lofty living

Balance on the Head of a Pin

Chapter Eight

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Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader  |  Word Count: 3297
Warnings: Fluff, swearing


The walk to her Gran’s saw them moving in companionable silence as Loki’s mind was filled with images of Lauren in her dress. Technically it was filled with images of him peeling her out of said dress, but he wasn’t one for splitting hairs. It had been so soft under his fingers, her skin warming it through and him in return. The idea of her bare beneath would stay with him for days until he could ascertain for himself just what clever confection of satin or silk Sadie would put her in to keep those pesky panty lines at bay.

It wasn’t until she led him down a narrow dirt road out of town that he snapped out of his musings. “Darling, just where does your Gran’s home reside?”

She smiled up at him and linked their fingers. “Down this way. She’s a bit eccentric, but she ain’t crazy like Daddy said. She’s… well, you’ll see.”

“She’s quite special to you.” Here again she had nerves blooming, but where meeting her family had created nerves of fear, these were nerves of excitement. Clearly, his meeting her Gran was far more important to her than meeting her parents had been.

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aienkien [合縁奇縁] | Travlyn

AU: gods au (belongs to @crybabytime)

summary: have you heard the story of the sun and the moon? Travlyn.

a/n: you mention you were feeling low, so here’s a little present to you because you deserve something sweet and good; I hope this makes you smile, hun! If not, maybe a good chuckle? This is just inspired by the cute idea of the worshippers being, essentially, shippers of the gods au universe,,,

warning(s): prepare for the romance clichés, fluff, mention of other pairings

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(n.) A couple strangely but happily united; uncanny relationship formed by a quirk of fate; the mysteries of attraction and relationships or bonds between two people.

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An old record player- Bucky Barnes X Reader

Prompt: Steve drops off a box full of Bucky’s old belongings, and inside Bucky finds an old record player and you two make fools of yourselves dancing around in your pajamas

Word count: 1906

Warnings: none

A loud knock sounded at your front door, you put down the spoon you were using to stir the cookie batter and looked over at Bucky, who was in the middle of wiping some batter off his cheek, his “kiss the chef” apron covered in flour. He just shrugged at you, not knowing who was at the door either. You padded down the hallway, grabbing one of Bucky’s sweatshirts off the back of the couch and pulling it over your thin pajama shirt. You looked through the peephole to see Steve waiting patiently on the other side of the door, bouncing on his heels slightly. You opened the door, Steve offered you a big smile.

“Hey [Y/n], sorry to bother you on such short notice, but I was cleaning out my closet and found this box of old stuff that used to belong to Bucky before, ya know,” Steve explained, offering you a big box, “BUCKY’S THINGS” was written on the side of the box in big,thick, black lettering. You took it, realizing it was a lot heavier that it seemed.

“What’s in here bricks?” you wheezed, resting the box on your knee to keep from dropping it. Steve just smiled, shaking his head lightly muttering something about a record player.

“Steve do you want to come inside for a minute, me and Bucky are making cookies,” you offered.

“Na, me and Sam are heading out to go see a movie in a bit, I still can’t get over the special effects on some of those, they sure are something else,” Steve remarked. Silence hung between the two of you. A loud clattering come from inside, telling you Bucky was inside making a mess of the kitchen.

“Ok, well thanks for the box, I’m sure Bucky will be excited to go through these things. Drive safely!” you thanked as Steve headed back down the path to his running car parked in your driveway. You backed up into the house, being careful not to let the box slip from your grip, you closed the door with your foot, hopping to regain your balance. You waddled down the hallway, the box blocking half of your line of sight.

“Hey who was at the- what is that?” Bucky inquired as you stumbled into the kitchen and set the box down on the table with a big thud.

“Steve brought over this box filled with stuff that used to be yours, before the war anyway,” you explained. Bucky froze and looked over at you, setting down the measuring cup he was using to scoop dough onto the baking sheet.

“Do you wanna open it?” you asked, wondering if his life before the war was something he’d rather not talk about. In fact, you knew virtually nothing about his life pre-war. He set the bowl of cookie batter down, licking his finger clean of the sticky dough. His eyes danced over the box, curious and unsure.

“Yeah, let’s open it,” he decided rubbing his hands together in anticipation. He stepped closer, untying his apron and tossing it onto the counter. He looked at you, smiled and took the lid off the box, a puff of dust erupting into this face. He waved the dust away, looking down into the box. There were a few books, the covers torn and the pages yellowing, a slinky, a razor and some really old shaving cream, and three little brown matchbox cars, just to name a few items you could both see at first glance. Bucky began taking things out and setting them down on the table, looking at each object carefully, turning them over in his hands slowly before putting them down. You stood next to him, watching him carefully, trying to read his emotions. He laughed quietly upon pulling out a rough sketch of him making a funny face, you could only guess that was drawn by Steve. Bucky’s mind was ablaze with vivid memories from his past, they were all coming back as he pulled one thing after another from the box.

After pulling out a pack of gum, an old torn baseball cap, and a few old yellowing photos, he gasped lightly.

“Oh my gosh,” He whispered, slowly reaching both of his hands down into the box, pulling out what appeared to be another box. This one was leather and had a handle on one side, it looked almost like a briefcase. He set it down on the table gently, you peeked over his shoulder to see what he was so surprised about. He clicked open the clasps on each side of the handle, lifting the lid up to reveal a black turntable and a bunch of knobs and switches. It was a record player, one that had obviously been enjoyed by its users. The corners of the box were beaten and dirty, and there were a few rips in the leather on the top of the box.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe he kept this old thing. This was falling apart in the 40’s, I can’t believe it’s still in one piece,” Bucky chuckled. He looked back into the box, his cheeks stretched into a wide smile. He pulled out four or five records and set them on the table alongside the player. Those were the last things in the box. He set the box on the floor. His smile was wider than ever.

“Let’s see if this old thing works,” he proposed, wiggling his eyebrows at you, carrying the player into the living room, trying to find an outlet into which he could plug the cord. He eventually found an outlet by the coffee table, setting the player down and plugging it in.

“Here Doll, pick a record for us to listen to,” he instructed, handing you the pile of records, all the covers were ripped at the edges from years of use. You rifled through the pile, settling on a record by Frank Sinatra. You handed the record to Bucky. He smiled at your pick.

“Great choice, Doll,” He mused as he pulled the the record gently from the sleeve

“Ok. Now let’s see if I remember how to do this,” He muttered, placing the record gently on the turntable, he then pushed the needle flush against the record and flipped the power switch. He sat back on his heels, looking at the player expectantly. Suddenly the first notes of a song floated out from the box and bounced around the lofty living room. Bucky’s face lit up, a small gasp passing by his parted lips.

“Ya know Doll, I used to dance to this song every week at the dance hall,” he told you, his eyes focused on the floor, reminiscing a time since passed. He shook his head, and stood up, offering you his hand. You glanced down at his gesture, knowing he wanted you to dance with him. You took his hand and he pulled you flush to his chest, his feet beginning to move to the rhythm of the music floating about the room.

“Disclaimer, I have no idea how to dance to this kind of music,” you informed him, stepping on his foot.

“Sorry! See? I told you I have no idea what i’m doing,” you huffed.

“If you can jump around and bounce up and down at one of Tony’s parties to what you guys now call a sad excuse for music, you can surely dance with me to this kind of music,” Bucky assured.

“I am offended, the music of our time is not sad, it’s revolutionary,” you defended, trying to sound matter of fact.
“Whatever you say, Doll” He chuckled, letting go of your hand and backing up away from you, beginning to hop and sway, his dance moves getting worse by the second.

“What in the hell are you doing?” you asked, a laugh threatening to spill past your lips.

“Dancing, what does it look like,” he retorted, flailing his arms about, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“And what exactly is the purpose of this horrendous dancing,” you pondered.

“To prove you can too dance to this kind of music,” He answered, continuing to snap his fingers and flail his arms. You burst out laughing and reached for your phone to take a video of your boyfriend dancing like a fool.

“Oh no ya don’t, Doll,” he chastised, grabbing your hand and twirling you around the living room. Your phone falling from your grip, landing softly on the couch. A giggle escaped from you as he continued to spin you around the room. He then let you go. Your head spun and butterflies flittered around in your stomach, you had never seen this side of Bucky before. He was lighthearted, and his demeanor was carefree and spirited. His chest rose and fell with his labored breathing as he jumped and swayed around the room, totally engrossed in the music playing, not a care in the world. Locks of dark hair fell into his eyes, and he sang loudly to the song playing, despite the fact he wasn’t all that great. He threw his head back, his mouth was wide open as he sang, his lips curving up into a smile as he finished the last note of the song, his head still turned toward the ceiling. You smiled at him as he turned toward you, the next song was starting.

“C’mon, dance with me,” he instructed jumping up and down like he was at some sort of rave. You sighed and joined him, jumping up and down, singing off key (along with the songs you knew anyway, many of them were too old for your to know), and pulling funny faces at each other. You two danced like this through most of the records until finally Bucky set the last record of the pile onto the turntable.

He grabbed your hand and gave you one last twirl, pulling you close as you came out of the turn, he slowed his dancing to match the music. You two swayed and drifted along to the music fluttering around through the room. You pressed your cheek to his chest, his heart galloping against his ribs, you could feel every beat against your cheek. His heart slowly calmed, the beats becoming regular, steady and calming against your cheek.

“See? I told you that you could dance to this music,” Buck stated matter of factly. You smiled.

“Oh I knew that all along, I just really wanted to see you make a fool of yourself dancing like an idiot,” You sneered. He sighed, biting back his smile. You two continued to step and sway, your foot coming down hard on his. He gasped, gritting his teeth to keep from cursing.

“Who’s making a fool of themselves now?” He taunted, his words reverberating around in his chest, his laugh vibrating against your cheek.

“Shut up…”

You two continued to dance until the record ended the repeated soft scratching was the only sound in the room. You looked up at Bucky in the silence, he looked down at you, smiling as wide as ever. He pressed a quick kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Don’t forget to remind me to thank Steve for dropping this box by,” Bucky spoke, pulling you even closer to his body. He was thankful for you, and you were thankful for him, terrible dance moves and all.

Masterlist

@tiffany-lester72

@shamvictoria11

@derpycp

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT THIS HOLBY CITY SHIT #17

I HAVE CONFLICTING FEELINGS ABOUT FLORAL GUY™ TELLING DOM THAT CURLY FRIES IS GAY (?? HE MIGHT BE BI OR PAN SOMETHING IDK) BECAUSE 1) HE TOLD HIM IN CONFIDENCE AND U CAN’T BE OUTING PEOPLE LIKE THAT, BUT 2) FUK YES ONE STEP CLOSER TO HAVING #DOM FRIES BECOME CANON SO
-DOM REMINDS ME OF SOMEONE BUT I CAN’T QUITE THINK WHO
- “WHO U WAITING FOR” “A WOMAN” THIS MAY BE THE ONLY TIME I’VE EVER RELATED TO ITALIAN GUY
- HOW IS THIS 11 YR OLD KID GETTING TO GO TO ICELAND WHEN I ONLY GOT ON 1 SCHOOL TRIP IN MY ENTIRE 5 YEARS IN SECONDARY SCHOOL AND THAT WAS TO A FUCKING FARM
- DID LOVELY LESBIAN LADY™ GET A HAIR CUT BECAUSE HER HAIR IS LOOKING ESPECIALLY LOVELY TODAY
- CAN CURLY FRIES™ ACTUALLY STOP SABOTAGING HIMSELF PLEASE AND THANK YOU
- “I’M GOING TO HELL” ME EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE TBH
- OMG DOM JUS KISSED LOFTY I AM LIVING
- WHY ARE SMILEY WOMAN AND ITALIAN GUY KISSING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WARD PLEASE LIKE DON’T THEY KNOW EVERYONE IS WATCHING THEM NOT DO THEIR JOBS
- WHY IS THIS 11 YR OLD MORE GROWN UP THAN 99% OF THE PEOPLE ON HOLBY PLEASE
- NO0O0O0 I’VE JUST REALISED THAT THE PERSON DOM REMINDS ME OF IS A YOUNG STALIN OMG I’M ACTUALLY DYING
OVERALL THOUGHTS :
THANK FUCK ESSIE AND RAF WEREN’T THE CENTRE OF THIS EPISODE BECAUSE I WOULD’VE ACTUALLY FALLEN ASLEEP

(NOTE: If you want an accurate idea of the real-life spy that Oscar Isaac will be portraying in his next film, “Operation Finale,” read this. What a story! 😱)

***

For a long time, when I was growing up in the building I still live in on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, I knew one neighbor only as Peter. Tall, bronzed and muscled, Peter lived on the 13th floor. If I was riding the elevator alone with him, he always said, “Hello, how’s your mother?” in an Israeli accent after (sometimes) removing a cigarette from his mouth. When I’d see him talking with my 4-foot-10-inch mother in the lobby, her tiny hands gripping shopping bags from Gimbels, they were so different in size that they looked absurd. Mom knew Peter was an amateur artist; she had once been in his apartment to admire his work. She was an amateur artist, too, and my father teased her that she had a crush since that time she went with him to Pearl Paint on Canal Street to buy more oils.

Then in 1986, everyone in my building found out that Peter was not only an artist; he was also a Nazi hunter. It was the 25th anniversary of the trial and hanging of Adolf Eichmann, and a wave of newspaper articles accompanied a special exhibit at the Jewish Museum. Peter the elevator charmer was none other than Peter Malkin, the former Israeli spy who snatched Eichmann off an Argentine street in 1960. Eichmann, of course, was at that time the most wanted Nazi at large — an ardent believer in the Nationalist Socialist agenda, and a former architect of the Final Solution as the SS Obersturmbannführer in charge of Jewish affairs.

The news was a big topic at my family’s dinner table. Mom was amazed that she knew nothing of Peter Malkin’s stealthy past.

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Eao’s Lament

Long had Eao lain in solitude, 

Feasting on wishes and fears also,

Fat it had grown, from offerings many;

Boons begged by Guardians, grief-stricken or greedy,

Made up the meat of the meals Eao ate.


Dreams it consumed, cherished desires;

Traded for power worship we offered.

Names it ate up, beings it devoured!

Wyrm-granted bargains laid low our warriors.


Warrants were sent, City-wide cries:

Dream-serpents too dangerous, declared the Vanguard,

Despite their great powers we must unmake them,

Extinction is necessary, else we are sunk.


Then from the Tower fair champions three

Answered the summons, offered themselves;

Traveler-touched, towering heroes,

Light-sworn they were, risen from death.


Wolf-born was one, gun-sworn, gold-lit;

With Raven’s bright eyes, next flew a warlock;

Last marched war’s Eagle, lofty with honor;

Doomed were they all to make war on Eao.


They sought through wild-lands that wish-granter’s lair,

Sped across reaches, three Sparrows shrieking,

Each deep in thought; Eao the demon

That kept them from peace, last of the wish-wyrms.


Weary, they came close to their quarry,

Sensed that they neared the dream-serpent’s den.

Reality shattered; long shadows whispered

Secrets to each; words only they knew.


*


Eao sensed their coming, slid its great bulk

Down from the dream-cache it had long hoarded.

Up towards the champions spiraled the serpent,

To treat with the war-beasts, play host to their wishes.


Eao whispered into them, dream-like it spoke,

Welcomed the war-beasts with bargains wide-ranging.

Then did the wish-wyrm, defying its foes,

Challenge each champion to turn down a deal.


Spoke cunning to Wolf-kin, offered control:

Place-seeking power to leap over obstacles.

To Raven, true reason brought Eao as bargain;

Strength enough to sunder reality’s boundaries.

Eagle alone understood, sight discipline-sharpened,

The sorrows unsaid, the secrets unspoken:

Too many lives lost, lofty promises -  too costly.


Unmoved were the warriors, wary of hope-nooses;

Serpentine cunning could not dissuade them:

Death was their answer despite its appeals.


*


Intoned Eao then, unlocked its word-hoard:

“Heavy burdens you bear: despite your tongue-silence,

Your sorrows I sense, your hopes I have heard.

To you I offer, wield them as you will;

- Bones, claws,   scales, skull -


Take them up! Take them!


Take them up screaming, oh wish-bearers mine.

To you they will hiss truth-shouts eternal.

Hear them you must! May you have no thought

Free from my murmurs, exempt from my voice.


Dream-founded, bone-bound, my whispers will haunt you

Doom now awaits you - my words are your fate.

Pursue your slaughter, use sky-powers splendid,

Kill me and then take up my corpse.


Make weapons of me!  Wield mighty arms!

Eternity I offer to each of you, chosen.


Your sadness I see, despairs that you carry

(Grudges denied, deaths bought with blood);

Unlike you three, I shall live on.

I have endured endings uncounted,

Some stolen from memories, Some earned on my own;

Elements of me are sustained eternally

In close-held claws

 - hope-sharpened, wish-whetted -

In dire skull shaped from dreams long-cherished.


My bones now belong to this timeline’s warriors;

Power I give! desires I grant!

Impending death alters this not.”


*


The wish-wyrm fell still. Swift they descended;

War-beasts unmerciful, without second thoughts,

Silenced the speaker, struck at the serpent -

Slaughter was wrought; Eao, unmade!


Returned then in silence war-champions three,

Revealed their victory, reported to Vanguard

The death they had sown there among dreams,

Eao-collected, hoarded by wish-wyrm;

Long-held desires, Nameless, unowned.


Spoke then the war-beasts, honored dead Eao,

Tried to describe the doom they had worked:

“In sorrow we slew it, left shards of it scattered

Then sifted through ashes, searching for answers

To questions we’d asked it, or hadn’t, not quite;

Eao had heard them; Words we’d not said.


Eao’s blood we spilled, Eao’s bones we splintered,

Eao’s body we sundered, Eao’s being we shattered.

Eao was ended, we made it extinct;

We silenced its voice, we suffered its loss.

Ask not the cost of owning our destiny:

Now lies fallow that foundry of dreams.”

Real Sherlock & Watson Quotes if spoken by Dyfty

from the show Sherlock (some are slighted altered)

Lofty: You don’t have a girlfriend then?
Dylan: Girlfriend? No, not really my area. 
Lofty: Alright… Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way. 
Dylan: I know it’s fine.
Lofty: So you got a boyfriend?
Dylan: No. 
Lofty: Right. Okay. You’re unattached. Like me. Fine. Good. 
Dylan: Ben, erm… I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any… 
Lofty: No. I’m… not asking. No. I’m just saying, it’s all fine. 
Dylan: Good. Thank you. 

Lofty: [after Dylan smugly diagnoses a patient] That… was amazing.
Dylan: You think so?
Lofty: Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary.
Dylan: That’s not what people normally say.
Lofty: What do people normally say?
Dylan: “Piss off”. 

Dylan: You’re a nurse. In fact, you’re an E.D nurse.
Lofty: Yes.
Dylan: Any good?
Lofty: Very good.
Dylan: Seen a lot of injuries, then?… Violent deaths?
Lofty: Yes.
Dylan:  Bit of trouble, too, I bet.
Lofty: Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime… far too much.
Dylan: Want to see some more?
Lofty: Oh God, yes. 

Lofty: It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? Treating complicated patients to prove you’re clever.
Dylan: Why would I do that?
Lofty: Because you’re an idiot.
Dylan: Dinner?
Lofty: Starving.

Dylan: Listen, what I said before, Ben, I meant it. I don’t have friends. I’ve just got one.
Lofty: Right.

Lofty: [after Dylan smugly diagnoses a patient] It’s fantastic!
Dylan: Do you know you do that out loud?
Lofty: Sorry, I’ll shut up.
Dylan: No, it’s… fine. 

Dylan: You took your time.
Lofty: Yeah I didn’t get the shopping.
Dylan: What? Why not?
Lofty: Because I had a row in the shop with a chip and PIN machine.
Dylan: You had a row with a machine?
Lofty: Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse.

Lofty: Anytime you want to include me… “No, I’m Dylan. I always work alone because no one else can compete with my massive intellect!”

Dylan: I need to get some air. We’re going out tonight.
Lofty: Actually I’ve got a date.
Dylan: What?
Lofty: It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun.
Dylan: That’s what I was suggesting.
Lofty: No it wasn’t. At least I hope not.

Lofty: Is that a head?
Dylan: Just tea for me, thanks.
Lofty: No, there’s a head in the fridge.
Dylan: Yes.
Lofty: A bloody head!
Dylan: Well where else was I supposed to put it? You don’t mind do you? Got it from the morgue. I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.

Lofty: Don’t do that.
Dylan: Do what?
Lofty: The Look.
Dylan: The Look?
Lofty: You’re doing The Look again.
Dylan: I can’t see it, can I? {he looks in the mirror} It’s my face?
Lofty: Yes, and it’s doing a thing. You’re doing a “We both know what’s really going on here” face.
Dylan: Well we do.
Lofty: No. I don’t. Which is why I find The Face so annoying.

Dylan: Are you coming?
Lofty: If you want me to.
Dylan: Of course. I’d be lost without my nurse.

Lofty: There are lives at stake, Dylan! Actual human lives. Just so I know, do you care about that at all?
Dylan: Will caring about them help save them?
Lofty: Nope.
Dylan: Then I’ll continue not to make that mistake.
Lofty: You find that easy do you?
Dylan: Yes. Very. Is that news to you?
Lofty: No. No.
Dylan: I’ve disappointed you.
Lofty: That’s a good— good deduction. Yeah.
Dylan: Don’t make people into heroes Ben. Heroes don’t exist and if they did I wouldn’t be one of them.

Dylan: No! No no! Of course he’s not the boy’s father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans.
Lofty: Knew it was dangerous.
Dylan: Hm?
Lofty: Getting you into crap telly.

Dylan [covered in blood]: Well that was tedious.
Lofty: You went on the bus like that?
Dylan: None of the cabs would take me. 

Lofty: Can we not do this this time?
Dylan: Do what?
Lofty: You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and putting your hands on your hips so you look cool.
Dylan: I don’t do that.
Lofty: Yeah, you do.

Ὦ Διὸς ὑψιμέλαθρον ἔχων κράτος αἰὲν ἀτειρές,
ἄστρων ἠελίου τε σεληναίης τε μέρισμα,
πανδαμάτωρ, πυρίπνου, πᾶσι ζωοῖσιν ἔναυσμα,
ὑψιφανὴς Αἰθήρ, κόσμου στοιχεῖον ἄριστον,
ἀγλαὸν ὦ βλάστημα, σελασφόρον, ἀστεροφεγγές,
κικλήσκων λίτομαί σε κεκραμένον εὔδιον εἶναι.
-
O holder of Zeus’ high-built sovereignty, ever untarnished,
part of the stars and sun and moon,
all-conqueror, with breath of fire, spark of all living things,
lofty-gleaming Aether, noblest element of the cosmos,
o shining offshoot, flame-bearer, lighter of stars:
invoking you, I pray that you be mildly tempered.
—  Orphic Hymn to the Aether (5)