the idea that all things in the universe exist as inseparable and contradictory opposites. Or pairs of equal opposites that attract and complement each other. Less like “opposing forces”, and more “complimentary forces”.

Think ‘balance’, not conflict.

In short, the yin-yang has come to symbolically represent the constant path of uniting opposites and the pursuit of seeking balance in life.”

I firmly believe that they need each other to find perfect harmony. Now that they are in each other’s lives nothing they do on their own will ever feel complete. They have to find the balance within their mirrored paths to create the harmony they are looking for creatively, professionally, and emotionally within each other.

Happy SydCarmy Week! Day 3: Vibrant Collaboration

Thank you to my pookie for listening to me rant about this @sydneys-adamu 😘

The gifs do not belong to me

[yannaryartside]

I want to frame this

Unrelated, but AYO IS STUNNING

[neighbourscat]

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄 , spencer cassadine

EVERYONE HAS A QUIET ESCAPE.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . estate owner!spencer c. X estate chef!black!fem!reader. || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. making breakfast was your way of reaching out, of letting him know, wordlessly, that he wasn’t alone. it wasn’t about the food itself but about giving him a moment of comfort, a pause from everything weighing on him .. a quiet escape.

+ cw. mature language! & indications of social status difference between spencer cassadine and black!reader. || other than that, no warnings! ( a lot of italics! & sorry if my writing of spencer cassadine is poor and inaccurate, i haven’t watched general hospital enough. the storylines are so confusing to follow /: )

+ nali’s notes; food is a love language! reader is heavily inspired by ayo edebiri || sydney adamu from the bear! reader is three flowers tall! so gen-z, so hilariously awkward, so silly, so dorky, so sweetie & so patient with cranky spencer cassadine. such a doll! reader loves sza & chappell roan & beabadoobee! i love writing a reader who rambles a lot. wordcount :: 4.0k+

+ more; short does not follow any specific plotline of general hospital!

+ to be played: normal girl, sza. || alternative: there she goes, the la’s.

EVERYONE HAS A QUIET ESCAPE.

LAWRENCE, NEW YORK || DECEMBER 4, 2023

the king’s market stood at the very edge of lawrence; a small town within a big city .. . where the paint peeled off old brick buildings, and faded signs creaked in the december wind. yet, despite its weathered exterior, the supermarket was lawrence’s unexpected gem ( as was shawnda’s boutique, toni’s kitchen, minnie’s nails, the sullivan community college, that dunkin’ on mccarter road, brunch box, and express deli ) — a place that managed to thrive against all odds. its large windows glowed warmly under flickering neon lights, as if the store itself were proud of what it held inside.

you skid to a harsh stop — your brother’s old navy blue bicycle croaked with each pedal, it practically begged to be thrown into a junkyard — and immediately lose balance. you caught yourself before the tumble could come; the bottoms of your ragged, black vans scraping at the concrete and your thumbs accidentally brushing against the bike’s bells . .. . the scratchy ringgg alerted the cluster of pigeons, causing them to flap away, and made the mother pushing her big-enough-to-walk-on-his-own toddler side-eye you.

“mornin’ . ..” you raised a shy hand in apology, leaning your brother’s aged bike against king’s dried bike rack. you snatched up your bundle of reusable tote bags from the screwed-on basket and dug into the jumble for the bicycle’s lock; the new one ordered from amazon. “o .. kayyyy,” you sung to yourself, wrapping the chain link over a rack pole. hearing it click and seeing that it remained in place, you let out a deep breath .. relieved.

king’s market is quiet, but it’s a comforting quiet, broken only by the hum of old refrigeration units and the faint rustle of a distant shopper. sunlight filtered through the small, high windows, casting a soft glow over the shelves and illuminating specks of dust floating lazily through the air — king’s market was different from what was expected. though the aisles were narrow and the checkered linoleum tiles were cracked and crumbled and lifting out of place, each row and shelf was organized perfectly.

a faint scent of earth and herbs drifted from the produce section, where vegetables sat stacked in bright, fresh columns. local greens glistened with a crispness that rivaled any high-end market over in port charles ( you believed ), their colors vivid against the worn wooden bins. tomatoes were perfectly ripe, their skins taut and glowing, and bunches of parsley and dill leaned together like old friends, filling the air with a sharp, green fragrance.

in the far back, there was a small bakery nook filled with golden loaves, round bagels, fluffy croissants, beautifully-decorated cupcakes and soft cookies made with old-fashioned love, managed by antonella cardenas. beside it, a mini flower-shop section . .. . you’ve made it your business to circle by during your early morning grocery-runs.

you ripped the bud from your ear and let the wire hang down your front, dangling and brushing against the puff of your dark-green winter jacket. “tev?” you gave the worktop a knock, not too loud but hard enough to be heard throughout the mini-kitchen. tevin’s butcher counter was simple but spotless, manned by an old man who knew every cut by heart, arranging steaks and chops with the precision of an artist.

“tee-tee?!” still, nothing or no one came to you — you knew the mini-kitchen was open. the lights were on and the faucet was running. “i’ve got some .. fucked-up, jacked-up, cracked-up shit to tell you, tev.” you were careful with your curses, not giving them their regular intensity and over-exaggeration. “tevi?! it’s work shit!” crickets. that usually worked. you stopped knocking on the cold counter and dropped back onto your heels. “i know you can hear me, tevin,” spoken under your breath and while you were unraveling your wired-headphones.

and you started onward . .. realizing that it might’ve been a good thing tevin wright hadn’t come out to the register. you weren’t the best at lying on the spot. you had a little tell of it; while for many, it was laughing or evasive smiling or rapid blinking or coughing and clearing their throat, avoiding eye contact; like looking up at the ceiling, or those self-soothing gestures or being too fidgety with their fingers and clothing, you overused defensive phrases: like “honestly,” “to tell you the truth,” or “believe me”.

with sza’s ‘sweet november’ playing faintly in your ears .. you stand in the center of a narrow, softly lit aisle; shelves of hand-drawn packaging designs, others in plain jars that let the rich red or green hues of their contents do the talking. your hands hovered over two jars — one labeled locally-made marinara, the other a small-batch pesto. your fingers grazed the cool glass of both as you considered them, your full brows knit in thought. it’s just .. fucking pasta sauce, you could hear your mother’s grating voice. pick up a jar and go.

you lifted one jar, squinting at the label, as though weighing the memories each flavor might stir up. a faint smile tugged at your lips as you remembered how your father would make a whole affair out of selecting ingredients, debating over spices and sauces as if it were a high-stakes decision. are you kidding me? this is ridiculous. you are just like your father. half-insult.

you set it back down, you reached for the other choice, your gaze thoughtful as you further debated which would give your evening dish that extra something — sza’s song of past experiences fading into chappell roan’s love me anyway — you set that jar back into place and grabbed the third option. the one with the hand-drawn design. it was cute and you made a mental note to peel the wrapping off before use.

PORT CHARLES, NEW YORK || DECEMBER 4, 2023

the kitchen of the cassadine estate was a masterpiece of traditional russian design, combining rustic elegance with a sense of historic charm. the kitchen was a vast, open space dominated by an enormous central island, topped with dark, veined marble that has been polished to a mirror-like finish. cabinets of deep, rich wood line the walls, their surfaces gleaming under the sparkle of hanging iron chandeliers with exposed filament bulbs that cast a golden light over everything.

every detail exuded craftsmanship: the hand-carved moldings, the wrought-iron handles on each cabinet, and the aged brass fixtures that gave the room a touch of vintage grandeur. pots and pans of shined copper hung in neat rows from a ceiling rack, their warm glow offset by the cool, tiled walls in muted creams and grays, which add a subtle neatness.

a massive stone hearth sat against one wall, its archway adorned with intricate, hand-laid tiles. within, a wood-fired oven emitted a faint, smoky scent. to the side, a marble-topped counter held a selection of oils and aged vinegars kept in glass jars, each label handwritten in russian script.

large windows near the farmhouse sink overlooked the estate’s gardens, letting in natural light that poured across the butcher-block counters and casted shadows on the tiled floor. this floor — worn but immaculate — was ice cold underneath your soaking wet polka-dot socks. in one hand, your pair of vans ( fiona mccall, the estate’s lead-housekeeper, and her team were stern and meticulous in ensuring that the grand halls, ballrooms, libraries, staircases, and more importantly, the floors remained pristine ), your phone with the letterboxd app still open and dropped into a shoe, in the other hand; your grocery tote-bag you were to keep in the employee mini-fridge.

you faked a bad cough, in attempt to fake clear your throat — “sorry, goodmorning .. mr. cassadine.” — still, you grabbed his attention. spencer cassadine stood at the central island with his elbows resting on the chilled surface, his head lowered, lost in thought. the weight of family expectations pressed heavily on him, and the stillness around him offered a brief moment of respite .. before hearing your voice, of course.

your presence filled the room with a sense of . .. . play and awkwardness. spencer studied you: your winter jacket over a simple, faded-once-graphic t-shirt, wrinkled mom jeans, hints of gold jewellery, your box-braids loosely tied back with baby pink crochet yarn, giving you that .. ‘relaxed’ look, he guessed you were going for. it wasn’t effortless, it was messy. spencer’s gaze switched to your shoeless feet .. as did your own eyes — you took one large step to the left and landed behind a counter, only letting your upper half show.

“fiona-ms. mccall, i mean,” you began, your shoulders tense and your arms cramping from the hanging shoes and bags of groceries, “and those-sorry, your floors, sir. she’s serious ‘bout ‘em, that one. i mean, her team too. they’re like .. so serious about th’ floors .. i had’ta walk around in my socks-“ you stopped before continuing on. seeing him stand there with that signature blank, cold look on his face only shut you up ( you opted not to speak on how you dropped your dunkin’ coffee on the way here ) and drove sickness deeper into your heart.

you looked away from a moment, taking a shaky breath. “i should, uhm ..” you faced him again, “sorry, mr. cassadine .. my arms are, like, getting ready to snap off. like, actually.”

spencer watched you waddle off into the shared-employee closet. he straightened a bit, his fists carefully drumming at the marble surface as he waited for your return — though, he wouldn’t admit to anyone that he had been ‘waiting’ for you. after a moment, he took a step aside and tilted his head slightly, giving himself a clear view into the employee closet; with its array of lockable, highschool-style cell phone lockers . .. . you were shoving your winter jacket into the available top shelf, struggling on your tip-toes.

when you landed on your heels again, spencer took his previous position; leaning against the central island — “so, um . ..? sorry, but why are you back here, anyways?” you called out, but gave spencer not even a second to process the question. you peeked your head out of the employee closet, braids no longer tied back but cascading over your shoulder. “sorry, this is your family’s kitchen. you have, uhm .. every right to be back here. sorry.” you disappeared into the employees’ closet again, leaving spencer to be alone and to .. somewhat try and understand you.

“you apologize a lot?” he asked, his voice steady and even. not a question, but more so a statement.

dropping your hands from your braided bun, you moved away from the wall mirror and out of the closet saying: “trauma response,” unapologetic and freely, fixing your white button-up and fresh apron, “i can’t help but feel bad for a person literally every-time i-“

“what?” a deep grumble. too forward. he’s not one of your friends, you reminded yourself. you can’t speak to him like he’s on your level — rather, like you’re on his level. “sorry, mr. cassadine.” again with the sorry.

spencer huffed and in a low tone, “you can stop with the ‘mister’.” not a request, but an instruction. unsure of what to say next, in bad habit; “i’m sorry?” his eyes narrowed and you bit down on your lower lip, stopping yourself from the ‘m’ word and the ‘s’ word. “i actually get asked about that .. like, a lot. the ‘s’ word, thing. i’m kind of working on it. kind of.”

“kind of?”

“mhm-yeah. takin’ it day by day . .. . kind of. you know what i mean?” no comment, no further movement. your shoulders drooped, but you were okay. you were in an okay mood this early, december morning even after dropping your dunkin’ coffee. you had on new, warm socks and had beabadoobee in one ear — “you still use ..” with a hand, spencer gestured toward his own ear, “wires?”

you stared down at your phone, the adapter snug in the charging port; ‘pictures of us’ by beabadoobee at its first full minute. the slander on ‘wired headphones’ was so unnecessary and so childish. without thinking: “i’m sorry?” you paused a moment to recollect and what looked to be a smile began tugging at spencer’s lips. “i mean-who doesn’t? .. who doesn’t like wires?”

“many people.”

a weird chuckle, “what? literally so many people like wires. i don’t-? what is so wrong with wires?”

“what isn’t wrong with wires?”

“i don’know? that’s why i’m asking you ‘what’s wrong with wires’?

“everything.” and that was that. spencer had the last word, though you disagreed completely. silence fell for eight seconds, maybe nine, before he asked; “what are you, uh ..?” shoving his veiny hands into the front pockets of his dark jeans, “who are you listenin’ to, anyways?”

“beabadoobee.” you paused the song. “her beatopia album. it’s so good, seriously.” a part of you considered sharing the unused earbud, but that would require closeness and sharing wired headphones was an intimate gesture, a chance to bond with another — that couldn’t be done with airpods or those chunky beat headphones. “i’ll come over to you-you just stay there.”

spencer met you halfway around the marble island, going against your statement without a second thought. the gap between you and spencer was intentional, on both ends. he kept himself from standing too close, as did you. “okay, so, if bea’s not your cup of tea, or, uhm, you don’t like her sound or somethin’ .. justttt, uh, don’t say anything-y’know?” spencer listened intently, hands at his sides and the soft skin of his fingers rubbing the stitches of his dark jeans. “sorry, that wasn’t exactly ‘polite’-“

“play the song.”

“mhm. yeah.” your index finger tapped down on the rewind button .. pictures of us started, the acoustic guitar entrance soothing and inviting — “the words take awhile to, um . .. actually begin, sor-nope.” spencer smiled faintly at your effort, giving a light thumbs up. you appreciated the gesture, warmth slowly growing within your chest, causing you to chew the inside of your cheek.

with the pad of your thumb, you dragged at the progress bar, watching the thin line skip forward in small jumps, stopping at the right mark. you let your finger rest, satisfied as bea’s lyrics finally filled the air.

“i’ve watched that.” right under the music widget had been a notification from letterboxd: w-katie02 liked your review of the elephant man ( 1980 )! “it’s one of my favorites,” he continued, almost hesitant. “yeah?” a little, genuine smile as your fingers brushed the edge of your phone. “yeah.” spencer ended there, seemingly restricted; as if he’d just given something away he hadn’t meant to.

“do you have letterboxd?” just the most important app on your cellular device. well, one of them, certainly. by the glint in your eyes, spencer could feel the unmistakable love you held — because for you, it was so much more than just a platform; it was like a never-ending journal of emotions, insights, and memories. your perfect profile was filled with entries — some thoughtful and delicate and passionate, others scattered and messy and raw, like snapshots of your silly life in film. you’d spent many hours logging your thoughts after each movie, capturing how it made you feel, who you’d watched it with, what kind of day it had been . .. . you never missed a detail.

“what’s a .. letterboxd?” you unlocked your phone in under a second — “it’s like goodreads, but for movies,” you said as you clicked the app open. spencer, though confused and having never heard of goodreads, kept his lips locked and waited for your explanation: “letterboxd is immediate, like no other platform.” you held out your phone and he took hold of it; mindful of the need to avoid physical contact.

“social media in a way that’s like-“ spencer’s finger swiped up and you inched inward, lifting onto your tip-toes to watch as he did so. “-ultra safe and super cuddly. there’s no politics, close-minded straight men, or mentions of global crises, the sad stuff essentially, y’know? .. well, okay, actually-i guess, if you’re on the wrong side-“

“there are sides?”

“so, it’s . .. . yeah.”

“mm.” — pictures of us faded into don’t get the deal — your gaze shifted between his working finger and his face. you didn’t know what he’d been doing exactly, but you paid attention to how his eyes zipped side to side under his eyelids and how his brows lightly scrunched and how he sniffled softly every now and again and how his tongue darted out to bring moisture back to his lips. and in this very moment, this quiet moment of, what you assumed was nothing, he looked . .. . approachable. it surprised you how easily he fit into this small moment, his attention focused on something so trivial.

spencer cassadine — extra polished, effortlessly confident, someone who belonged to a world you’d only ever seen from a distance — handling your phone as though you and him were two equals. the four fingers of his right hand nearly covering every collected sticker.

to you, he really was someone you had heard about in passing, the kind of person with a surname people spoke of in hushed tones, heavy with history. he seemed so different up close, less like a distant idea of wealth and reputation, and more like just .. a person, with his own subtle quirks and quiet intensity — it felt like a rare glimpse beyond his guarded expression, easing the image you’d carried of him.

you tried not to overthink it, letting yourself just be here, grounded by the purr of the kitchen and beabadoobee in the background and the heat of his presence . .. .

then came a muffled ping; spencer returned your phone and retrieved his own from his back pocket. that dry, somber demeanor was back and whatever that quiet moment was, was long gone. you clicked off beabadoobee — your eyes searching his face for a hint of what could have been troubling him. “can i make you something?” a sweet offer. a sweetness that spencer cassadine had not known, or been at all familiar with.

he blinked up from his screen. “what?”

“have you eaten breakfast yet?”

spencer shook his head.

“food always helps.” just as you pivot and circled the counter, he spoke: “i’ve already taken too much of your free time. i’ve interrupted your routine,” clearly trying to brush off your sweet offer, though his stomach growled in response to the idea of food.

“it’s fine.”

“i can’t let you ..”

“seriously?” you stopped in your tracks, barely smiling. “come on, seriously. c’mon. i can prepare somethin’ quickly. i don’t mind, really,” you reassured. and spencer felt a flicker of thankfulness at your inclination; you weren’t offering to impress him or because he was who he was, but out of the kindness of your heart. “thank you.”

with a nod, you moved to the large refrigerator, opening the door with purpose. you pulled out a few eggs and some vegetables, your movements deliberate and calm. the rhythmic sounds of your chopping and sautéing completed the kitchen.

as you worked, spencer was leaned over the counter .. having just downloaded letterboxd and putting together his own movie lists. he found your account, remembering the username in the top left corner, and added a few of your saved movies to his new “to watch” list. “how long have you been cooking for?”

“mom put a knife in my hand at five, so i’d say since then,” you replied, glancing up briefly and laughing seeing the concerned look on his face — you weren’t joking. “it’s therapeutic,” you said then, eyes down again. “i find real comfort in it-a quiet escape, like my letterboxd. plus, feeding people is a nice way to show you care.”

your words struck a chord with him. he could see how the kitchen was your sanctuary, just as it had become a momentary refuge for him. “i can understand that,” he admitted, his gaze wandering to the window, where the light falling snow touched down and melted. “i’ll find my ‘quiet escape’.”

“you don’t have one now?”

“unh-unh.”

“that should be impossible. what do you look for when you need a moment?”

“i walk around and sit in silence.”

“that sounds awful.”

“it’s not the worse thing ever.”

“no, i guess not. but what do you love to do? like really, truly love to do-imagine, ‘kay, it’s your very last hour alive .. ‘nd you’re trapped in a dome with only th’ materials needed for your number one hobby, what is it?”

spencer’s mind went blank for a few seconds. he didn’t write, he didn’t read, he couldn’t draw, he couldn’t paint — “i like the gym.”

“okay .. cool.” you smiled and scratched at an eyebrow, “um, but seriously. what’s the hobby?”

“.. nothing.”

“-shit.”

“yeah.” a hopeless shrug. “i never got into an art or instrument. nothing that requires serious skill and talent.” spencer turned off his phone and held his hands together, fingers interlocking.

“well . .. a hobby doesn’t have ‘ta require serious skill or talent. and it doesn’t necessarily have ‘ta be an art.” you told him, matter-of-factly; knowing and practical. “like bird-watching. don’t have’ta be in your sixties to do it.” dropping your spoon onto a paper towel, you went for one of the five spice cabinets and dug inside. “i collect cool things.” you were a collector of very fine whatchamacallits, doo-dads, and trinkets; which ranged from mail stamps, pink paper clips, buttons of all shapes and colors and sizes, unique beer bottle caps, and stickers — your junk-sticker phone case is evidence.

“what-like rocks?”

“sometimes. marbles too.”

“marbles?”

“marbles.” firmly, “mancala pieces.”

“what’s a mancala piece?”

“y’know ..? mancala?”

“what’s mancala?”

“what’s mancala?” in disbelief, you released a defeated sigh and shook your head. “i have a mobile version, i can explain the game after this.” yyou stretched your arm over and with a knuckle, tapped down on your phone screen; you had little over an hour left. “jus’ta confirm, i will be explaining the game.”

no objection.

“but back to hobbies-“ spencer heard your voice and instantly flipped his phone back over. “-what’s an instrument you’ve wanted to play?” piano, there was no need to think about it. the first time spencer had heard a piano, the melody was soft and almost a whisper, beckoning him away from the clamor of the gala crowd. he drifted toward the sound, drawn in as if by a spell —

— he saw the grand piano in the corner of the room, its sleek black body gleaming under the warm lights. a man was seated there, his fingers gliding over the keys with such fluid grace that spencer could hardly believe it . .. . and in that moment, he felt an overwhelming urge .. not just to listen, but to touch the keys, to know how it felt to draw out a sound so moving and pure. but he was only a child, and the instrument seemed impossibly large, as if it belonged to another world.

and years passed .. life had filled up with other obligations and distractions, and the closest he’d come to a piano was brushing his fingers over the keys of one owned by a close friend or at another sprawling event. but every now and then, when he heard the low throb of a piano in a restaurant or wherever, he felt that same pull, that longing that had begun in the corner of a crowded room so many years before, waiting patiently for him to return.

“piano,” he answered. though he had no idea what happiness looked like for him, he was sure that starting with piano would make that discovery easier — he was so incredibly detached from himself and the more you spoke to him, you could tell.

“i know you can learn,” you said, kindly.

“i don’t have the time.”

“not even five minutes? you can download an app and start slow .. memorize piano stuff.”

“you have a piano app?”

“no, but i can find one for you.” his dark eyes brightened imperceptibly. “i bet there’s a lot. there’s an app for everything .. unfortunately .. kind of.” you mumbled the last bit, plating his breakfast with care. “.. here. simple, but it’ll help.”

in grabbing himself clean silverware — for the first time, he felt the possibility of letting someone in, even if just a little.

[ficsinhistory]

I think the problem with S3 of The Bear was that ok the mess, the coldness and the distancing and the plots in general...if it seemed like it was intentional. If they had a long term plan and this was a bait to change course later like good stories do. But it wasn't, it was just poorly written (and a bit racist).

For example, we could see Sydcarmy being separated because of Carm's worsening mental health and him wanting to convince himself that Claire is better because he doesn't want to make mistakes with the kitchen family and Syd anymore, more as a legitimate plot point and less as Storer wanting to sink Sydcarmy at any cost (which was a stupid idea and I don't even need to say why) if it didn't completely sideline Syd and obliterate her and Carmy's character in the process. Because that man may be chaotic and stupid as he may be, but Carm always cared about Syd's well-being at the end of the day.

Even after doing something stupid, Carmy always had this worry about asking how she felt about it. And that's what made their relationship different and the heart of the show. He can be distant and cold, but ignoring Syd's wishes? Doesn't give her credit when he was the one who asked her to be her partner in the first place??? The same person who recognized in 3x01 that the credit for them getting through the family and friends' night was solely hers, because he knew he had screwed up everything and didn't deserve to be part of it? Not only that, him being an idiot to Natalie, yelling about money when she was pregnant? Even though she was his only living sister? And that he started going to therapy at her request even though he didn't want to after realizing that yes, she was right? And not going to see his niece because he was more worried about Claire?? The woman who, let's be honest, he didn't like. I mean, he a panic attack thinking on HER!!! And now she is his peace??? Using suspiciously the term that the Sydcarmy fandom baptized Syd, almost as an affront. (And let's remeber Claire was pretty happy talking how she almost kill a teenage. I was bawling my eyes if was me. Weirdo (derogatory))

And speaking of her, Sydney Adamu, my beloved and favorite character, what did they do to you? She was thrown into the corner so much that I couldn't believe it. She is a protagonist and ok, she and Carmy are on tense terms, but why not take advantage of the fact that they are more apart to delve deeper into her and her relationships, find out more about her. Her relationship with her mother and father? Any flashbacks, since there were so many, about Sheridan and how this still affects her? She and the rest of the members of The Bear, Nat, Richie. She should exist outside of Carmy in her own right, but they just threw her in there and gave screen time to Claire and the Faks and that sucks. Which leads to another point, why don't you talk more about the og members of The Bear. Okay, we had Napkins for Tina, fair enough. But what about Gary, Ebra, Many? Marcus, whose mother died barely had any weight? It left a bitter taste in the mouth. If they want to fix this, they're going to have a lot of work to do, because history has taken everything to an almost unsustainable level. It's okay to be a tragedy, but give us the rays of sunshine, so we can believe in the best. And we didn't have that. It was just going in circles and that could cost the entire story.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Sydney Adamu

I don’t want Syd to mother Carmy.

I don’t want Syd to enable Carmy.

I certainly don’t want Syd to get hurt by him.

I see Syd for who she really is, not for who I wish she was.

I want Syd to stay by Carmy’s side to help him get back up because I am convinced he will only accept her help, she’s the only powerful enough influence on him to bring change into his life, the change he needs.

I want Syd to help herself first, by being honest with herself about what she feels for him, why she keeps coming back to him and can’t let him go when she has the best chance to do it.

Then I want her to help him, not only because she is the only one who can (he already wants to help himself and wants to change, especially for her although so far he hasn’t nailed it but he will when she threatens to walk away again or he finds out about the poaching, don’t you worry about that, that’s covered) but also because it’s in her nature, she loves to help people and make people happy and she knows that if she leaves Carmy behind she will break his ❤️ and that’s putting it lightly.

I want her not to lose this new found family she raised at The Bear, her Tina, her Nat, her Cousin, her Marcus. She never had that before, she doesn’t have much of a social life or friends outside of work, she has always prioritized her career and job and she was a lonely girl before finding this Bear family, except for her dad. I want her to keep that and help them by sticking around and protecting that family that will protect her back. I trust that when she’s about to lose them, they will not let her go and will fight back to make sure she sticks around and that includes protection and support. It wasn’t there this season, that family was disconnected, but it’s NOT broken. Syd leaving and leaving Carmy alone will surely break it. I want Syd’s family to stay together because she wants and needs that too.

I want Syd to be happy and I don’t see her being happy getting her Star with Shapiro after leaving The Bear behind, that will break her ❤️

I want Syd to say the words: “I can’t take this anymore!!! You left me alone again after promising me the exact opposite!!!” To the man that must hear them. I want her to be specific and walk him through all his shitty behaviors he will not own up at first and will make excuses for, BUT will end up apologizing for and at that point I want her to tell him she doesn’t believe in his apologies anymore. I want her to cry and scream if she must, call him a piece of shit again, if that’s how she feels. I want Syd to look at Carmy straight in the eye when she tells him all this. Or keep it together while she spills this tea, whatever she feels like at that moment, doesn’t matter. What matters is that she does NOT spare his life, I want her to be brutal with him. Carmy Berzatto has to die for Sydcarmy to be born.

And then I want her to stick around to see the effects her words will have on him.

I want Carmy to make her happy because she deserves it.

[yannaryartside]

this was such a lovely series, coming back to read it!

♡ DOWN IN THE HEART ♡ ↝ SydCarmy | Rated: E mdni | Complete | Word Count: 170K+ | [READ HERE]

Summary: Post S3 Finale. After almost losing Sydney to Shapiro, Carmy is determined to make a change. Eager to rebuild their friendship, they decide to spend the day together at Carmy's doing some recipe development but an accidental peek inside Carmy's notebook changes everything for them. In the midst of navigating trauma, therapy, grief, and their new relationship, they try to keep their thing a secret from everyone else at The Bear for six months.

♡ any reblogs/kudos/comments are all so appreciated!! ♡