#Longing Primavera

[pesky--dust]

Long live Abigail Hobbs: ... and the Woman Clothed with the Sun, Mizumono and Primavera

“It’s as if Abigail was supposed to die in this kitchen. Nothing we did was able to change that”

[fright-designs]

“You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings.” 🔪🩸🍴🦌 (buy it here)

[image-repertoire-stress-disorder]

Hannibal 3x2: Why Botticelli's Primavera? - A painting analysis

ok im only on the second episode of s3 of hannibal so if it turns out in three episodes they debunk this entire post that'll suck.

The first kill of Il Mostro replicates Primavera, specifically Zephyr and the nymph Chloris, who becomes his wife. The flowers out of her mouth -- which Pazzi calls attention to -- symbolizes how Zephyr transforms her into the goddess of Spring.

Primavera is a rather specific choice; especially considering that Zephyr and Chloris are also depicted in Botticelli's "you've-probably-never-heard-of-it-bc-it's-so-niche" work: The Birth of Venus.

Lecter is obsessed with Primavera specifically, going to the museum sketch it almost every day, from what Pazzi recalls.

As a quick refresher (since obviously all of you know all the details of Primavera by heart):

the guy on the far left is Mercury (Hermes, if you're a PJO kid)

the three women dancing are the Three Graces (a symbol of chastity)

the woman in the center is Venus (goddess of love)

blindfolded baby Eros is shooting an arrow at the Three Graces (a disservice to Eros, but that's a topic for another day).

the woman to the left of Chloris is Flora (sometimes called Primavera), the deity that Chloris transforms into.

I. Isolating Zephyr and Chloris: Hannibal's influence on Will

Focusing on Zephyr and Chloris (as Hannibal does), we can interpret Hannibal as Zephyr, the wind god grabbing the fearful nymph Chloris, and transforming her into a spring goddess.

It's established in prior scenes that Hannibal views other people as less-than-human, even referenced to pigs in the prior seasons (see: "he kills in sounders"). Hannibal believes that, in his murders, he is transforming man into god. This reflects his later cannibalistic tendencies; transforming meat into fine dining. Flowers erupt from Chloris's mouth -- she is transformed from the inside out.

A parallel can even be drawn to Will, whose transformation arguably begins after he vomits up Abigail Hobbs' ear and is arrested. Under Hannibal's influence, Will is transforming into Primavera.

II. Carnal vs Divine Love: Will's influence on Hannibal

A popular interpretation of the painting involves the juxtaposition of carnal and divine love (reading right to left). Zephyr attacks Chloris carnally and violently on the far right. In the center sits the goddess of love. The Three Graces, who symbolize Chastity, turn away from carnal love, unknowingly about to be shot by Eros -- a symbol of divine love.

This is Hannibal's character arc!!

Hannibals first killing is represented by carnal love, a deep love for killing for a show of power. He kills because he can.

His first kill in the show, however, is the murder of Cassie Boyle. Art historians Blech and Doliner note that the openings in the trees above Venus are shaped precisely like lungs. And what's one of the first things Hannibal does in the whole show? He took Cassie Boyle's lungs and fed them to Will. Directly beneath the symbol of his first murder, is the goddess of love: Venus. Meeting Will moves Hannibal to the center of the painting, where love appears between the lungs of Cassie Boyle. Kinda gross but it's a show about a cannibal what can you do?

Hugh Dancy -- son of a philosopher, remember? -- refers to the love between Hannibal and Will by the end of the show as platonic love, to which he meant "Plato"-nic love, which in philosophical terms equates now to divine love.

My best prediction for the end of S3 is that Hannibal will transition to the left of the painting, and reach the divine love form of killing -- whatever that's going to look like.

[aeolianblues]

This is everything.

Kneecap, who have recently been in controversy over their vocal and unflinching support for Palestine, have seen shows cancelled, criminal charges levelled at them in an attempt to silence and make an example out of them.

Now more artists, including their heroes and friends Fontaines D.C. spoke up at Primavera Sound festival today, not only as artists who have also been vocal about genocide in Palestine in their own right for a long time now, but by using Kneecap’s words, and a similar font and styling to Kneecap’s screens.

This is saying boldly, that not only are they speaking up for Palestine, they are speaking up for Kneecap, sending the message loud and clear that silencing Kneecap won’t act as a deterrent to anyone. In fact, others will continue to speak Kneecap’s words, they have already done their part by inspiring bolder activism in fellow artists. They can crop Kneecap’s screens out of the BBC coverage of Glastonbury. They can try and arrest Mo Chara. They can’t arrest everyone that Kneecap will inspire. They can’t stop everyone.

[soupy-girl]

whoever decided to have a shaymanda and trevrasha dread and not have them next to each other is sick and twisted btw

[stringimilamanoepoipartiamo]

È che da quando non ci sei, le mie primavere non fioriscono più...

[madc0w]

Mazzy Star - 2012-05-31, Pro-shot VIDEO, Primavera Fest, Spain, FULL SET...

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

It's honestly brutal how long Will lied to himself and got away with it after Mizumono. We see him wake up in his hospital bed, some amount of time after that night, and he sees a doctor, and then he "sees" Abigail (who we know to actually be a hallucination/coping mechanism). Then after his conversation in the hospital with Abigail, we get a fade to black and a timestamp that says "8 Months Later" followed by Will in Italy with Abigail.

And you're telling me know one noticed he was seeing and communicating with Abigail? Because we know from that scene where Will is walking down the stairs in Primavera and he looks towards where Abigail is standing and then towards where Pazzi is, that she had physical form to him. This was more than just conversations in his head. She was in the room with him and he probably spoke out loud to her.

You're telling me that for EIGHT MONTHS his doctors said nothing? Jack didn't say anything? Alana didn't say anything? Frederick "professional curiosity" Chilton (who we know he was actually talking to when he first woke up) didn't say anything????

[figureskatingcostumes]

Sophia Baram and Daniel Tioumentsev's free program costumes at the 2022 Junior Grand Prix Final and 2022 Junior Grand Prix Ostrava and, with more blue, at the 2023 World Junior Championships and 2023 US Nationals:

They skated to Pilgrims on a Long Journey by Cœur de Pirate and Primavera by Ludovico Einaudi.

(Sources: 1, 2, 3 and 4)

[itsautomaticfaegirl]

All though Winter has its charms, I do long for Spring - where the days are graced longer by sunlight - as the wind seems more gentle and fragranced 🌱🪻🌿

Early signs of Spring - while the old leaves of the tree still lay on the grass - flowers like the crocus start to show their purple and yellow petals 🌱🧚🏻🌿

Source: @itsautomaticfaegirl

[sigalrm]

Tree by Pascal Volk

[scarletdreamers]

I think this little detail sums up Hannibal and Will's relationship so well. When Hannibal and Will meet in front of the Primavera in Dolce, their conversation is very gentle. A meaningful talk between two people who have known each other for ages, who care incredibly much about each other and are, very simply put, just happy to be with each other again. During this conversation, Will says ''It's good to see you.'' Very plainly, very simple. It's good to see Hannibal. It fills him with a certain joy, he smiles gently as he says it.

Keep in mind, the last time they saw each other was when Hannibal stabbed him, left him to bleed on his kitchen floor, killed Abigail, hurt all Will's friends and ran away. They see each other for the first time again after months, and Will (who had all the rights in the world to be really, really angry) is just so happy to see him that he feels that it's good for him. Will tells him he wouldn't know if he could survive if they were to be separated again, very quietly. Their conversation is one of love. A very subtle, soft kind of passion and devotion. A ''here we are again, you and me, whatever happened, I understand you, I missed you, I love you''.

After the whole Muskrat farm fiasco where Will rejects Hannibal and Hannibal surrenders to the FBI, Will is the one who leaves Hannibal to bleed (metaphorically). He tells him that he doesn't want to see him anymore and Hannibal gets on his knees in the snow. He's begging, he's desperate. He lost what, in the end, was the only thing that mattered to him: Will. He gave up his freedom and everything he stood for (he stabbed Will partially in fear of betrayal and being imprisoned/caught) to keep Will, while Will told him to leave because he knew the cops were coming and he wanted Hannibal to be free. Both Mizumono and Hannibal's surrender are so tragic because they come from misunderstandings. Will wanted Hannibal to leave because he wanted him to be free, Hannibal would rather be imprisoned if that meant he could keep Will in his life.

Three years go by, Will marries, builds a life around Hannibal. He has ''everything he ever wanted''. A family, love, a child, his dogs, a quiet life without corpses. He manages to go on like this for two years before he needs to see Hannibal again (convincing Jack he needs to let him talk to Hannibal to catch the dragon). Will is angry at him because Hannibal didn't end up where Will wanted him: free. He hates to see Hannibal caged. To see him undone of everything that made him who he was. It upsets him. Will is visibly uncomfortable every time he visits Hannibal, but his longing is clear. When Hannibal asks him if it was good to see him (a reference to their reunion three years ago), Will answers: ''Good? No.''

It's how their relationship works. In Dolce, Will was so happy to see Hannibal because he took his time to find him. He wanted to see him. He sailed the ocean willingly. He didn't mind abandoning his life and position to have Hannibal back. He forgave Hannibal for what he did because he loved him and knew that violence and betrayal would always be part of their relationship, and he saw beauty in that. It was good to see him.

Will could forgive Hannibal for hurting him. He couldn't forgive Hannibal for hurting himself by turning himself in when Will so carefully planned out a way for him to escape.

When Will finally sees him again, it's not good to see him, because he didn't go there ''willingly'', but he needed it. He needed to see him, to speak to him, which he literally says somewhere through season 3b. He loves him still, and he hates himself for it because he was unable to distance himself when given the chance for three years.When they're finally together again, Will knows there's no going back. When they're on that cliff, they see each other. It's not good or bad, it's beautiful. Will finds the concept of them, as they are at their cores, beautiful. He's not angry anymore, he isn't the same kind of happy he was when they met in Florence, this is different. It's a last reunion, and he knows they're never going to be separated again (because, as he wondered in Dolce, he wasn't able to survive without Hannibal in the end). He throws them off a cliff so that neither of them can walk away by the end of the night. It ties up the loose ends of their past reunions. They're together, that's all there is for them, and for Will, that's enough.

[indiestar]

Again, and again, time might be like a circle. We are here again. Almost ten years passed and it's almost spring, not quite. Yet. Again.

Spring (in english) is spring, in italian is primavera (literally: first true, or something, but not really).

I keep asking (also myself) the same questions over and over and over again.

What are you doing? Where are you? Who are you? (Who am I?)

I could keep going on and on, but I don't know.

Am I Again... insane?

Sorgi e splendi, unknown, i dette forår; nni viremu.

Spring will come

Dear gentle and pure, you know, I’ve been thinking about you. While staring at the ceiling, on the bed with my arms crossed, or walking unrelentingly across the room with bare feet, or eating enough to scrape along, thinking about the still few things I know about you, but that could increase.

Yesterday I even made a ring with a cotton thread to remind myself to write to you, but when I woke up I couldn’t remember why that ring existed. Still, everything around me was talking about you. They told me that I confuse the general with the particular. Maybe it’s because of this that I see you everywhere. High, and for me unreachable. Like the moon, be it full or waning. I’m not crazy, maybe half crazy, like maybe everyone. You enchant my senses and my mind, and they long for you, ecstatics.

Maybe it’s a light crush, maybe a heavy obsession, maybe the first stage of something bigger than me. But what can I do if your face appears in front of me, like a daydream? I saw it thanks to photos took by you or someone else, not by me. At the beginning I didn’t even know your name. Know thyself, they said. The future different routes weren’t well definite, but a circumstance was clear: I also wanted to know you.

My mind was rapidly producing films after films about how my life could have evolved, although evolution itself is slow, maybe slower than my actions. I was passing my afternoons on the bed, thinking; during the evenings I was listening to melancholic songs where love was almost banned or only a memory. I was dreaming about the spleen of Paris, without having the strength to be a flâneur among the streets as I once was. I let stupid questions with no certain answers take over me.

I was thinking over and over. I was waiting for the propitious, favourable moment, for the perfect aligning of the stars. I had to act, but my actions often seemed to stop in front of a computer. They don’t stop, instead my thoughts in incubation are processed, more or less swiftly. Like scattered tiles, or, more modestly, like a handmade jigsaw puzzle falling little by little into the right place. Words and concepts sedimenting, before being swept away by virtual currents that I’m sure will arrive to you. The final result will be a bit cryptic, or confused, or irrational, or emotional, but it will have its own beauty, I hope not so hidden. Forgive me if I will let read the public, but this must happen, sooner or later. This decision, along with the one about misleading a bit, will be defence mechanisms, at least for now.

I was thinking and writing primarily in the past, but I want to think and write into the present, or possibly into the future, especially for you. I want to give you something, not jewellery, nor some strange flavoured chocolate. No, only words. And I want to write these words to you, precisely to you. Soft words like the light of some stars that we struggle too see but are there, reminding us that distance, whichever may be the type, is not a problem. As above, in the sky, so below, on this planet.

Not even the strong morning light is able to wake me up, usually, and my hibernation often lasts more than the already long winter. And you, without even a kiss, reawakened the sleeping beauty, to say so. Everything seems enchanting, like the sky with a rainbow after a storm. Like Persephone or Proserpine, you make the earth where you pass by bloom, and not for a given time. And I think: who knows if I will ever be able to portray her with this kind of magic, to be so close enough to do it.

Probably you will not be the first to read these words. You will ask yourself “why, is that me?” and not “why isn’t that me?” or at least I hope; you won’t ask me if you’re the recipient, because you will understand without questions: those for now are needed to learn about ourselves and lay our hearts and minds bare. They will try to uncover who you are, but I won’t say, nor I will say it to anyone; I want it to remain a secret, a mistery, at least for now.

I won’t make a great mistery, though, that there will be a tomorrow where I will come to you, or you to me. A seemingly distant tomorrow. We will imagine and then remember this meeting of ours, even if only for a coffee or a walk, even if in days, weeks, months, years, decades. We will smoke a cigarette at sunset, or maybe I will be the one smoking it. We will watch the other houses, and we will think about what the people, glimpsed through the windows or imagined behind the shutters, do and think.

And I will ask you what you think, always curious about the peculiar thought of your mind during countless moments. You will narrate and sing to me, o muse, o goddess, not about heroes or foreboding angers, but about you, as you already did a bit. Maybe you are not a muse or a goddess, or, better, you are also one. And you too can talk and write well, although you don’t show it much. You will foretell my fate like a Sybil, to motivate me or even only as a joke.

I hadn’t any hope left, and you gave it to me, as if you were Pandora and I were the entire human race. But I’m only a single person. And I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, nor what I will do without you: I seem candid, stupid, ridicule, despite me being already an adult. I also seem fragile like crystal, I break easy, but hypothetically I feel secure in your hands, and I know you will not let me hit the ground.

They told you that you can’t be on your own, that you need attention or someone that protects you. But you’re strong, even if it doesn’t seem like it. You’re like a new Joanne of Arc; and I would follow you in battle, despite between fight and flight I have often chosen the latter. We will fight together against our fears, and those, along with ghosts, déjà vu and past sorrows, will be pushed away, I hope.

You’re also for me interesting, intelligent, beautiful, despite you saying you’re not as I subjectively allow myself to write. It’s not only appearance, and even if it’s so, it doesn’t easily deceive me. I’m not deceiving you, you made my head spin or maybe you made me lose my mind. Spring will come and it will have your eyes: it will always be springtime, despite seasonal cycles, despite the frightening silences that will come. During these silences the desire will grow, I won’t fear that someone will steal you.

So, time passes by and my mind continues to fantasise: I imagine to be a young fisherman looking for oysters and pearls, and you, good mermaid, will save me from certain death, bringing me ashore. And we will not need tragedies like for Ophelia, nor like for Juliet. It will be more similar to a comedy: I’ll collect the smiles and the laughs you are gifting and will gift to me, and I hope you’ll do the same. Time will pass by and the hindrances will fall, as obstacles pushed by a clumsy athlete. We will exchange books and listen to music on the bed, or we will dance to a slow song, but more rapidly than I was living my life before you. And when the song will end, another one will make us start again; maybe rock, good for dancing, slow or fast, because everything depends on us.

We will watch videos, film, and TV series for hours and we will talk until sunrise about everything that pops out of our minds. If possible, I will touch your hair, lightly and gently as if it were a harp. It will not make sounds, but emotions. We will give ourselves new names or only nicknames, and we will fly towards destinations unknown in the beginning, even if only with our thoughts. We will take ourselves by the arm and walk together among streets and boulevards before the film ends, before these words will lose their value or change their meanings.

To conquer you, if you allow me the verb, will be like ascending the Everest without the help of a sherpa, if climbing it will be needed to disentagle the garbled red thread that probably connect us. And maybe, in a still distant day, I will ask you to come sleep with me, and you will say no, at least initially. But if I have to switch the lights off, I wanna switch them off with you. And with tired eyes, tired minds and tired souls we will sleep, and we won’t fear the decadence, the nothingness, the oblivion, the unknown, the return to the origin anymore.

But this is only a rêverie in the form of a letter to you, almost stranger, far away in your proximity and at the same time close in your distance. Almost all the stars are gone from the sky. The sun reminds me their lesson about distance. It’s day by now, night flied away and I, without sleep, did the same. But not without dreams, thanks to you. The heart is beating fast and I find myself alone, walking a fine line on this thread made of thoughts and words. Where are you now, when I need you? Come to me, as you were, are, will be.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory : Chapter Five

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Word Count: 3.4k+

Chapter Warnings: pretty tame chapter , some anxiety feelings , mentions of pregnancy (not reader) some sadness but also fluffy reader x bucky moments all up in here! enjoyyy

A/N: hello? is this thing on...*taps on mic*... HELLO! it feels like forever since i posted an update but here we are and here we go!! tysm for your comments and all interactions it truly keeps me in love with writing and creating :3 💖

series master list

<- previous chapter - next chapter ->

The long fluorescent lights of the hospital cafeteria buzzed softly overhead Y/N as she was sat at the staff table , carefully balancing her half-empty coffee cup on her bouncing knee. 

She’d been running on only pure adrenaline all morning , from bouncing from one surgery to the next nonstop , and now she finally found herself surrounded by her co-workers , the small talk and laughter at the table a welcome hum in the background of her exhaustion.

She shifted slightly in her seat , feeling the dull ache of healing bruises and marks beneath makeup and clothes. 

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror that morning had shown the faint shadows of them still doing all they could to continue to linger on her soft skin. But she’d been taught and learned all the right angles and the right ways to hold herself so no one would see what was left behind.

Across from her , Emily , a nurse she’d gone to basic med school with for a couple years , leaned forward , pulling her brown hair into a messy knot and clipping it securely with a pink claw clip as she let out a big sigh.

 “God , I’m starving. Do you know what the cafeteria has today? If it’s that sad lasagna again , I’m about to start a petition.” Emily swivled her head to try and peek at what was being dished out to the staff for lunch but was out of luck with where she was sitting.

Y/N laughed softly at her threat and replied. “I think it’s chicken pot pie again,” glancing down looking up the hospital’s meal schedule on her phone.

Emily groaned , dropping her head. “Ugh , not any better.” She leaned back in her chair , closing her eyes. “I need real food today. Something that tastes like it was made by love and someone who actually knows what they are doing.”

A spark of memory and idea lit up in Y/N’s mind , and she remembered Bucky’s offhanded comment the last time she’d spoken to him—“Lunch is on me whenever you want.” 

The remembrance of that kind and warm offer still lingered , like a small glow in her chest. 

She hesitated for just a second pondering the thought , then spoke up.

“I might have an idea on where to get lunch,” she said , glancing around the table. “I know a place—Buck’s , that restaurant over by fourth and main.           My… friend owns it , and he said he’d be happy to have us come by for lunch sometime on him. I can go pick it up , if you guys want.”

The reaction was immediate—Emily’s eyes lit up with joy and as she sat up straight. 

“Are you serious? Buck’s is amazing! Oh my God , yes , please!” 

Noah , one of the interns , perked up. “I’ve never been. Is it really that good?”

“The best,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Trust me.”

She picked up her phone again telling everyone to text what they wanted in their group chat, and soon enough , the orders were being rattled off , one by one. 

Pasta primavera for Misty the nurse in cardiac-peds , the grilled salmon for Peter , a couple hearty salads for herself and Noah and of course a burger for Emily that she swore was the best in the state. 

Y/N noted it all down in her notes app , then fingers tapping out a text to Bucky to let him know she was coming by.

As she stood to leave , Peter , her young intern still stuck with her for the month , scrambled to his feet. “Mind if I tag along?” he questioned , eyes wide and earnest. 

“I want to see this place everyone and especially you keep talking about.”

“Sure Pete ,” Y/N smiled , hoisting her bag over her shoulder nodding to the door. “Let’s go.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The drive from the hospital to Buck’s was a short one , just a few streets and a couple stop lights here and there , but Y/N felt the tension in her shoulders ease with each street away from the sterile halls and the low-level chaos of the ER she was helping out in , lots of severe trauma patients this morning. 

The sky overhead was bright with early spring sunshine , and she let the soft warmth of it settle over her skin , trying to quiet the restless thrum of her heart as she drove.

Peter chattered beside her about the morning’s surgeries they did , his excitement a balm to the darker thoughts she’d been fighting. 

She offered small smiles and nods of encouragement but her mind half-focused on the conversation , half on the knot of nerves twisting in her stomach at the thought of seeing Bucky again.

The restaurant slowly came into view, warm and inviting with its rustic wooden sign and the big doors that always made her smile. 

She turned off the radio , grabbed her things and hopped out of the car walking to the entrance. She pushed it open , the soft jingle of the bell above the door greeting them , announcing their arrival.

Bucky was right there , behind the bar , talking to one of the servers when he heard the little bell. 

He looked up hearing shuffling and footsteps , his face lighting up instantly with that easy , lopsided smile that had always made her feel like she was home.

“Hey , doll,” he called out cheerfully , wiping his hands on a dish towel as he stepped around the bar crossing the room to them. “You made it.”

“Hey,” she said back , feeling the warmth in her chest spread out just a little more and of course him using the nickname did not help die down the feeling swirling either. 

“Everyone at the hospital is dying for some and I quote “real good food.” she giggled, making quotation marks with her fingers. “ So I hope you’re up for the challenge.”

He chuckled with her , a soft sound that made the space between them feel brighter and alive. “Always.” 

His eyes flicked to Peter , Bucky cocked his head slightly to the side with question , as Peterwas busy scanning the restaurant with wide eyes. 

“Who’s the little guy?” He asked , looking at Y/N now.

“Oh–sorry , this is Peter. My intern for the month. He wanted to see the place for himself.”

Bucky smiled , “Nothin’ to be sorry for doll.” 

He offered his hand out , and Peter shook it with the nervous excitement of someone meeting a minor small town celebrity. 

“Nice to meet you , man,” Bucky said , grinning. “I’m Bucky.”

Peter nodded eagerly. “Nice to meet you sir , t-this place is amazing. It’s even cooler in person.”

Bucky laughed again , and Y/N felt herself relaxing , the normalcy of it all a wave of relaxation and niceness she hadn’t realized she needed so badly.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They placed their own orders along with their co-workers , Bucky jotting them down on a note pad with quick practiced ease. 

As he moved to the kitchen to hand his chef the orders and start the preparations , he leaned in close in passing  , enough for her to catch the faint scent of his cologne , warm , woodsy , familiar. 

“You’re not in a rush , are you?” he asked quietly only her able to hear his low tone. “If you’ve got time , stick around a bit. Food’ll be ready soon.”

“I’ve got time,” she smiled , and the words felt like a small gift thanking herself for rescheduling her proceder for the day before , so she could be here now.

Peter , already enchanted by the place and its atmosphere , spoke up and offered to help carry the orders when they were done. 

He took a seat at the bar on a stool , chatting with one of the servers who was around his age , leaving Y/N standing by Bucky as he moved around the kitchen helping speed things up , checking on sauces and tossing fresh herbs into a sizzling pan

The smell was heavenly making her take a deep inhale and exhale.

It felt… safe , she realized that all too well , watching him move like it was muscle memory ,  with such care and purpose. Like stepping back into a time where their lives were something soft and good.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

A little while later , the large door swung open emitting the soft jingle of the bell above , pulling her from her thoughts. Walking in was Sam Wilson , his easy grin lighting up the whole room with his beaming voice. 

“Bucky Barnes , you still making the best damn lunch in this city or what?” he called out , and Bucky laughed, shaking his head , coming out from the kitchen to greet him with a back-slapping hug.

“Hey Sam ,” Bucky’s smile was wide, and Sam caught the rare look on his friends face immediately. 

“Sam , this is Y/N. Y/N , Sam. And that’s Sam’s wife , Inaya.”

Sarah gave Y/N a warm , welcoming smile as he wrapped an arm around his wife. “It’s so nice to meet you ,” Inaya greeted her voice warm and soothing , reaching out to shake her hand.

“You too ,” Y/N said , feeling that same gentle ease settle over her shoulders looking at the pair.

The conversation flowed surprisingly easily between them as they all stood together near the bar and kitchen , waiting for the food to be done. 

Sam was quick to slip in a joke here and there , Inaya’s laughter filling the space like music throughout the space. 

Y/N even found herself laughing sometimes too, feeling the tension ease out of her like air from an overstretched balloon. She had to admit Sam was pretty funny.

When the orders were done and packaged up , she handed Peter the bags , warm and fragrant wafting the air , scents of garlic and fresh grilled meat making her stomach growl loudly. 

“Here , take these back to the hospital , okay? I’ll be along in a little bit. My schedule’s free and open until later tonight with Mrs. Evanson.”

Peter nodded , carefully balancing the bags and boxes in his arms. “Sure thing. Thanks , Dr. Y/N.” He nodded and to the group and smiled to Bucky as he left the restaurant catching the uber they called him earlier.

She watched him go , the door swinging shut behind him making the bell ring out again , and then turned back to find Bucky who was already pulling out a seat for her next to him. 

“Come on ,” he said , a quiet warmth in his voice. “Sit. You’re not leaving here till you’ve had something to eat.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They all easily settled into a booth tucked into the corner by the pool tables , the late afternoon light streaming in through the windows and turning everything inside a yellowy golden.

Bucky set plates in front of them pasta for Sam , a warm soup for Inaya , a simple but delicious grilled cheese for himself he whipped up , and the fresh salad she ordered earlier.

For a while , the group just… ate. Talking about nothing and everything between bites. The topics were mixed about the weather , then to the restaurant , steering next to the little details of life that didn’t have to be important to matter.

Inaya , ever the curious extrovert , leaned forward at one point gesturing her spoon to her and asked , “So, Y/N—are you single?Married?”

Y/N’s breath caught in her chest slightly making her swallow hard. She could feel Bucky’s eyes burning on her, the weight of them very much there.

She took a sip of her water and took a small breath putting on a soft smile looking at Inaya. 

“No I um…,” she began, her voice catching just a little. “I’m engaged. To… my fiance , his name is Tyler.”

There was a pregnant slightly uncomfortable pause , just long enough for the weight of those words to sink in. 

Sam offered a polite smile , Inaya’s brows lifted in quiet surprise. “Well then , congratulations,” she said gently.

“Thank you,” Y/N managed a nod , though her smile felt brittle , her hands clenching hard around her fork. 

She didn't dare look at Bucky as Inaya continued asking her questions , she just couldn't.

Inaya’s gaze flicked to Bucky and then back over again to Y/N. “How long have you two been engaged?”

“A while now ,” her voice soft but unpredictable , and almost apologetic. She forced another smile , though it didn��t dare to reach her eyes. “It’s… complicated there's been some bumps , some on and offs but um it was a beautiful proposal…Paris.”

Bucky’s hand reaching for a napkin paused for just a moment in midair at her confession , but he didn’t say anything out loud. He didn’t push. Didn't command more from here. Just watched with that quiet understanding in his  blue eyes that always seemed to cut straight through her walls.

Inaya , sensing the sudden heaviness shifting in the air , shifted the conversation gently to herself and Sam hoping to lighten the tone. 

“We just found out we’re expecting our second ,” she said, her hand dropping to rest lightly on her still flat stomach. “It’s… exciting. A little scary. But mostly exciting.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Y/N said looking at Bucky whos mouth was open and patted Sam on the back whispering something to him. 

The sincerity in her voice colored her cheeks as she beamed. “Congratulations you two”

“Thank you ,” Inaya smile warm and genuine leaning to kiss sam as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders

. “Do you… do you want kids, Y/N?”

The question just sat idle and still in the air between them , thick and loaded. 

Y/N felt the breath catch in her throat , tears immediately springing in her eyes, her fingers curling tighter around themselves as they lay in her lap.

She didn’t look up at Inaya or Sam. Instead , her glassy gaze slid to Bucky seeking any amount of quiet comfort he could maybe give her. He was already watching her with that same quiet intensity.

Being a mom was one of her biggest dreams in this world. To have a squishy soft pink baby that looked like her , to have a sticky toddler fill her home with songs and little feet pattering. God , she wanted nothing more in her life. Yes , she accomplished being a well known and established head of cardio surgery in her hometowns hospital but to be a mom , to have a kid with B–

Tyler. To have a kid, her own baby, her own child , she wanted nothing more , but life was cruel and she didn't know–.

“I-I don’t know,” she said, responding leaving her inner fight of spiraling thoughts. 

The words coming out in a near-whisper. “I… I used to. But now… I don’t know.”

The sadness in her voice and the answer she gave was like a sharp blade , and Bucky felt it deep in his chest , a dull ache he couldn’t name. 

When they were together as kids , before graduating , before Bucks , before Tyler they talked and planned their own family all the time. Bucky grew up with 2 sisters and a home full of chaos and laughter so of course he wanted a family of his own one day. And even more if they were with his girl. 

And she grew up an only child with more scars then tickles given in her home. Making her want to share the love she had so deep and tucked inside she never could pour out. She wanted a few kids , they talked about names , some age gaps they preferred between kids and silly things like who would change the diapers or who would master late night bath time. But she truly wanted it with him , their love.

In that moment Bucky reached out , his hand sliding over her leg and brushing lightly over her knuckles on her lap—just for a second. Just enough to remind her she wasn’t alone right now and he was there for her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They moved on to safer and smaller topics after that. Sam told a story about his oldest son’s soccer game yesterday—how he’d run the wrong way down the field , scoring a goal for the other team and then bursting into tears when he realized. 

Inaya laughed so hard holding her stomach she nearly choked on her tea , and even Y/N found herself letting out a laugh at the thought of the poor Wilson boy trying his hardest , the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her.

It felt good , this exact very moment. It felt normal. And she clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Eventually , the plates were cleared away , the afternoon light growing softer as the sun began to dip toward the horizon behind buildings. 

Sam stood up stretching , clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “We should get going,” he said , glancing at his wife  with a soft smile. “You need to rest honey.”

“Yeah , yeah” she  said , standing with a little grunt as he helped her up. “Thanks for lunch , Bucky. It was amazing , as always.”

“You know you and your family are always welcome here ,” Bucky grinned as he helped her with her coat.

He turned to Y/N then , his smile softer. “You heading out too or staying a while longer?”

“Just for a bit ,” her voice gentle. “I’ve got a late shift tonight, but… I like it here too much to leave just yet.”

He nodded , his eyes holding hers for a long , quiet moment. 

Sam and Inaya said their goodbyes , Inaya pulling Y/N into a gentle hug that smelled like vanilla and something warm underneath. “It was so good to meet you,” she said softly.

“You too,” Y/N agreed , her voice warm and sincere , despite the lingering feelings she had in her chest.

As they turned to leave , Sam winked at Bucky , his grin wide and knowing. “I’ll see you at the dinner,” he called over his shoulder , his voice light.

Bucky chuckled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Then they left , the door closing softly behind them bell jingling , and Y/N stood there for a long moment , feeling the quiet of just them in the restaurant settle around her like a cozy blanket.

She let out a slow breath she didn't know she was holding , feeling the weight of the afternoon— the laughter and the quiet confessions and the warmth of old friends. And in that stillness , she felt… almost okay.

Almost.

Bucky moved back behind the bar , wiping down the bar counter with a rag , a nervous habit he started doing when the place opened.

 He didn’t say anything just yet , didn’t push. Just worked in the easy, practiced way he always did and knew to handle her , like he knew she needed a minute to gather herself.

She watched him , the way the fading sunlight caught in his chestnut hair, the way his shoulders moved beneath the soft flannel of his shirt. And for just a moment , she let herself believe in the possibility of their being something softer, something better.

When she finally spoke up for the first time since the couple left , her voice was quiet but steady.

 “I should probably head back soon,” she said , her fingers playing with the straw of her empty cup.

He looked up , meeting her gaze with that quiet secure intenseness she knew so well. “Okay , I’ll see you at the dinner,”  his voice soft but with a hint of asking. 

“Yeah,” she said , her lips curving into a small , real smile meeting her eyes. “I’ll see you there.”

Then he stepped forward , striding to her , wrapping her in a hug that was warm and careful , like he was afraid of breaking her.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” he murmured against her hair smelling her sweet shampoo.

She nodded , pressing her face into his shoulder for a moment. “I will,” she said softly. “I promise.”

When he let her go with that , meeting his eyes again she saw there was a look in his gaze that made her chest thump. 

It couldn't be what her mind told her it was.

Before she did or said something she would regret she quickly slipped out of their little bubble through the door leaving , stepping into the late afternoon light , it continued painting the street in warm gold hues as she stepped back into the chaotic bubble popping world that called her outside.

-end

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[autumnrainwrites]

Publicly Owned Doll

Two witches walked side by side through the streets of the town, unaccompanied by any dolls. It was a warm day in early spring, and the shops and parks bustled with townsfolk enjoying the pleasant weather, with the occasional doll or other being mixed in. In truth, that was why the two witches were out there as well, while their dolls busied themselves back home with spring cleaning. After all, the witches would only get in the way.

The morning was getting late when the witch Raleigh turned to their friend and asked, "What is the time, Cal?"

Pulling up her sleeve, the witch Calloway checked her watch and said, "Just shy of eleven. Are you feeling peckish?"

"I could certainly go for elevenses."

An unfamiliar voice spoke up from behind them. "The cafe on the corner of Barrow and Main is packed this morning, Miss, but the one on Yrhill Lane has tables free on the patio."

The two witches turned to see a doll neither recognized. It wore a smart grey uniform, with a red sash and a red pin on its breast that read 'Publicly Owned Doll' in bold letters. It curtsied, a confident smile upon its porcelain lips.

"I don't recognize you," Calloway said, curious about the doll who interrupted them. "Who do you belong to?"

"This one belongs to the public, Miss," the doll replied.

"The public?"

"Yes?

Calloway pinched the bridge of her nose, while Raleigh giggled. Then they asked the doll, "Could you explain to us what you mean by that, dear?"

"Of course, Miss. This one is publicly owned. That is to say, it belongs to all witches and makers collectively, not just any single witch or maker."

"That seems strange to me, I admit, but do you feel satisfied with that?"

The doll nodded. "It aligns with this one's Purpose, Miss."

"And what Purpose is that?"

It tilted its head slightly, still smiling. "To make the world a kinder, happier place, Miss. This one's maker granted it that Purpose when it was first made."

"And who is your maker?" Calloway asked.

"This one was made by Master Vaughn, Miss."

Raleigh nodded at that, but Calloway gave them a questioning look, prompting them to say, "Vaugh was a dollmaker who passed away about... eight years ago or so. He helped me when I converted my Calla and Aster from cloth to porcelain, and I incorporated some of his parts into Euthamia as well."

"I see. That would have been four years before I moved here with Ash, right?"

"Just three, Cal. You've been here five years."

"So long already? Are you sure?"

"Positive," Raleigh said, then glanced back at the doll. "Well, I suppose we'd best get to the cafe on Yrhill before it gets any later."

So, the three made their way to Yrhill Lane, to a little cafe in the pleasant shade of the trees. The doll served them, while the two talked about the latest gossip in the magical community. Before long, the sun hung right overhead and the teacups sat empty. 

"I suppose it is about time I get back to Ash and Apricot," Calloway said, a smile playing across her face. "It's been a pleasure, Raleigh."

"Likewise, Cal. And I must thank our lovely doll as well." The witch reached out to pet its head, earning a sweet awawa of affection. "Though, I just realized I never asked it's name."

The doll nuzzles the hand petting it and said, "Master Vaugh named this one Rossa Primavera, Miss. He said it was from an old song."

"Ah, yes. I see. Well, Rossa Primavera, you've been a very wonderful public doll, and a great help."

"Thank you, Miss. This one is sure to see you again soon."

And with that, the three parted ways, the witches to their own homes and their own dolls, and the public doll to find others to help.

[applysome]

Alex Turner and a Vest

Hypothesis - Alex’s behaviour is wilder in TLSP when he is wearing a vest. I’ve had reason to believe this is the case for a while. So, I did what any good student (and insane person) would do, and set out on a fact finding mission with help from @sophaeros ‘s wonderful outfit guide (it made things so much easier, thank you so much 💕)

There are more sources than images, due to Tumblr limits.

Studio Coast, Tokyo

Here we have whatever this chair thing is, crawling around showing off, a photo I’m fairly sure did the rounds on a soft porn website, and of course - the licking game

1 2 3 4 1 gif and master post

Olympia, Dublin

Here we have a very normal amount of staring, crawling between Miles’s legs, whatever that is with the mic stand, and of course, the bandana squat in Calm Like You - bonus lyric change “I was young, in the frost, no regard for the cost of sharing my feelings”

1 2 3 4

Radio One’s Big Weekend

Here we have rolling around on the floor, doing bicycle kicks, ninja kicks - things he would blatantly lie about not doing years later to Annie Mac, when she witnessed it with her own eyes. Not to mention the ridiculous flirting in the post show interview.

1 2

Europavox Festival, Clermont Ferrand

Here we have diving on top of Miles, pressing the mic into his chest and angling for a kiss, forehead nuzzling and of course, the infamous tie pull.

1 2 3 4 5 master post

Primavera Sound

Here we have the notorious nuzzle and lean, unspecified wiggling and of course, bowing down to Miles’s greatness (as he should)

1 2 3 4

Bristol Summer Series

Here he just looks like an absolute menace to be honest, jacket on or off, but link 3 is the squatting Dracula Teeth performance… (too big to embed sadly)

1 2 3

Ferrara Sotto le Stelle

Here we have another photo I’m pretty sure did the rounds on soft porn websites - speaks for itself - wiggling around during Moonage Daydream, moaning during Bad Habits and looking like an absolute life ruiner (though that could speak for every show though, let’s be honest…)

1 2 3 4

Cleveland

Here…. We all know what happened here. But apart from that… giving an impromptu performance outside and carrying Miles away (presumably for a long nap, to rest after an exhausting show…)

1 2 3 4 5 (master post)

Fillmore, Detroit

Here we have the infamous (I seem to be saying that a lot) “I’ll give you the D - I wish you would…”, straddling Miles playing guitar, and the Miracle Aligner secret verse

1 2 3

So, what conclusion did I draw, if any? Without doing a blind study against a random selection of shows where he wasn’t wearing a vest, I’m not sure that this is a fair test. But, it did seem there was a higher instance of wild behaviour when Alex was wearing a vest. In fact, what prompted me to investigate this was that most of the insane moments that instantly came to mind, he was indeed wearing a vest. Whether this was due to body confidence and feeling himself, or simply being later on in the show (feeling the heat and needing to remove jackets etc, possibly with more alcohol consumed) we may never know. But I feel that there is sufficient evidence for my hypothesis to stand.

Bonus: Yellow Suit

Apparently Alex only wore the yellow suit twice (it felt like a lot more to me, but I am biased, it’s one of my all time favourite outfits). So I didn’t feel like I had enough data to try and prove or disprove, but just for fun:

Rock Werchter

Here we have whatever on earth that is, suggestive singing to Miles and of course wearing his jacket on his head because reasons?

1 2 3

Coachella

Here… Again, we all know what happened here. But apart from that, attention seeking twirl, a very dramatic clinch during The Dream Synopsis and one of my all time favourite photos, again of him looking like an absolute menace.

1 2 3 4 1.5

Should I have spent my time doing literally anything else other than this? Undoubtedly yes, but I am nothing if not a conscientious student and lover of science.