#carmy my beloved

[trouticide]

finally found the time for season 2!!

[doc-ock-daddy]

he’s my babygirl he’s my sworn enemy he’s the reason I live he’s the bane of my existence he’s the best of times he’s the worst of times he’s exactly my type he’s everything I despise he’s at the top of his game he’s got prime real estate at rock bottom he’s taught me everything I need to know he speaks and my IQ tanks he’s my one phone call from jail he’s blocked on all my social media he’s got me kicking my feet n shit he’s got me hauling ass outta there he’s the whole package missing some postage etc etc etc

[andyridgeley]

Carmen Berzatto Playlist

[bluebellhairpin]

Carmen Berzatto was in my dream last night. I have been blessed.

[jangofctts]

Admit it, carmy had your heart at first braize.. ~~answer is yes chef~~

yES CHEF 😩😩❤️😩 fuCk me up

[roboyomo]

adam and carmie infested my mind for a moment so i had to draw them. consider the critters

[iglowlilac]

the bear fx // Everything that was broken, by Mary Oliver.

[carmybearzattos]

syd and carmy syd and carmy syd and carmy

[happylikeasadsong]

i've been thinking a lot about these parallels

my newest obsession meets my longest one.

Luke's life was music. He didn't love anything else than that. Then he met Julie.

Carmy was the best chef at 21 and after his brother died, he wanted nothing more than fix Mike's restaurant so it could be a place ran by adults. Then he met Sydney.

just like sydcarmy, juke makes each other better:

my twinssss

so, yeah, i think a lot about them

and also about the fact that Luke brought music back to Julie's life and Carmy hires Sydney and inadvertently makes food good again for her. Both Luke and Carmy see their potential and do whatever it takes to bring it to surface. They're down BADDD

Syd's failed in the past, but Carmy sees the undeniable passion within her and harness her talent to do big things. So does Luke with Julie's talent.

bonusssss:

like, both of them fully turning around ready to follow their annoyed soulmates just tickles my heart in a different way, i guess

[early-twentysomething]

Who’s Claire?

[sighonaraa]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

eeeeep thank youu my beloved!! for you, here's a bit from the upcoming Carmy Has a REAL Bad Time in the Walk-In Freezer fic set directly after the end of s2:

“Come with me,” says Tina, something stern about the set of her mouth, her brow. She doesn’t wait for an answer to drag him in the direction of the walk-in. “T,” Richie says again, more forcefully, a horrible emptiness yawning at the pit of his stomach. It’s like—when Mikey died, right, Richie didn’t know it right away. He feels as if he should have: As if the absence of his best friend, his fucking brother, should have torn him wide open in the middle of the goddamn street, as if he should have gone from this world the second Mikey did. But that’s not how it works. Someone had to tell him. And he can’t remember now, who it was that’d been burdened with that unsavory fucking task; all he knows is that it had felt awfully similar to this in the aftermath. “What the fuck is—” “Shh,” says Tina, and then juts her chin at the walk-in. The door’s been opened, but not fully. The cold of it seeps out and through Richie’s clothes, flesh, bone. “It’s Jeffrey.”

[radio-ghost-cooks]

hey guys what if opening day of The Bear Richie wears cologne

not friends & family night, i mean the honest to god opening

what if it clearly smells cheap and unrefined and of teakwood and lemon

what if after that everyone winds up getting him a more refined, expensive cologne as a gift, assuming he's wearing it just because it was all he could really afford to get

what if everyone but Carmy pitches in

what if Carmy has to spend a good few minutes outside opening night because he nearly said Mikey instead of Richie because he could swear to god he smells that stupid cheap cologne Mikey wore in high school to cover up the smell of cigarettes

[answer2jeff]

Carmen having a finsta and basically only using it for this:

interpret these fake ig posts however you want i don't care they're just so cute😭😭

i am NOT here to cause sydcarmy shipper drama...... leave them alone.

[cherry-cola-ghost]

[image: carmy berzatto from fx’s the bear, with the textpost: “what if you havent found the right one yet🥺🥺” what if i hit you with a metal pole]

[pureseasalt]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Bear (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Sydney Adamu/Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto Characters: Sydney Adamu, Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto Additional Tags: Slasher AU, Slasher Carmy, Possessive Behavior, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creepy Carmy, Final Girl Sydney, woops haha who wrote this, aged down a bit, They're both like 20, sydney is still in college for this one, Minor Original Character(s) Summary:

The man breathes evenly through a wooden mask.

It looks exactly like those kiddie bear masks they sell over at the fair, except jaundiced and mud-like. Or that could be the blood streaked all over its face. Sydney wants to laugh. She doesn’t, though.

She runs.

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Highway Hypnosis

Chapter 7: Meadow Report

I miss gossip. I miss rushing home from the library at the drop of a hat because Nora, my roommate, had “major dirt” on a classmate that couldn’t wait until I was done studying. Those text messages (or, better yet, phone calls)—the “Come home right now” followed by the “You won’t believe what I heard in the diner today”—summoned me quicker than any house fire ever could. It’s horrible, but it doesn’t feel that way when it’s happening. It feels like an accomplishment, like you’re receiving high-priority intelligence. Young people are wasted in retail and food service; we could really be put to use as spies, I think. It’s an inherent sneakiness that’s kind of thrilling, an unspoken code of conduct that we adhere to without being told: information is to be exchanged only in person, unless it’s an objective and irrefutable fact, in which case you may send it in a text message (but why would you, when it’s so much fun to see the look on your friends’ faces when you spill all the latest drama?). “Tell no one” means “Tell everyone, just don’t let them trace it back to me,” and “You can’t know this” means “No really, tell no one.” I want to exercise my knowledge of this code, to be once again on the receiving end of “You won’t believe this,” but it appears that the only good source of gossip around here is me.

I’ve just about given up on my dreams of scandalous water cooler conversation—having three friends, two of them men, will do that to a girl—when it becomes clear that, unbeknownst to me, I have created the biggest scandal in Evergreen since the death of my uncle. It runs in the family, I guess. The scandal in question? It pertains to Jasper Stevens, because lately I’m nothing without his lanky shadow following me around.

“Tell me everything,” Janie says immediately after clocking in, practically skidding around the corner with a crate of whole coffee beans in tow. She knows something I don’t.

I raise an eyebrow, nearly letting Joshy’s coffee cup overflow as I refill it from the pitcher. “Everything about what?”

Janie rolls her eyes. “Don’t be like that, Andie!”

I turn to Joshy, who’s sitting at the bar. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

He nods, amused. “Moss,” he offers, though I can tell by his sage manner that I won’t be getting any more information from him.

“Oh, Jasper? What about him?”

Janie’s exaggerated groan tells me that she’s at least as starved for good gossip as I am, but I’m no less lost for it. She sets her crate down on the bar before turning to me and, in a voice like a kindergarten teacher’s, says: “Moss was in here the other day. You two left together. Tell me everything.”

“Moss never hangs out in town,” Joshy adds helpfully, “he’s like a cryptid.”

I nod. I think I get it now. And really, who am I to deny a fellow woman the joy of being entirely too invested in someone else’s business? It’s one of life’s purest joys. I assume the position: the one everyone knows, that invites others into your confidence. Elbows on the counter, leaning forward—come closer, I’ll tell you a secret. Janie follows suit, standing beside me with her ear trained toward me. Even Joshy leans in, eager to hear what I have to say. “Well,” I begin, “we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately.”

“I knew it,” Janie hisses, slapping the counter.

“At first it was just coincidental, you know? But he started coming over once a week to change out his books and then—I don’t know, we’ve been hanging out. Am I crazy?”

Janie says “No” at the same time that Joshy says “Yes,” and I groan in protest. The couple stares at each other for a few moments, engaged in a silent stalemate. Without breaking eye contact, Joshy raises his hand. “Joshua,” I acknowledge.

“I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing,” he says, turning his gaze on me, “this is a really small town, Andie. You need to be completely sure before you make a move. Really weigh those pros and cons.”

“Oh my god, is that what you did before we started dating? You made a pros and cons list?” Janie says, whacking Joshy’s arm. “You know what?” She asks, as he dodges another blow, “Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.”

I put my head down on my arms and take a deep breath before coming back up. “Janie?”

“I think you have to go for it,” she says, “partly because I’m curious—I mean, being in a relationship with Moss, what would that even look like?—but mostly because I want you to be happy, and I think he could be the person to make that happen.”

“You think?”

“I think. Moss isn’t one of those guys you just casually hang out with, you know? He’s an acquired taste. You must get each other though,” she says thoughtfully, “anyway, you lured him into a public cafe, so that’s got to count for something.”

“What do you guys even talk about?” Joshy pipes up, “I mean, I love the guy, but he’s not a real conversationalist, you know what I mean?”

This gives me pause. What do we talk about? We talk about everything, so entirely that it feels like nothing. Like water flowing over rocks, or silk sliding across your skin. It’s unimpeded, uninterrupted even in our moments of silence. One long, continuous conversation. “Everything,” I say, “honestly, if I didn’t know he had a reputation I’d just think he was a run-of-the-mill introvert.”

“So weird,” Janie murmurs, “I mean, you know we all love him, he’s family. But like, the type of family who writes you a letter every five years from a different country, you know?”

“Yeah,” I sigh absently. I want to tell them about that night at the cabin, where he clasped my head to his chest and let his warm cologne breathe life back into my body. I want to tell them about the river, where his hand on my knee sealed my fate as his devoted acolyte. Hell, I want to tell them about how he exchanged War and Peace, unfinished, for The Hobbit because it’s summer and he “should be having fun.” But something about those stories feels too personal to share, like they’re just for us. Eyes on us would ruin the illusion, if that’s all it is.

“For what it’s worth,” Joshy says, “I haven’t seen him so…I don’t know, outgoing? Not for a good couple of years, at least.���

Janie nods, looking like she’s deep in thought. “Yeah. Yeah, come to think of it, he has been more talkative. He gave me a recipe for risotto the other day because he noticed I was buying rice.”

Risotto. Would you look at that. I rake a hand through my hair, wrenching my gaze from my companions as the front window is suddenly assaulted by a barrage of gigantic rain drops. Jesus, it’s like the sky’s got something to prove. I lament a moment for my sundress, which is sure to become a liability on my walk home assuming the storm doesn’t let up in the next ten minutes.

“You wanna head out?” Janie asks, seeing straight through me. “Go ahead, it’ll be dead until the rain stops.”

“Mmkay,” I reply, untying my apron, “call me if you need me.” It’s a formality. She won’t call.

The walk home is, as expected, a balmy torrent of rain that weighs on my dress and clings to my skin. I reflexively fold my arms around my body, but give up consciously after reminding myself that there’s no point. The rain is so all-encompassing it may as well be the air itself I’m passing through, soaking me to the bone. I’m inclined to shiver despite its slimy warmth, and I pick up the pace as I approach the cabin (the cabin which is still a The, caught in the limbo between a His and a My).

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Soaked and saturated, on your front porch steps. Jasper Stevens rises to stand as I approach, unfolding his limbs and stretching like a cat. He passes through the downpour without so much as a blink.

“What are you doing here?” I call, jogging to meet him so we don’t have to yell above the rain. He’s got this look, like he’s faced some kind of ancient evil and accepted his fate.

“Last time it rained like this you had a panic attack,” he says. The rain’s numbed me to everything but his fingertips against the line of my cheekbone. He’s searching me for god knows what—labored breathing, signs of fatigue, I don’t know. It’s mortifying, and I would shrink from him if it didn’t mean he’d stop touching me.

“That wasn’t a panic attack, and it wasn’t because of the rain,” I say casually, taking a small step into his personal space. Janie’s words are circling me like vultures. She’s the devil on my shoulder, convincing me from afar that this man is the solution to my past, present, and future problems. As if sensing my line of thought, he freezes. His breath hitches in his throat for half a second before he continues as if nothing happened. “Why are you really here?”

“Andie…” he says softly, his voice melodic. Sweet and low, like dark brandy.

“Jasper,” I reply. Kiss me, damn it. I can’t be the first one to fold, I’m not the space alien here. Eyes. Lips. Eyes. Kiss me, Jasper Stevens.

I don’t notice the glide of his fingers across my skin until his thumb is brushing my lower lip. “I can’t…” he trails off. I’m about to roll my eyes or finish his sentence or both when he picks it back up: “I can’t be casual about this. If we do this, I mean.”

“What makes you think I want to be casual with you?” I ask. One of us is the Earth right now, pulling the other one in by some invisible gravitational force. I can’t tell if it’s me or him. What makes this man think that I, all of four inches from his face, want anything but his entire self? Here, moments from changing the very fabric of our relationship, I am more certain than ever that I want to immerse myself in him fully. I want us to change each other, I want to change us, I want us to remain exactly as we are. He looks entirely overwhelmed, and I want him to know that it’s really so simple. All he has to do is lean in, and it’ll all be crystal clear.

Jasper’s lips are soft, slightly parted as they brush across mine. A plea for entry, an experimental knock before turning the key he’s always held. I slide a hand over the back of his neck, fingers carding through his hair where the rain has curled it away from his skin. My other hand tangles with his somewhere to my right before eventually settling on his chest. His breath catches again, as if I’ve somehow caught him off-guard, and then he’s pulled me in by the waist and he’s kissing me—really—and it’s all I can do not to collapse into him. I can only hope that his thoughts are as blissfully simple as mine are in this moment: this is right this is right this is right.