#loving lydia hrs

[artist-rat]

hi for the love of god hello

#elder scrolls #skyrim #lydia #just a reminder #loving lydia hrs #enjoy my creative captions/comments whenever lydia art. it's just variation of hiiii hiii Hello hi hi HELLO. HI. #i'm not even trying

[jamiesfootball]

Always lowkey simmering a Leverage AU in the back of my head hear me out:

Ted is an ex-insurance investigator who was able to get his son life-saving medical treatment because his first, original Crime Pal Beard was like ‘Ted if your company doesn’t come through with the coverage, we’re doing things my way.’

The company did not come through. The company did let him go due to suspicion of Ted’s involvement in the incident, but Ted will happily remind folks that no charges were formally pressed. Henry is alive and healthy and living with Michelle, who divorced Ted shortly thereafter (not just because of pre-existing marital problems, but because Ted wouldn’t tell her anything about why the doctors “””suddenly decided to do the procedure for free”””). Shortly thereafter, Ted fled the country.

What Ted learned from the whole experience is that there’s a lot of people out there, good people just trying to live by the rules, but sometimes things happen that are just out of their control. And well- if we’ve got the means to help the good people out when no one else will, then shouldn’t we try?

“We’ve got means,” Beard agrees. “And motives.”

They do things Beard’s way now.

#also Rebecca is a grifter who gave it up when she married into money and her name(s) echo mysteriously through the back alleys of London #“did you hear about this Secret Princess Lydia who went missing in the 90s?’ ‘yes Ted that was me’ #the woman is constantly dodging every half-told lie she made on a lark twenty years ago but she is amazing at keeping them straight #and Roy- Roy long ago took an injury that ended his career as a footballer before it started #and he fell into a bad spot as a hitter #and then he fell into a worse spot #and then he dug himself out for his neice that no one knows about (see: everyone knows about think mafia kid no one is allowed to touch her) #the problem now is he’s getting old #the hits hit harder and his speed isn’t what it used to be #(Roy Kent’s slow is still leagues beyond what these young wannabe punks can do these days) #keeley! she is a sneak thief. very charming. tiny. great with repelling down sides of buildings #loves money and shiny rocks and thinks Rebecca is the bee’s knees #and then there’s Jamie who is a 24 year old hacker with gaudy taste no knack for accents and a problem with authority #in this au him and ted have basically split Nate’s backstory #Ted’s dad took him to bars and taught him little tricks and mind games- nothing fancy just stuff an HR person might know #meanwhile Jamie’s dad took him to shady deals in bars because his dad was a fixer who’d put bad guys in touch with each other #jamie keeps a tracker running on his laptop with his dad’s whereabouts at all times #unfortunately he didn’t think that anyone else would bother looking for him- he’s not exactly a big time crook #but Ted and his crew have pissed off Rupert Mannion who is big time and who wants to hit back at Rebecca for making a fool of him #and Mannion’s people have identified that the way in to breaking their little crew is through Jamie #who’s name sounds so ridiculous people have assumed it was fake this whole time #anyways #thanks for reading #I will likely never write this but boy I have ideas 💡 #leverage au #ted lasso #jamie tartt #roy kent #keeley jones #rebecca welton

[tessa-quayle]

spotlight on the OFC

(fanfiction recommendations) :)

the reader insert, the second person, the y/l/n convention (which, for me, can disrupt the text and i haven’t gotten used to it - not criticizing those who do it - i'm the problem, it’s me 🤪) are all the rage in fanfiction.  i get the immersive appeal, and many of the fics i love and enjoy employ the second person.  

richly drawn original characters draw me in and capture my attention. I appreciate how creative folks get with their OFCs, the headcanons, and how they have fun showing off these OFC’s quirks and strengths and interior lives and histories.  it’s a joy to read.

here are a few great OFCs in the Pedro Pascal Character universe.  the stories are engaging and this is a fairly diverse list of OFCs (by that I mean race/ethnicity, life experience, nationality, disability).  as always, each author issues their own warnings.

listed in alphabetical order by writer:

@iamskyereads - Ezra (Prospect) x OFC Beatrice 

ongoing series (Compulsion).  love the sci-fi world-building in the first chapter. Beatrice is a sharp and compelling protagonist who’s suffered a traumatic brain injury and has PTSD.  

@intheorangebedroom - Frankie (Triple Frontier) x OFC Gabrielle 

complete series (Pleased to Meet You).  angsty intercontinental love story between everyone’s favorite pilot and a cool French woman.  the descriptions of different cities are vivid.

@jazzelsaur - Frankie (Triple Frontier) x OFC Ellie

complete series (Between the Raindrops).  the slow burn here is a smolder in the best sense.  Elliot (Ellie) is a widow who lives next door to Frankie.  the weight of grief and angst in this series is remarkable. 

@jomiddlemarch - Joel (The Last of Us) x OFC Grace

loose-fit series (On Call for the Apocalypse).  crossover with Ted Lasso.  set in Jackson WY between seasons 1 and 2, Grace is a snarky doctor (scratch a cynic, find a romantic) hanging out with Joel and Ellie  (format better on AO3)

@julesonrecord and @lunapascal ( @stardustandskycrystals) - Dieter (the Bubble) x OFC Andie 

ongoing series (Curls).  we’re rooting for Dieter and Andie amid all the drama and shenanigans surrounding a pregnancy and a wedding.  this reads like a novel you finish in one sitting.  

@ladamedusoif - Mr Ben (SNL) x OFC Lydia 

ongoing series (Visiting).  Lydia is a European art historian who goes to teach at an East Coast liberal arts college and meets the dashing Mr Ben.  delightful and smart (and I'm not just describing Mr Ben).

@radiowallet - Marcus (We Can Be Heroes) x OFC Amy

ongoing series (Eyes Open).  Single parents Marcus and Amy find love in the workplace, HR be damned.  Amy contains multitudes and the portrait of her as a mother is especially real and sweet.

@whatsnewalycat - Din (Mandalorian) x OFC Charlie

ongoing series (Passenger).  Gritty, dark, cool AU where Din Djarin is a trucker/bounty hunter and Charlie is making her way west.  this fic has a lot of postmodern energy.

@yespolkadotkitty - Pero (Great Wall) x OFC Jade

complete series (Fighting Blind).  Fun, winsome adventure between a museum curator and our favorite Spanish warrior.  Love the time-travel element, the nod to the Asian diaspora, and the rich world-building.  This series is stay-up-past-your-bedtime reading.

feel free to share your fic recs and favorite OCs/OFCs (your own and/or others)!  ❤️

#fic rec #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales x ofc #ezra x ofc #dieter bravo x ofc #mr ben x ofc #joel miller x ofc #marcus moreno x ofc #din djarin x ofc #pero tovar x ofc #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales #ezra prospect fan #ezra prospect #dieter bravo #mr ben snl #mr ben snl fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #marcus moreno #marcus moreno fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #yay for OFCs #trying to get better at reblogging #dieter bravo fanfiction #read these fics

[chirpsythismorning]

So crazy there is more than meets the eye with those 3. At first I was thinking: Of course Will is sitting away from the happy couple after his own feeling were used to fix them. Wonderful. Now I think Will must have chose to sit away from them to avoid further heartache and prepare himself for being back in Hawkins. In those 2 days, even if we didn't see it there is no way both of them didn't offer to swap seats or tell him to sit with them at some point to be more comfortable you know?

They were so unhinged for that 2 days later epilogue! Though, I definitely understand why they did it.

In fact, that time jump is probably one of the strongest arguments pointing to milkvan bones in s5.

Because if Mike's monologue was truly as satisfying as so many hardcore fans insist it was, then why didn't we get the aftermath of said satisfying monologue? Why didn't we get El opening her eyes, finally being able to look back at Mike meaningfully after this highly anticipated moment, kissing or even just embracing. And THEN fade to black and do the time jump?

(If you want to see this exact scene, but romantic, check out Stiles saving Lydia from 5x16 of Teen Wolf... Literally the exact same scene, but with a genuine romantic lens... After watching that, you'll realize how truly unromantic Mike's monologue was).

Giving us the aftermath of Mike's love confession would have nicely closed off the conflict related to him not being able to say it to El, going on 2 seasons now? But instead they're going to leave it ambiguous, and stretch it one more season?

Yeah... okay.

Though we know, because Will asks Mike, has she talked to you at all, that the answer is... not much. ?

And so I think you're right. I think in major part, Will made that choice to sit in front of them after the monologue, because from his POV, everything that happened at Surfer Boy was strictly romantic. It was Mike professing his love (at first sight) to El.

Him being able to face away from them, in turn attempting to stay out of their way and try to keep everything that just happened from completely destroying him (i feel like my life started that day we found you in the woods), by literally facing the opposite direction... As well as looking forwards, preparing for what is just ahead of them. It's tragic but it's also very typical Will Byers behavior.

Something that really makes me uncomfortable about the time jump, is the fucking painting.

The aftermath of the monologue, in regards to how El was behaving towards Mike, clearly contradicted what Will said to Mike about the painting El commissioned (obviously). So maybe Mike just felt sort of confused on the way back to Hawkins, which is why he likely didn't address the painting? Despite it sitting there right in front of them (with Will facing away, allowing him to not feel stressed about addressing it at least?).

And then of course there's El's POV to consider during that 20 hr ride. Honestly I think she was preoccupied with Max mostly, but also, she's not stupid.

We know she knows about the painting. We know she's been around for conversations where the people talking didn't know she was hearing what was outright being said, ie. the fight at rink o mania where Will mentioned Mike never calling AND Dustin mentioning how Mike is always whining about the Byers' line being busy AND El hearing Will say Mike's the heart during the monologue...

So, whose to say she didn't see the painting sitting in the back seat.? Could that have been the point where it sort've clicked for her? I mean, even though we didn't see her see it, or any of them agknowledge the painting during the epilogue for that matter, it would be as easy as a less than measly 10 second flashback to allude to it. I don't think that's what it would look like, but all i'm saying, it wouldn't take a lot to give that impression.

It would make sense for her to just keep quiet because she's also got a lot on her mind. She's probably feeling guilty for her own reasons with everything that went down.

I think in regards to Will she's probably preparing herself for a follow-up conversation about what just went down. Because I don't think she would bring it up to Mike first when it comes to the painting... If she saw the painting and it clicked, it would have to be Will that she brought it up to, I feel like?

I could be wrong, but even though El isn't well versed in social etiquette, I just can't see her directly mentioning the painting being from Will to Mike and not her, without at least talking about it with Will first, just like he did with her at Rink O Mania.

Will waited until the very last second, THEN he told Mike the truth, when there was literally no other option.

That's the only way I could see her doing the same in Will's case... Until there is no other option... In that case, it could be Mike confronting her about it and about how he doesn't understand why what he said didn't work if she felt all those things... I could see that being a scenario where she'd be like, talk to will. But still, I think even if that happened, she still would've talked to Will at least vaguely before that point.

Although I am looking forward to it, it's going to be sort of scary seeing El and Mike predictably falling apart early s5, and Will perhaps panicking and distancing himself even more bc he thinks he might have something to do with their problems and miscommunication in the first place ie the painting.

Now, when it comes to whether or not El or Mike offered for Will to join them in the backseat, I'm going to hope they did offer, at least once, preferably numerous times, but each time Will refused.

Otherwise I have to consider the possibility Mike didn't offer bc he was scared it would make his feelings obvious and he's already nervous El is catching on to him... Which Idk that feels odd and OOC?

I could however consider the possibility of El being annoyed/frustrated with both of them and just letting them wallow in their self pity on their own. Mike offering. Will refusing. El just rolling her eyes like, these fucking morons.

Also another reason I think Mike might have made the move to gravitate more towards Will near the end of the season was because they're now back in Hawkins and we know Hawkins isn't the same without Will. It could have been entirely subconscious on Mike's part, making his behavior in s5, of him transitioning back to his very observant self in relation to Will, a lot smoother.

But still, I fully expect Will to scram whenever either of them are in his sights, specifically near each other. Like I could totally see him being like Sorry! I'll leave you guys to it! Or even just silently making it obvious that's what he's doing.

And Mike being confused bc of Will and also confused bc of El.

The miscommunication is going to be miscommunicationing. I simply cannot wait!!

#stranger things #byler #sorry for rambling #i am super excited tho! #i'm also soooo excited for s5 promo #bc i feel like were experts at this point #were ready for anything and everything #we'll be ready for the bts and promo and everything in between #if theres anything hidden in the details were gonna find it #(the early milkvan breakup is probably going to be the most expected for bylers but not the ga... that'll be interesting...) #if there is promo that is matching what we're anticipating... #the validation? #the fucking validation is going to be sooooo unsurmountable

[ageless-aislynn]

10 12 20 and a dealer’s choice on the writing asks!

Eee, thank you so much! 😁💖

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Definitely "15 Minutes" (John x Reader, Halo). I was suuuuuper new to writing xReader fics and that was just meant to be a one-and-done and I was extremely surprised that, not only did it seem to be liked, but I had people asking to read more about them. It's now an open-ended slow-burn that even has a spin-off "Recreation" for Kai and her male Reader!

Annnnnd thankfully I caught the typo of "Kai and her mail Reader," lol!

Kai: "Okay, honey bun, what mail did I get today?"

You: "All love letters, like usual. Do you want me to start alphabetically chronologically or by degree of Not Safe For Life?"

Kai: "Eh, your choice, sweet'ums!"

12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP(s)? Share it!

It's an amended version of my Camp NaNo July playlist, since I was writing for *drum roll* "15 Minutes" and "Recreation" in addition to an original piece. 😉I pulled out a few songs into a little "How To Date A Spartan (Without Even Trying)" playlist:

"Head Over Heels" - Tears For Fears "You keep your distance via the system of touch and gentle persuasion; I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much? Oh, you're wasting my time, you're just, just wasting time [...] Something happens and I'm head over heels; Ah, don't take my heart, don't break my heart, don't, don't, don't throw it away"

"Something Just Like This" - The Chainsmokers ft Coldplay "She said, where'd you wanna go? How much you wanna risk? I'm not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts, some superhero, some fairy-tale bliss, just something I can turn to, somebody I can miss"

"Someone To You" - Banners "I wanna be somebody to someone, I never had nobody and no road home, I wanna be somebody to someone [...] Someone to you"

"Silhouette" - Aquilo "The devil's on your shoulder, the strangers in your head, as if you don't remember, as if you can forget; It's only been a moment, it's only been a lifetime, but tonight you're a stranger; Some silhouette"

"Be Here Now" - Ray LaMontagne "Be here now, don't lose your faith in me"

"Don't Give Up On Me" - Andy Grammer "I will fight, I will fight for you, I always do until my heart is black and blue; And I will stay, I will stay with you, we'll make it through the other side like lovers do"

"Never Tear Us Apart" - INXS "I was standing, you were there, two worlds collided and they could never, ever tear us apart"

20. What’s a favorite title for a fic you’ve written?

I think that would have to be "The Thousandth and the First" (NSFW)(Caitlin/Eobard, The Flash). The title doesn't really make any sense until the very last line of its 10 chapters and then, hopefully, it tied the entire thing back together with a bow, lol!

Random number generator 😂 says: 15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

I do have a habit of making the titles the punchline to the story like the above "Thousandth and First" or "Granted" (Caitlin/Harry, The Flash), "I Am" (Barry, MattLetscher!Eobard/Nora, The Flash), "*With Benefits" (NSFW in content but nothing graphic) (Caitlin/Harry, The Flash), "His" (Kai/John, Halo) or some sort of pun or wordplay "Scandal, Us?" (NSFW in content but nothing graphic) (Frost/Nash, The Flash), "Cherryished" (Lydia/Peter, Teen Wolf) or "(In)vulnerable" (NSFW LIEK WOAH, the most graphic thing I've ever written, if that tells you anything 😱😂) (Eobard x Reader, The Flash). Or sometimes something will just pop into my head and that's how I end up with a "The Ice Dragon and the Winter Fox" (Killer Frost/HR, The Flash) or "Gray Sunflowers" (Caitlin/Hunter, The Flash).

Thanks so much for giving me an excuse to ramble, it actually does help my persistent writer's block to look over my work to figure out answers, I dunno why, lol! 🤷‍♀️

Fanfic Writer Ask Game

#fanfic writer ask game #ask game #thank you! #sarnakhwritesthings #writing #ais is writing #or at least trying to #come on muse we can deeeeew iiiiiit /palpatine voice #lol #halo the series #x reader #snowells #master chief x kai-125 #john-117 x kai-125 #ageless aislynn

[ffa-things-and-stuff]

More About Me

Name is Tara. Early thirties. She/Her. I’m a fun combo of ASD & mixed ADHD w/ sides of both sensory seeking and sensory avoiding tendencies. I’m also a recovering heroin/crack addict (11 yrs, 8 months) recovering from myriad eating disorders (4 years, 6 months). I’ve been very successful in life in spite of all this, yet I don’t often acknowledge that b/c, yk, abysmally low self-esteem, but I get better about that everyday b/c I work the 12 steps. My gratitude for life was borne of the adversities I’ve faced, the obstacles I’ve overcome.

I find value in labels, (for introductions, disclaimers, self awareness, community/connection), but I also rebel against them w/ the intention of not limiting my personal growth.

I’m a Cancer and an INTP = tons of feelings, but they don’t much guide me.

Aaaaand yet, I'm super empathic. Grey ace/aro, hyper/bisexual, fatsexual. Probably poly, or at least poly friendly, (I feel compersion, not jealousy).

FFA/Feeder (in a super gay way) with a strong lean toward soft feedism. Like, no CNC for me in that context. It's gotta be soft and lovey and joyful and indulgent and adoring.

Fmr. paid sex worker who avidly supports and patronizes paid sex workers.

I have the following physiological ASD comorbidities: hypermobile EDS, (bendy af), MCAS, (Mast Cell Activation Syndrome), subclinical secondary (hypoandrenergic) POTS, Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome (from Lyme @ 16) and secondary low T3 hypothyroidism. I have low proprioception w/o dyspraxia but because of the joint hypermobility

I have a B.A. in Psychology & an M.S. in Nutrition & Integrative Health. Human disease/disorder is my primary special interest. Music is my secondary, but it’s a fickle/choosy one. Psychopathy/true crime is tertiary. Math/numbers and words/etymology/accents/dialects/language/slang are both quaternary. I’m a finance/HR director.

I have no inclination toward animals. Animals are lovely, but I don’t connect w/ them. Instead, I adore and go “awww” at all of the baby humans.

Rlyyyy random but I'm vehemently opposed to veganism for the human race. It’s a principle thing and I’m autistic so I have an arsenal of debate material on deck w/o fucks to give about personal feelings; there’s no use in coming for me. I (acknowledge the privilege I have to be able to afford to) practice ethical, environmentally conscious omnivorism. People should live however, and eat whatever, tf they want to, though.

I love to sing, dance, and lift weights. My personal style is the athleisure version of Lydia from Beetlejuice. Petite / short / athletic / hourglass / big boobs / fat ass.

The DMV is home, but Phoenix AZ is my spiritual home, (the rotting cacti give me gut-lvl catharsis...I bawl like a baby about it). Ik, Sedonaaaaa, and sure, but also Phoenix.

Severe existential dread often poisons my naturally gleeful disposition. Very in touch w/ my inner child, VERY silly. Boundless love and adoration to give. Terrified of dying alone, but also need a lot of personal space/time.

Minors: leave me alone.

#me #this reads like a dating profile #im sorry but also #feedee wanted #I’m cute and funny I swear #ffa #female ffa

[rantsandsparkles]

Tár - Review (slight spoilers)

I never watched a trailer for this one, but I knew a rough synopsis of it just from osmosis; a conductor being ‘me too’ed’ and getting cancelled.

The movie opens with a long Q&A  and you get the impression that Lydia Tar, played by Cate Blanchett, is  an extremely intelligent know it all , which is slightly annoying. But at that point she isn’t entirely unlikeable. I found myself intrigued and wanted to see her at work. Flash forward to a scene of her teaching (guest lecturing? That wasn’t clear to me) a class at Julliard and its during this scene that you realize, “oh so this woman is a c*nt”. That scene is going to be on every for your consideration highlight real this season , and will be studied for years. Blanchet is incredible in this scene, and her character is so awful in it that it actually made me a little excited to see her get knocked down later in the film.

Lydia Tar is one of those people that is so arrogant , so up their own ass believing their own shit, and so unfeeling to the majority of ever other human she interacts with, but is, we are lead to believe, so incredibly talented that she can get away with it. It leaves her feeling immune to any and all consequences of her actions. The one redeeming relationship she has is with her young daughter that she’s raising with her partner, but even that is ruined. There is a moment when she does something to defend her daughter, but she does it in the most horrible and atrocious way that its like, wow even when you’re trying to be good you’re a truly terrible person.

Tar is an exploration of a person that leaves a path of destruction everywhere she goes, and eventually she gets cancelled in the most spectacular way. My initial thought as I was getting out of my seat after the credits rolled were “wow” – she got CAN. CELLED….  But thinking about it more, its like yeah she got knocked down but she’s still free to find work, and probably well paid work,  without making any amends or answering for the things she’s done /the lives she’s destroyed. It felt a little on the nose for the current climate where so many awful people get to continue being awful without any real consequences.

Overall I’m glad I went to see the film, but didn’t love it.  But honestly probably will go see it again my theatre did not have the best sound so it was a little hard to hear the dialogue.  I don’t know why this movie had to be 2 hrs and 40 minutes though. There are other parts of the movie that I really enjoyed (this movie is filled with nice rich people apartment porn), but I feel kinda dispassionate about it and don’t even feel like writing it down , and I guess that says a lot lol.

6/10  

#tar #movies #moviereview #movie review #cate blanchett

[usagoodnews]

Love Is Blind Season 5: Secrets, Drama, and Unseen Connections

Summary

The return of “Love Is Blind” ushers in the arrival of a new cadre of hopeful singles who will be entering the mysterious realm of the pods in Season 5, excitedly searching for their desired partner. The series revolves around individuals who have a burning desire to find praise for themselves, as expressed by Netflix. These claimants have willingly subscribed to an unconventional paradigm in contemporary courtship, where they take the momentous decision of tying the knot without ever physically meeting.

Throughout the program, these budding couples will live together, carefully orchestrate their marriage ceremonies, and embark on a journey to ascertain whether their physical intimacy is harmonious with the intense emotional resonance developing within the confines of isolation pods. Aligns, as shown. On the show’s official page.

Read Also:- Controversial Exit: Erica Mena(38) Kicked Out of ‘Love & Hip-Hop’ After Atlanta Brawl and Racial Comment

When will ‘Love Is Blind’ hit our screens?

Season 5 opening date This season’s initial quartet of installments is set to make its grand debut on September 22 on Netflix. It is customary for Netflix to debut its exclusive television program episodes and cinematic features globally at 3 a.m. E.T.

‘Love Is Blind’ Season 5 next Episodes Dates

The 5th to 7th Episodes are scheduled to be released on 29th September, while the 8th and 9th Episodes will be released on 6th October.

When will be the finale of ‘Love Is Blind’?

The grand finale will be unveiled on the Netflix platform on October 13, with each episode providing an hour-long cinematic experience.

Where does the story of ‘Love Is Blind’ Season 5 unfold?

This season, the narrative moves to the vast expanse of Texas, with Houston serving as the backdrop for this exciting odyssey.

Season 3 found its visual narrative in Dallas, while the fourth installment unfolds against the beautiful backdrop of Seattle.

Watch Love Is Blind Season 5 Trailer

Netflix gives viewers a tantalizing glimpse of what this new season has to offer on September 7.

Read Also Post:- Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner announce the end of their marriage

Who is hosting season 5 of Love is Blind?

The hosts of this show are none other than Vanessa and Nick Lachey themselves.

Love Is Blind Season 5 Cast

See, the full roster of Season 5, along with their respective ages and professions, as curated by Netflix:

Aaliya, 29, an ICU travel nurse Estefania, 30, a teacher and a dancer Shondra, 32, a flight attendant 30 year old Maris is an expert in HR matters

Paige, 32, stylist at Panache Renee, 32, is a skilled veterinarian Lydia, 32, a distinguished geoscientist Erica, 27, a skilled marketing supervisor

Mariam, 32, a distinguished scientist Stacey, 34, a director who oversees operational aspects Johnny, 32, is a legal lawyer Linda, 32, a talent acquisition recruiter

Myra, 25, a respected minister of faith 26 year old Taylor is a teacher by profession Robert, 30, specializes in special needs pedagogy Izzy, 31, expert salesmanship

Chris, 28, is a skilled manager who oversees commercial and retail expansion Efrain, 27, is excelling in software sales Ernesto, 32, an experienced manager of supply chain logistics Connor, 31, a sage in the field of geology

Enoch, 27, a smart financial advisor Jared, 34, a director responsible for academic affairs Jared, 32, a heroic firefighter by profession Josh, 32, a skilled representative of sales skills

Carter, 30, specializes in construction Justice, 28, a dedicated personal fitness consultant Milton, 25, a renowned figure in the field of petroleum engineering Uche, 34, is a lawyer and has an entrepreneurial spirit

If our team has missed any information related to season 5 of Love Is Blind, please comment. Is love blind?

#celebrity news #entertainment #trailer #tv shows #netflix series #love is blind #love is blind season 5 #Youtube

[toreaofthestorm-blog]

This was lovely, short story from the POV of Lydia after marrying Wickham. The narrators did a wonderful job and it gave us a happy ending which you know I love. Definitely worth the two hrs to listen to. #booklover #prideandprejudice #audibleoriginal https://www.instagram.com/p/CivF1_7ulem/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#booklover #prideandprejudice #audibleoriginal

[justwannasin]

Lydia makes the perfect office sleeze, as workers popped their heads out of the cubicles as she walks past. No one really knows how she got the job, but she was with HR somehow as her pencil skirts and button up blouses gave them an eyeful,

"Yeah, the hot ass blonde? Dunno what her deal is. Yeah totally, I'd love to get my hands on her but- Yeah yeah." One accountant sat at his desk, gossiping about Lydia over his phone, trying to keep his voice down to hopefully avoid getting rung out by someone over hearing...

lydia sauntered her way through the office. she was in her own little world, of course, lost in 'thought' and thinking of everything that needed to get finished. but then, she was here as a pretty face, according to many. a body to kill for and easily looked more the part of a porn star bimbo than an executive woman.

as she's passing through the corridor, most of the office doors are closed, except every once in a while, there would be an open one. and she'd overhear the conversation within...

smiling, lydia knocked on the doorframe of the office in question, pausing to watch as the man spoke into his phone, his back currently to her.

#( asks ) #muse; lydia #( n. s. f. w. )

[artist-rat]

She!!!

#elder scrolls #skyrim #lydia #missed my WIFE!!! #here she is again #loving lydia hrs #<3

[fckwritersblock]

Because Of You

Stiles Stilinski x black!reader

Part 2 as requested of I Fucked Up

Word count: 1000+

(Unedited.)

"Hi you reached Y/N James! Sorry I missed your call but leave your name number and a message and I'll get back to you ASAP."

With shaky hands and a unsteady voice, Stiles breathed out.

"Y/N.................I'm sorry." 2:45pm

4 hrs ago he broke your heart.

2 hrs ago he left that voicemail.

Less than 20 minus ago his dad called him to tell him you have been taken to the hospital.

Stiles hung up immediately not bothering ask for details only jumping in his keep as quickly as possible and doing well over the speed limit all the way to the hospital.

"Werewolf or not, If you do not move out of my way I’ll kick your ass, Scott, I swear to god!"

Details.

You were in a car accident, a pretty bad one he had found out. What he couldn’t wrap his mind around was how Scott was already at the hospital and didn’t bother to call and tell him what happened in the first place. Stiles also couldn’t fathom why Scott was blocking your door like a guard dog.

"Stiles you can't!" Scott blocked his path once again.

"What do you mean I can't- Scott I have to see her. I have to make sure she's okay!"

"They um, it's family only right now." Scott lied but even that wasn't enough for Stiles.

"This is me, Scott." Stiles tried to push past his best friend once more.

"Stiles, you can't -" Scott gave a gentle push only for Stiles to forcefully shove him away.

"Get off of me!"

"She doesn't want to see you!" Scott confessed.

"What?" His voice wavered slightly.

Scott looked down, feeing bad for being the person to deliver this message. It was why he didn’t bother to tell him about your condition in the first place. You had told Alison to tell him not to.

"Y/n...she said," Scott sighed before giving Stiles an apologetic look. "she doesn't want to see you Stiles."

She doesn't want to see me?

Scott had to be mistaken.

"I don't believe you,"

With those last words, he pushed passed Scott and opened the door to her room. His eyes fell upon the slightly battered girl who laid i the hospital bed, awake and in mid conversation with Allison.

"Y/n! Oh thank god!"

Stiles stood in the door way as you stared at him, your face void of expression and all emotions.

"Im so glad you're okay. You scared me to death! What happened-" Stiles made a move to approach her when her words cut him off.

"Get out." You rasped.

"What?"

"Get. Out." You repeated this time visibly upset.

Stiles eyebrows were drawn together as his mouth opened and closed several times, not knowing what to say.

"Please. Go."

"Y/n, I-"

"I don't want you here." You shook her head vigorously.

Stiles continued to stare at you before making one last attempt at getting close to you .

"Get out!" You screamed.

Your vitals began to spike as your breathing increased sounding as if you were struggling.

"Ok!" An alarmed Allison popped up quickly handing Y/b the oxygen face mask. “Just breathe ok? I'll get him out. You focus on your breathing. Ok?”

The archer shoved Stiles out the room.

“See? He’s gone. I’m going to make sure he stays gone, ok? I’ll be right back.”

Closing the door behind them, she turned to Scott and Stiles.

"What are you doing here? Scott, what is he doing here?"

"I tried to stop him." Scott defended himself.

You obviously didn't try hard enough." Alison rolled her eyes.

"What did you want me to do? Drag him out kicking and screaming?!”

"If that's what it takes, yes!" The girl exclaimed.

"Hello!" Stiles flared his arms around in between the two. "Standing right here."

Glaring, Allison's head snapped in his direction.

"And you!” She scoffed. “You have some nerve.”

“Huh? What-“

"Did you forget you broke up with her today? Why would she possibly want to see you."

That's exactly what happened. He was so use to being with Y/n, caring for you, showing the world how much he loved you, that he wasn't use to playing the part of the bad guy. The person who hurt you.

"Yeah but, I-" Allison held up her hand silencing him.

"Look you guys need to get out of here. You think she's upset, wait until you see-"

"You!" Lydia stomped toward Stiles a fire in her eyes.

"Uh oh." Spoke the former couple in unison.

Lydia and Y/n were best friends. Like Scott and Stiles, the two girls grew up together and had forever been joined at the hip. 9 times out of 10, you saw one, you saw the other. So naturally, when you find out a stupid boy breaks your best friends heart, you want to break that stupid boys face.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

"I'm here for Y/n-" Lydia scoffed cutting Stiles off.

"Oh now you care? Did you when you broke her heart? You played her like a video game."

"Ok Lydia that's enough-" The brunette attempted to stop her friend.

"Someone loves you unconditionally and thats how you repay them? By saying you never loved them. You know you got some nerve showing your face here."

"Lydia," Allison tone held warning as her eyes darted nervously between her and Stiles.

"You're the reason she's here in the first place." The strawberry blonde deadpanned.

Stiles froze.

"Scott what the hell is she talking about?"

"She had A panic attack." Scott started unsure of how to break the news.

"I saw her leave school in a hurry. She was crying....." Allison paused. "I guess she was so upset it triggered a panic attack which resulted in an asthma attack."

"And why was she crying?" Lydia questioned sarcastically glaring at Stiles.

That's when it hit him.

"Because of me.." he answered mouth suddenly becoming dry as he turned away, frustratedly running his hands through his hair.

Lydia gave a curt nod, glaring at him.

"Because of you."

—————-

So… There’s that! I don’t know what I’m doing, don’t know why I’m in an angsty mood but I am so...suffer with me lmao 

I apologize for nothing and everything at the same time

Tag: @purpleprincess14 @hermijune

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles x poc reader #stiles oneshot #stiles stilinski #teen wolf x black!reader #teen wolf #scott mccall x reader #black!reader #scott mccall #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine

[schmokschmok]

witches are real, and you think this is just a funny fic title

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin K. Blackwood x Tim Stoker

Characters: Martin K. Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James, Danny Stoker

Wordcount: 12,166

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

No Fear Entities

Supernatural Elements

Witch & HOH Tim Stoker

Danny Stoker Lives

Halloween

Tim Stoker Deserves Nice Things And I’m Giving Them To Him

Summary:

Martin fakes his way into the Magnus Institute, a research and archiving facility for magical and supernatural (or as Elias Bouchard likes to call it paranormal) encounters. He expects the people working for the institute to be kind of weird but Tim Stoker takes his commitment for a spooky aesthetic to a whole new level.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070366

#1

The thing is: Martin knows what to do with crooked smiles and superficial, flattering words. He knows how to smile politely and stumble through a thank you when someone compliments the jumper he’s wearing, not knowing that he made it himself. He knows how to accept an absentminded nod as gratitude for the tea he’s making every day for the whole archival staff. He knows how to get through a wide array of flirty remarks that concern his appearance, dignity mostly intact. He knows how to smile through a detachedly welcoming nod of a co-worker for years that answers his greeting by name.

The thing he can’t handle, under any circumstances, however, is kindness. Never been good at it, not even as a kid.

He knows his mother had been kind when he had been a child, had brushed and braided his hair every single night and told him fairy tales and stories, she had stayed up with him after nightmares and during thunder storms, had told him she loved him even when he was angry with her. And she hadn’t expected him to love her back, is the thing, hadn’t wanted him to brush her hair or hold her hand or meet every of her stories with one of his own. Maybe that’s why he gives back now, loves her even if she doesn’t love him back, brushes and braids her hair even if she doesn’t want to look at him, tells her stories of his work and the friends he doesn’t have but fabricates just to maybe ease her mind. (And if she doesn’t want him coming back, then he will stop. Kindness, sometimes, is about the things you’re willing to give up for the ones that you love. – On some days she calls him cruel for coming back and coming back and coming back, but she doesn’t tell him to leave, doesn’t tell him to stay away. So, he returns like a record broken, jumping on the same syllable until she stops the needle digging into him.)

His father had been kind, too, he thinks. Had to be to be loved by a woman like his mother once had been. Martin doesn’t remember anymore.

Mostly, the kindness directed his way is about bargaining favours and weighing the things he does against sweet spoken words. Which is alright, he thinks, because giving his last shirt for a sincere thank you has been his modus operandi since his father left. He wants to give and give and if that leaves him curled up on his bed on a Wednesday evening at eight o’clock then it’s just because he’s not strong enough to carry the weight of his own thoughts.

  #2

It starts like this: Martin takes up work in the institute with no real credentials to support his curriculum vitae or his claim of knowledge about anything, really, but he’s tired of working minimal wage, of cooking mediocre food late at night for his mother who wants to move out desperately to stop being all on her own in their empty flat, of working three shifts in a row in two different jobs and still struggling to meet ends. Martin’s tired of burning on a borrowed flame, shovelling hollow coals on a dying candle.

So, he’s faking CVs, so many that he loses count of them. He sends them to every job listing he finds, twisting and tweaking the details, staying up late at night on his battered laptop that takes almost five minutes to boot. He shows up to as many interviews as he can manage but he never gets called back in. Until Elias Bouchard phones him on a cloudy day and tells him that he can start working in the library, if he’s able to move to London in the next month that is. He accepts, of course he does. His mother would never forgive him declining the only job offer that would get them to pay their bills on time and pave the way to a nice nursing home where his mother doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

Martin moves to London. His mother doesn’t.

He starts working in the Magnus Library which is a capital L kind of library as he gets told on his very first day. It’s a joke, he thinks, a library science master’s joke that he doesn’t get but laughs about anyway. (It’s a Magnus Institute’s joke, but Martin doesn’t know that yet. His hands are full juggling the Dewey Decimal and his customer service smile while looking at the impatient faces of half of the faculty members trying to loan basic material books he hasn’t ever heard the titles of.)

It’s not a secret that he’s incompetent, Martin thinks, they all know it, and no one says anything to his face which is probably meant as kindness but feels like cruelty. Because Martin isn’t daft, Martin isn’t incapable of learning, Martin isn’t unwilling to put every last ounce of himself into being better. But nobody seems to think that he’s important enough to be corrected. They see his misfiled loaning records and his misplaced books, and they say it’s not a problem, don’t worry and they take care of it without offering to teach him any better. And Martin, well, Martin is too embarrassed to ask them how to handle it in the future. He will figure it out, he thinks, in time.

(He’s right, but he doesn’t know that yet. It takes almost a year for him to memorise the layout of the library with its seemingly everchanging bookshelves and corridors. It takes almost one and a half for him to get to know every Library staff member and their preferred way to drink tea. It takes almost two years for him to remember the faces of the faculty members that don’t visit the library regularly. It takes almost three years for him to know that it’s Research and Archives and Library and Artefacts but human resources and accounting and information technology. It’s around the same time that he feels like maybe he’s part of the team now; the same time that his co-workers stop looking at him like he’s a bumbling fool without any skills; the same time that he stops calling his mother every three days or so even though she hasn’t picked up in a long time.)

The very first week that he works in the library is filled with many apologies, too many to keep record, a much and much of awkward apologeticness. A few conversations are held, he gets to know Rosie „the heart of the institute” Martinez and Lydia „from HR” Yılmaz. They are good people and talking to them makes the muscles in his back relax just the tiniest bit, although the panic never stops flaring up in his stomach that, somehow, they will know that he’s a fraud.

It’s the first day of his second week and he feels slightly more prepared because he used every minute of the weekend to pull up every article ever written about the institute and its library. He tried reading published papers, too, but without the institute’s access they’re securely locked behind a paywall he can’t get through without a credit card and loads and loads of money to spare. He snacked on canned peaches while reading about filing systems, but in the end he’s none the wiser.

So, he comes in an hour early and unlocks the front entrance of the institute with his key card. It’s eerily quiet in the dark lobby and hallways leading into the back of the building. The noisiness of the street and the embankment gets swallowed by the thick walls and the closing door behind him and the only thing he can hear is the tapping of his own shoes on the marble floor. It’s a mixture of unsettling and peaceful, but he’s not sure which takes precedence in his sleep addled mind. The unfamiliarity of the cream-coloured walls and the polished, almost black floor makes every shadow move in a way Martin can’t comprehend and he turns to look at them a few times only to realise they’re potted plants or laminated notes hung up next to different door frames. He passes a few glowing exit signs and the door to the stairwell that leads up to the second floor.

When he approaches the entrance to the library, a weight gets lifted from his stomach at the prospect of a light switch he can use to chase out the darkness that slowly gets more unnerving than comforting. Spinning the key card in his hand to keep busy and hold his anxiety at bay, he rounds the last corner and stops dead in his tracks. Because sitting right in front of the door is a person only illuminated by the harsh, cold light of their phone. Right the second Martin loses hold of his key card and it meets the floor with an echoing plasticky sound, their eyes snap up and fixate on Martin.

“Oh, lovely, you’re here,” they say, standing up from their hunched-up position without even touching the floor with their hands. (Martin takes a moment to envy that movement because every time he thinks about sitting down on the floor he has to either make sure something’s in close proximity to help him lift himself up or the ground’s not too dirty, so he doesn’t have to wash his hands right the second he stands upright again.) “I was starting to get worried I’d have to wait another hour for someone to open up.”

“Uh–,” is everything Martin gets out before the stranger picks up his key card and hands it over to him. They smile at him, slightly deranged but without a doubt handsome in a way that makes Martin’s breath catch in his chest. While Martin reaches out carefully to grab the offered card, they say: “Sorry for dropping in unexpectedly and unannounced but Veronica will have my arse if I don’t hand in this follow up today.”

Silence falls over them when Martin doesn’t react in any way and just continues staring at the stranger who keeps staring at him as if Martin should know who Veronica is and how important it is for them to do their follow up. (As if Martin should know what a follow up even is.)

“Tim,” the stranger provides when Martin doesn’t show the slightest inclination to do anything other than, well, stare at them. “I’m working upstairs in Research in Veronica’s team.” They wait for an agonising moment for Martin to return the introduction – which he fails to do, still trying to process that he’s really in an actual conversation with another human being before seven a.m.

“As lovely as it is standing here with you, …” Tim continues, allowing Martin once again to submit his name. Which he fails to do, again, because his mouth feels so dry he’s afraid if he opens it now there won’t come out anything else than a pathetic cough. Tim doesn’t seem too stressed about it. „I really need to go in there,” Tim gestures over their shoulder to the library, “and cross-reference a few things and brush up a few of my foot-notes before it’s time to clock in again. Veronica is really adamant about this follow up laying on her desk at eight thirty sharp.” The manila folder in Tim’s hand gets lifted for emphasis and apparently that’s all Martin needed to get it together and finally move. Without him intending to do so, his lips form a customer service smile that’s been ingrained into his very being from years upon years of working in ice cream shops and pizza restaurants and a movie theatre that’s long gone now.

“Yeah, uh, yeah no problem!”

He steps around Tim and presses his key card against the sensor underneath the door handle. After the soft opening click of the lock, he steps aside to let Tim enter the room behind him and he searches for the light switch with his outstretched arm because he’s pretty sure that one has to be on the wall to his left.

“Thank you, really, you’re doing me a favour, mate,” Tim says and legitimately bows with the biggest grin before he’s off into the depth of the library, swallowed by a shelf Martin could swear hadn’t stood there on Friday when he left.

Finally, he lets go of the door and gets closer to the wall to search with both hands for the switch, until the little finger of his right hand bumps against the hard plastic shell of a set of light switches.

“Gonna be bright for a second,” he warns loudly, unsure if Tim’s even able to hear him or not. Then, after a few seconds, he presses the switch and the lights above his head sputter and blink to life with the solid snugness of old halogen lamps.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness, then he treads over to the counter, rounds it and closes his eyes for just a heartbeat or two. He’s got this. Tim wandering somewhere, hidden behind shelfs, is not going to change the fact that Martin’s got this. His brain, heart and stomach just need to be convinced, that’s okay, he can handle a wee bit anxiety and nervousness.

Without further ado, he pins his name tag to his monochrome button-down (because that’s what adults wear at work) and starts to open the various drawers underneath the counter to catalogue the innards.

There's probably a system, stapler and pen and pencils in one drawer, neatly arranged in a compartment next to sticky notes and paper squares in bright colours and an uncountable amount of paper clips. In the drawer underneath, he finds envelopes, more paper in various shapes and forms and sizes. Another drawer reveals the minute book in which Martin should document Tim’s presence. (Probably? He’s not entirely sure if the minute book is for every research assistant or students only.) Right next to the minute book, Martin can see the keys for every terminal in the library, and a few personal items of his co-workers which should not be in there as far as Martin’s been informed. The last two drawers contain RFID tags, barcodes and printed ID cards. The space reserved for lost and found is surprisingly empty. (Martin thinks he remembers Janette taking everything back into the small storage room in the back on Friday afternoon.)

It takes almost fifteen minutes for him to open and close every drawer (multiple times) and he's still not sure if he memorised the most important things. It's quarter past seven, however, and he couldn’t find a single position plan, which is why Martin steps around the counter and starts to make his way through the maze that is this library. Clipboard and pencil in hand, he outlines the approximate layout of the outer walls and tries to draw in the shelfs he passes, marking them with things like Local History A—V and Ghosts (general) J—Z, scribbling down letters and numbers of the signatures that seem important to him. (He's got a run down last week but the library uses the most arbitrary synthesis of Dewey Decimal and an intern system that the first library staff must have implemented before trying to shove the Dewey Decimal into the small space left.)

Martin's good at making maps, if he's allowed to say so. He can read a map, he can draw a map. (It wouldn't hold up against a professional map but his always worked fine enough.) So, he feels righteous indignation when someone steps into his space, throws a glance on his makeshift map and says: “This isn't accurate, sorry.”

Martin furrows his brow, but the customer service smile is on his lips again before he’s able to will it away.

“Why wouldn't it be?” Martin asks even though he doesn't want to know what Tim has to say. “I mean, yeah, you couldn't do an accurate projection, but it's not meant to be. It's about the order of the shelfs, the signatures.”

“As much as I hate to disappoint you,” Tim says and lets his finger hover half a centimetre above Martin's map, “but the ghost section is three shelfs down to the right next to Russian literature. I walked past it a few seconds ago.”

“Well, the only reason this map says ghost is because I walked past the ghost section,” Martin retorts (and feels very brave about it). The desire to snatch the map away from Tim's finger and hold it close to his chest so that Tim can't spare another look is strong but Martin also knows it's childish and he shouldn't indulge in such impulses.

“Well, Martin,” Tim must have seen Martin's name tag, which is nice because Tim says his name with an exasperated fondness that Martin shouldn't have earned yet and it spares Martin from the mortifying ordeal of introducing himself after his fauxpas this morning, “I don't know if nobody told you but this Library is like the rest of the institute: A big pile of magical bullshit.”

Tim grins and the skin next to their eyes crinkle with mischief as if they're sharing an inside joke with Martin, as if Martin should understand. (And like every other time someone implies or references something Martin doesn't understand or jokes about something Martin doesn't know, he gets this violent urge to scream into the knowingly smiling face in front of him. But he chokes it down, more or less successfully.) And he smiles.

“Don't beat yourself up,” Tim continues, unaware of the wee bit of hatred Martin feels in this very second, “a map won't help but soon enough you'll get the hang of it.” Tim winks. “When I first started using the Library, I swear to you, every single shelf I walked up to was sporting the cryptid selection. Every single one. I stood between two shelfs and it didn't matter in which direction I turned, there it was: The cryptid section.” Tim's eyes don't leave Martin's face for a second, which is kind of unnerving but at the same time strangely reassuring. As if Tim's more than just aware who they're talking to. “This Library is more a Feeling than an organised space.”

Tim laughs again and Martin tries to join in, but it gets caught in his throat. Tim's flittering fingers and Tim's sing-songed “spooky!” only elevate the closed up feeling in Martin's chest and the knuckles on his hand that still holds onto his clipboard turn white in their effort to not drop it.

A quick glance to the watch on Martin's wrist puts a stop to Tim's easy posture and they say: “Fuck, I should really get going. Veronica's still waiting.” Then Tim hesitates and smiles at Martin again. “It was nice to make acquaintance with you, Martin. This won't be the last you'll see of me, but if you every think about going for a drink after work, hit me up. Sam or Rosie should have given you access to the institute's instant messaging system. I think you would get along well with Sasha — she's also in Research — and me.”

Tim shoots Martin a finger gun (which is incidentally the most obnoxious thing Martin has ever had to witness) and strides past Martin towards the library's exit.

And then he's gone like the first soft layer of frost in November after the first rays of sun.

It's quarter to eight and there's not much time until one of his colleagues will try to open up the library, but Martin uses the remaining time to lean against a shelf and stare at the ticking clock on the wall above the counter, trying to will his heart into a slower rhythm not dictated by anxiety or the sudden realisation that Tim had been close and Tim had been beautiful.

And like everything else in Martin's life: He fails.

.

This could have been the end and Martin's been sure that it would be. When the clock above the counter strikes twelve however and Martin gets ready to leave the library to go down to the in-house cafeteria, the door to the library gets shoved open and Tim stumbles in, closely followed by a no less beautiful stranger who Martin assumes could be Sasha.

“Martin!” Tim exclaims right before they're fist crashes into their chest right above their heart. “Thank the Lord, you're still here!”

The-stranger-who-could-be-Sasha-but-might-not-be rolls their eyes but smiles, before shoving Tim out of their way.

“Ignore him,” they say and turn a smile on Martin, he can't help but answer with one of his own. “He can be a bit …” They make a circle shaped gesture with their rolling wrist in clear search of the right word. So, Martin tries to jump in: “Dramatic?”

“Yes,” maybe!Sasha says at the same time Tim declares: „Oh, please, I have flair that's something entirely else.“

“You're a theatre kid,” maybe!Sasha says, ignoring the dismissive hand Tim waves into their face.

“Martin, you should ignore her,” Tim presses on before maybe!Sasha gets a chance to say anything else. “When I got back to my desk, I realised we never exchanged surnames which are crucial for the instant messenger.” Martin nods, slightly dazed and not at all sure if he understands the importance of Tim’s surname. “So, Tim Stoker.” He bows outlandishly.

“And Sasha James,” maybe-or-rather-definitely-Sasha jumps in, curtsying with the same kind of derisiveness. “Glad to be of service.” She rests her elbow on Tim’s shoulder and leans forward, just the tiniest bit, but it makes Martin feel strangely included. “You want to get lunch with us?”

The smile spreading across Martin’s face feels real, digging into his cheeks and showing dimples he kind of forgot he had. He casts a look at the clock above his head and says: “Yeah, sounds lovely.”

  #3

The thing is: Martin is a dreamer, day and night and dusk ‘til dusk ‘til dawn. He likes to think about all the possibilities he will never ever take, the wonderous things he wishes to happen but knows will always remain a fantasy.

When he was a child, he used to dream about his father coming back and apologising to his mother and explaining that it was all just a big misunderstanding, innit, he never would have left willingly, especially not without further notice. Martin would dream up every reasoning in existence, if his father would have come back Martin would have already heard his excuse. He’d just have to wait and find out which one was true.

When he was a teenager, he used to dream about mending the relationship with his mother, of sharing a smile with her instead of directing it at her disapproving or distant face. And he dreamt of a boy without a face but with calloused hands and experienced lips that would come and sweep him off his feet – literally at first, and figuratively when he hit that growth spurt in tenth class.

When he became an adult, he started dreaming about working nine to five and a two-day weekend. He dreamt about working in a café or restaurant and earning enough to sustain his mother and himself. He dreamt that one day he would open up his own place, a small restaurant or a flower shop or a shop selling something with turquoise. And he dreamt that he would meet a man, a nice and good man who would make everything just the tiniest bit more bearable; who Martin would like to be around and who would like to be around Martin. A man not merely tolerating him but seeking his presence.

Martin is a dreamer, but he’s not delusional. Or at least not anymore. The older Martin grew the simpler his dreams became. Now that his income is secure, he dreams about the domesticity of a social network and a warm body next to him when he tries to fall asleep. (And it’s the first time his dreams seem to be within his grasp. As if he can reach for them and cup them in the hollow of his hands. He just has to believe.)

  #4

It goes like this: Martin slowly grows desperate because the Magnus library doesn’t make any sense at all. One day Local Myths is on the shelf next to the counter, the next the shelf is empty, and the one after that Martin sees Vampires and Werewolves neatly arrayed on it. It doesn’t make sense, and frankly it makes Martin angry. This is a library for crying out loud, and Martin’s a librarian who can’t even fetch a monograph without getting lost. (Or is he a library assistant? Is Yvonne the only librarian? Everyone in this institute always seems to be an assistant, maybe Elias Bouchard is the only person with an actual degree in here.)

“Is something bugging you?”

A voice comes out of nowhere, causing Martin’s head to snap towards the frowning face of Tim Stoker. It’s been three weeks since their first getting acquainted, and Tim and Sasha drop by at irregular intervals to chit-chat for a bit. At this point, it’s something Martin has come to accept and look forward to but not necessarily expect to happen. Usually, they tell him about their research (it’s creepy and Martin never ever wants to enter artefacts, thank you very much) or their co-workers (including one Jon who Martin is yet to meet but who’s apparently really close with both Sasha and Tim) or the things they did on the weekend (they’re both incredibly busy all the time). But it’s not like they’re self-centered by any means, they ask about him, too. On a normal day, he hates this part of the conversation because he can’t really tell them nice stories about meeting friends and going out of town to kayak or whatever because he spends his time with his mother or home alone with knitting needles either documentaries or heteronormative romcoms queued up. And, let’s be honest, that’s not a compelling story to tell.

Today however Martin’s almost glad someone’s asking him about his mood because he does have an answer: “You were right! My map isn’t accurate. And I don’t get why!”

The startled look on Tim’s face makes Martin realise that he’s a bit loud and his tone is maybe a little aggressive. He ducks his head, heat spreading over his face, and continues in a more dignified manner: “It’s really not that bad. I’m just trying to shelve the returned books. But I can’t find the shelfmarks. It’s a little frustrating, is all.”

He tries to smile through his outburst, but he feels bad almost immediately. It’s not Tim’s responsibility or amicable duty to listen to Martin’s displeased rant, and they don’t know each other well enough for Martin to burden him with unimportant stuff like this. (The thought that Tim seems to be genuinely interested in what Martin has to say and that Tim complains all the time about uncooperative clerks and impossible to keep deadlines which likely means that he would be alright with Martin complaining a teeny-tiny bit crosses Martin’s mind but he tries not to dwell on it. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he would be mistaken.)

“You’ve been here for, what,” Tim says, his index finger tapping against his chin, a questioning look on his face, “like, a month?” Martin nods. “It’s absolutely normal to get confused. Like I told you: This Library is more a Feeling than an organised space. You can’t go about it with logic.” At this, he shrugs dismissively. “After that Cryptid incident, I literally brought my pendulum to work just to locate the sections I was looking for. And guess what, the Library didn’t care. It sent me running around the shelves nonetheless.”

Martin can’t help himself, his face scrunches up in a grimace. He should have anticipated weird antics when he first started working here, the Magnus Institute is a research and archiving facility for magical and supernatural (or as Elias Bouchard calls it paranormal) encounters. But Tim had seemed like a normal guy.

Quickly, he schools his expression into a more neutral one, before he says: “No offence, really, I hope I’m not intruding but using a pendulum seems kind of, well, esoteric?” The moment the words leave his mouth, he feels awful. Who raised Martin to be this impolite? Certainly not his mother. So he tries to backtrack: “I– I mean, I don’t want to impose or, uh, ascribe something to you or, or invalidate you.”

“It’s okay,” Tim interrupts him with a smile. He doesn’t seem mad. “I’m a witch, so everything I do is kinda esoteric. Can’t hold that against you.”

The wolfishness of Tim’s grin makes Martin think that this is an inside joke, too. Or, oh no, maybe it’s Tim’s religion and Martin’s a real jackass about it. Is witch a religious term? He has heard about wicca and druidism, but he has no idea if they call themselves witches. He doesn’t want to disrespect Tim or his belief system, but he also wants to know. Is it disrespectful to ask Tim about his religion? Martin wouldn’t do it if they didn’t know each other, but their friends (somewhat, kind of) and asking as a friend is more considerate than intrusive, right? (Or is he just rationalising and justifying his own curiosity, while masking it as attentiveness? Is Martin overthinking this?)

“So,” Martin starts and it’s an out of body experience where he sees himself driving against a wall without the chance to stop himself, “does that mean you’re wiccan?” He bites his tongue, waiting for Tim to tell him he’s an insensitive twat.

“Oh, no. I’m agnostic,” Tim replies, still wearing the same expression of content and reassurance.

For a moment, they’re both quiet. Tim leans against the counter, his elbows on the surface and his face almost in Martin’s space. It could be unpleasant, but he rather likes Tim’s complete disregard of personal space. (In part because he has seen Tim interact with Rosie who dislikes physical touch to a stark extreme in a respectful way, always keeping his distance. He knows if he ever were uncomfortable Tim would back off. And that’s reassuring in its own way.)

“Give yourself some time,” Tim says eventually. “Let the Library get to know you.”

“You talk about the library as if it were conscious.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Tim chuckles. “Yeah, I do.” He sighs and straightens his back. “It’s not, though, so don’t worry.” The way Tim says it, though, makes Martin think that this is not the whole truth. That there is something Tim’s not telling him. But it’s not Martin’s place to inquire further, he thinks. There’s definitely a plausible explanation for all this, Tim just likes to pull his pigtails.

“Shouldn’t you be out today?” Martin asks to change the topic and feels incredibly rude at the same time. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it’s still quarter an hour to lunch.”

“Came back earlier than expected and thought I could mob you ‘til twelve and kidnap you for a lunch date,” Tim replies so nonchalantly, warmth spreads across Martin’s face and he attempts to swallow down the laugh that wants to escape – but he fails. (He has never been mobbed, and even though Tim doesn’t think of this as a date date, Martin wants to indulge in that thought. At least for a moment.)

“I think,” he says slowly, and a little bit mischievously, “I could take my break early today.”

  #5

The thing is: Even though Martin thought Sasha and Tim would grow bored of him sooner or later, they don’t. They stop at his desk when they use the library for their research, they pick him up sometimes for lunch or ask him to meet them outside if they’re doing field work. Martin gets roped into pub nights and trivia quizzes, Sasha takes him to her pottery class and Tim invites him to a poetry slam where his brother performs. (This is remarkable because of two things: First and foremost, because Martin has never been invited to meet family members of anyone except for the parents of a few classmates when he stayed for lunch. And secondly, because Tim and Danny are as close as brothers can be, and it feels like a seal of approval – or as if Tim needed Danny to approve of Martin before he could spend more time with him. Martin’s not sure which way round it is.)

  #6

It goes like this: Despite the cool September night air, Martin is way too warm in his thick knitted jumper. He runs hot, always has been, but today is not the day he wants to be soaked in sweat just by existing. (Truth be told, he never really wants to be this warm, but there are at least times where he doesn’t mind as much. Meeting Danny Stoker for the first time is not one of those times. But he’s also pretty sure that he can’t take off his jumper because he’s been too hot for too long at this point. Tonight’s going to be fun and he just needs to power through.)

Martin tries not to shift his weight from one foot to the other too often, instead he’s focusing on the way the soles of his shoes line up with the asphalt of the pavement and ground him. He counts his breaths, his hands burrowed deep inside the pockets of his trousers. He can absolutely do this, he has known Tim for a few weeks now and he doesn’t think Tim would introduce Danny and him if he’d think they wouldn’t get along. (This may be more of wishful thinking though.) 

A small part of him wishes, Sasha would come too, to ease the tension in his shoulders and uncoil the knots in his stomach. But she's with her family, celebrating the birthday of one of her cousins, and the text she sent him a few hours ago sits in their chat, mourning her absence and telling him to enjoy Danny's performance, it will likely be one of a kind. 

Right when he seriously starts contemplating to go home again and fake a stomach bug, Tim rounds the corner with a man just a few years younger than him who looks like a referenceless, free-hand drawing of Tim. Which isn't a bad thing, by any means, just noticeable in how alike they look, just different enough to not be mistaken for each other. 

When Tim's gaze falls upon Martin, his face splits into a wide grin and he waves enthusiastically, almost smacking Danny in his face in the process. This causes Danny to look directly at him, too, and his eyebrows shoot up while grinning almost half as wide as Tim. (If there had been any kind of doubt about them being brothers, now there weren’t.) Danny turns his head slightly and nudges Tim with his elbow. When Tim turns to look at him, Danny says something to him, moving his hands in unison, that makes Tim stop grinning for a second and start furrowing his brow. It doesn't last long, only three or four steps, then he looks at Martin again and his face softens. (Martin desperately wants to know what Danny said because people looking at Martin and whispering usually means something bad. And if Danny already wants to make fun of him, then Martin needs to go. Immediately.)

“You came!”

While Martin was still weighing his options, measuring staying, but anxiously against going, but anxiously, Tim and Danny have come into earshot. And Tim sounds pleasantly surprised as if he had been unsure if Martin would come. 

They come to a halt in front of Martin and Tim pulls Martin in for a quick hug, which isn't a surprise per se but still unexpected. Subsequently, he turns towards Danny and introduces them. (He says this is my friend Martin, I told you about him. He says friend, not co-worker. Which, yes. They're friends but it's still new and nice and positively overwhelming to hear him say it out loud.)

“Hey,” Danny says, his smile unwavering. He's either a good actor or doesn't hate Martin on sight; at this point, Martin gladly takes both over open hostility. "Tim told me so much about you. I'm really pleased to make your acquaintance." He pauses to make room for Martin returning the sentiment. (Which he does, thank you very much, just because he's a useless gay around beautiful men and can't handle surprise small talk at arse o'clock, doesn't mean he can't hold a conversation.) “I gotta be honest with you, mate, I need your help tonight. This is my first slam and Tim’s a shit critic. I need some real feedback.”

A reassuring smile takes over Martin's features because, of course, Danny is nervous. Martin would be, too, he supposes. The thing Danny had said had probably nothing to do with Martin per se and everything with meeting someone for the first time at his first performance. (And maybe his only if Sasha is right.) However, before he can retort in any way, Tim jumps in: “Danny, bro, Martin is probably the last person you should ask to tell you how awful your skid is. You didn't practice it once and he’s a nice guy.”

“Well,” Danny replies, mischief in his eyes and a mocking tilt in his voice, “I'm just gonna wing it.” 

“You're lucky, you're a Stoker.”

“You're just jealous because you didn't inherit that gen,” Danny shoots back before turning to Martin and stage-whispering: “Everyone always thinks that Tim is naturally gifted and everything comes to him easily. But in reality, he has to learn things and work for them. Embarrassing, right?”

Getting roped into friendly, brotherly banter. That's good! That's involvement in a good and workmanlike manner! And, actually, way out of Martin's comfort zone right now. (Is this a test? Is Danny teasing Tim in front of Martin to see if Martin jumps in and practically stabs Tim right in the back? Or does he want Martin to disagree with him and stand in solidarity with Tim? Or is Martin’s brain just overreacting like, well, always?)

“You’re embarrassing him,” Tim accuses Danny, before shoving at him and laughing. It’s obvious he doesn’t mind Danny teasing him or Martin, because it’s good natured. (Or at least Martin wants it to be. He desperately wants it to be.)

“No, I’m honest with him,” Danny retorts, before shoving Tim back which causes him to almost crash into Martin. “Someone needs to take you down a peg or two. Once in a while at least.” He grins and it’s more on the boyish side.

“I think Sasha’s doing a good job keeping Tim in check,” Martin interjects bravely. With every second in their presence, the fists in his pockets lose a speck of tension and Martin can feel his nails easing out of the heel of his hand. He feels weird being the only one neither knowing nor using sign language while talking but he’s thankful that they’re including him, talking loud enough for him to hear. (It’s a whole new side of Tim Martin has never seen before, it’s nice. Very nice, actually.)

“I love Sasha,” Danny sighs wistfully, batting his eyes. Before Tim slings his arm around Danny’s neck and pulls him in, he says: “We’ve been through this, Sasha’s way out of your league.” (And probably aro, Martin thinks, if the small pride flag pin Martin spotted on Sasha’s satchel bag is any indication.)

“Yeah,” Danny says. “True.” Then his eyes fall on the clock inside the display window of a chemist on the other side of the street. “We should head in.”

They make their way into the pub, through a small crowd consisting mostly of people in their twenties and thirties, milling and chatting in wait for the poetry slam to begin. Danny makes a beeline for a bar table, even though multiple tables with chairs and benches are empty. Martin wants to point out that he doesn’t think standing for multiple hours is something he wants to do, but right when he decides that he can at least try, Tim grabs Danny’s arm and steers him toward a round table with four chairs at the back of the room.

“You won’t make me stand through your performance,” Tim proclaims loudly, then he sits down and pats the seat of the chair next to his. Demonstratively, Danny sits down on Tim’s other side – closest to the stage – and Martin rounds the table to sit next to Tim. While Tim and Danny shrug off their coats, Martin once again regrets his choice of clothing. (Maybe a beer or two into the evening will ease his nerves enough to pull off his jumper. Now he takes a deep breath and focuses on the soft chattering of the crowd.)

Underneath their coats, matching shirts come to light. An Aegean blue with white lettering, a loopy script proclaiming bestoked with the tiny caricature of a witch with a pointy hat on a broomstick. Below that, Martin recognises small print that reads: Witches are real, and you think this is just a funny t-shirt slogan. He chuckles.

Tim makes a questioning hmm-sound and Martin points at their shirts, saying: “It’s funny.”

“Yeah,” Danny replies, exchanging looks with Tim. “Sasha made them for us.”

“Why witches?” Martin asks. Opposed to standing outside having to face both of them, sitting next to Tim puts Martin at ease. (It feels more organic sitting alongside Tim. Most of the time when they head out together, they sit on one bench with Sasha on the other side of the table. This is almost the same, Martin tries to reason, Danny is just another Sasha. A person Tim loves and wants him to like, too. No big deal.) “Isn’t Bram Stoker known for Dracula?”

“Yeah, he is,” Danny says with a shrug and Tim adds: “Our name’s Stoker and we’re witches. It’s pretty niche but most people think it’s funny.”

Martin tilts his head in confusion, he opens his mouth through an irritated smile. Before he can actually speak though, someone on the makeshift stage steps up to the microphone and welcomes the crowd to the pub’s bi-monthly poetry slam.

“First up: Gerry with their poem osedax!”

The crowd claps and their conversation is completely forgotten. They listen to Gerry describing a life under water and a life dependent on death. It’s a bit early for spooky Halloween vibes but Martin thinks it’s probably a metaphor for Gerry’s life that’s beyond Martin to understand. (He loves poetry, writes his own in his spare time, but he’s not big on interpreting poems outside of his own limited world view. He likes reading poetry, imagining the lives inspiring the words, and applying them to his own situation. Seeing someone putting their innards on display for dozens of strangers to see, is something entirely different. It feels like trespassing, somehow, trespassing into the soul of another human being. Martin decides that he hates it here.)

Gerry concludes their poem with ragged breathing and closed eyes. For a moment, the pub is silent. Then applause rings out and Tim leans toward Martin and whispers loudly: “Gerry is the one who put the bee into Danny’s bonnet that performing here would be a good idea.”

Danny shushes Tim, swatting at him without looking. Absentmindedly, he says: “It is a good idea, though.”

Martin doesn’t say anything, while watching Gerry retreat from the stage and head back to a group at the long side of the room. They congratulate Gerry, and Martin thinks (for just one measly second) how it would feel to perform one of his own poems. One about his mother or the alienation he felt his whole life. But he’s not a word magician like Gerry, he doesn’t have plausible deniability for the things he talks about. His poetry is descriptive and more of an endeavour to capture a feeling than an analogy in form of a convoluted metaphor.

Next up is someone talking about a hamster. Martin senses a theme.

Tim and Danny stare intensely at the stage, absorbing each and every word being said. And Martin’s torn between getting up and buying drinks, and waiting quietly until the poem is over. He’s unsure about the custom. If it would be impolite to talk during the performance.

In the end, however, it doesn’t matter. They end their poem and thank the audience before they leave the stage. Martin leans into Tim’s space (a bit like Tim would do with him in this situation), his shoulder lining up with Tim’s and when Tim turns around he whispers: “I’m gonna get drinks. Can I get you something?”

“We can just get a pitcher,” Tim whispers back, before checking in with Danny: “You’re not up next, right?” Danny shakes his head and Martin gets up to get them a pitcher and three glasses. (He takes the opportunity to breathe in and out a few times. He thought they would talk more. That Danny and he would have to interact more. But, apparently, Tim and Danny are really into poetry slam and don’t want to disrespect the artists. Which is, well, nice. Considerate. And, yes, he shouldn’t be surprised about that.)

Martin orders a pitcher and pays right up, then he tries to balance the three glasses and the pitcher through the crowd back to their table. He puts everything down and almost misses the staff member announcing Danny’s performance. Lost Johns’ Cave.

With a spring in his step, Danny stands up, makes his way to the stage and takes his place behind the microphone. A small smile on his lips, he clears his throat and starts speaking: “So, John was lost and so was I.”

He pauses.

“It’s a fact and everybody knows that John got lost in this cave. It’s a deep cave, a dark cave, a cave that swallowed us up like a ravenous, soft-teethed beast. It starts with a slope, grainy and wet, and there’s only one way, so it’s impossible to get lost, even though John did.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“John was lost and so was I. I don’t know where he went, and I didn’t come to look, but one moment Kadir and Aylin where there and the next they were not. I didn’t reach the chockstone, I didn’t reach the climb. Three hundred and seventy-five feet and I was lost as John in his cave.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. While he spoke, Martin’s sure he could recognise the spelling of John, but Danny doesn’t spell Kadir or Aylin or at least Martin’s not able to spot it.

“John was lost and so was I. Seconds after minutes after hours after years, no climb in sight, just the steady flow of the stream and my hitching breath. It should stop sometime, I thought, it should give way down to his cave and I will not be a John. Because John was lost and I won’t be.”

He pauses again, a heartbeat or two longer than before.

“John was lost and so was I. No measuring of my position with a pendulum, no signal for my phone, no chance to be heard through the thick walls of the cave. The rush of the stream died down albeit the map depicting the stream and the slope correspondent.”

The air of the pub is filled with suspense and eerily quiet for a crowd as large as this one.

“John was lost and so was I. Limestone encased me and silence took over.”

Danny stops speaking, one and a half minutes gone. If Martin’s right, Danny has three minutes and fifteen seconds left. Every other contestant spoke for about five minutes, so Danny has plenty of time left. But he doesn’t say a thing. Seconds tick by and Martin gets squeamish in his seat. He glances towards Tim, but Tim seems unwound and relaxed. As if it were to be expected of Danny to pull something like this.

Danny remains silent, and Martin uses the tense atmosphere and the quiet audience to take an unnoticed look at Tim and Danny. They really do look alike. They share the same thick, expressive eyebrows, same dark brown hair and eyes, the same sharp jawlines. But Tim is soft around the edges, he doesn’t look as muscular as he is, his tummy rolling underneath his Aegean blue shirt. Up close like this, Martin can see the hearing aid Tim is wearing, and the moles that scatter across the slope of his neck. Especially the two moles that rest approximately half a centimetre wide of his tragus.

So preoccupied with Tim’s, well, beauty, Martin almost misses Danny moving on stage. He extends his right fist, before he opens it, while dropping it a few centimetres. At the same time, he mouths something that could be the word drop but Martin’s not sure because he can’t read lips. Then Danny spreads the fingers of his left hand, holding it flat and vertically aligned in a hundred-twenty-degree angle to his upper body. His right hand is spread in the same way and he moves it towards his left hand. When the pads of his fingers connect to the palm of his left hand, he lets his hand bounce back. The movements of his right hand two sides of an equilateral triangle. Again, he mouths something and if Martin would have to guess he’d say it was echo.

By minute three, Danny has been silent for one and a half minutes and has been through two repeats of the two words. (In all honesty, Martin is surprised that the crowd still watches Danny. That they hang onto his lips like a drop of water at the rim of a cup.)

Then he starts speaking again: “John was lost and so was I. I entered his cave and I got off the right path, I fell into darkness and somehow I came back. I’m not one of the Johns, I’m a Joey deep down. Because John was lost but I am found.”

A smile tugs at Danny’s lips, then, after a moment, he bows outlandishly (in an unbelievably tim-ish way) and says: “Thank you.” Then he leaves the stage in a beeline towards their table, while the audience starts to clap hesitantly.

When Danny sits down at their table again, Tim and he exchange a few quiet sentences. (In most circumstances this would make Martin’s anxiety spike up again, but to his own surprise it doesn’t. It’s just nice to see Tim interacting with his brother. Martin doesn’t have to be included to feel like he’s part of this.)

Martin takes a sip from his drink and throws a glance at the stage. After Danny there are still four people left. The performances are about existential fatigue, about childhood fears and dreams, and (in one memorable instant) about an imaginary soap opera the poetry slammer claims to watch in their head.

When the poetry slam is finally over, Danny grins at Martin and asks: “So, comments or questions?”

“Impromptu interpretation is not my strong suit,” Martin tries to escape the discussion of Danny’s depression? Outing? He’s not lying, he can’t interpret something like this in a few minutes. Especially not while looking right into Danny’s face. “I’m not sure what the cave is a metaphor for.” His tone is apologetic, but Danny laughs startled and says: “It’s not a metaphor. I literally got lost in a cave.”

“Oh,” Martin blurts out. “Well, then … I’m not an expert by any means. But I think it was pretty good, very compelling.” His ears are burning and the coldness of his drink seeps into the palms of his hands, contrasting the warmness in every fibre of his body.

Danny grins and says: “I like him.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” Tim affirms. His smile, however, is more delicate than Danny’s. (And Martin doesn’t want to think about the possibility that Tim likes him, too. Likes likes him. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he didn’t only acquire a job three months ago but friends, too. It shouldn’t matter that Tim is nice to him, because Tim is nice to everyone. Martin isn’t special.)

  #7

The thing is: Tim is so very nice. Nice in a way no one has ever been nice to Martin. He’s nice unconditionally, doesn’t wink suggestively at Martin when he hands him a cup of tea exactly the way Martin likes, doesn’t expect Martin to do anything in turn when he lays his hand on Martin’s shoulder in a silent display of support or affection, doesn’t want him to say thank you and how much do I owe you whenever he brings lunch in that he cooked himself, enough to share it with Martin and Sasha and even Jon, if he would ever want to. Tim’s nice and considerate and most people don’t seem to see it. They take Tim’s jokes and pop-culture references as a demonstration of his whole personality, take in the beauty of his face and simmer it down to the essence of his existence.

Tim is beautiful and he is funny, Martin’s the last to argue with that. But Tim is more, Tim is beyond, Tim is the soft are you alright when Martin must step out for a second after a reprimand from an assistant, Tim is the curious no, I want to know what you think about it, Tim is the reassuring you’ve got this and the understanding and if you don’t, I’m still here. Tim is every post-it note on Martin’s desk that says delighted to see you here and you look nice today and take time for yourself.

Tim is so very nice without even trying that Martin can’t help himself but fall in love with him. Embarrassing, right?

  #8

It ends like this: Martin doesn’t argue with Tim about his insistence that he’s a witch, because: Who’s Martin to deny Tim anything at all. Yes, he would like to know more about Tim as a person and about the things he does on weekends and, yes, getting cryptic answers like hanging out with the coven is a bit frustrating, but Martin also must confess that he admires Tim dedication.

It’s almost Halloween and since the start of October, Tim has been wearing a pointy hat to work. Which is kind of ridiculous but endearing at the same time because Sasha assures Martin that Danny does it too and that they do it every year in October. (It’s not one of his finer moments, it’s true, but he couldn’t help himself asking Sasha is this is some kind of meme. A Stoker inside gag that everyone is in on, but Sasha just smiles at him and says: “Oh, Martin, love, no. It’s not a meme.”)

When Martin asks him about the hat, Tim tilts his head in mild confusion and replies: “I’m a witch, Martin. Witches wear pointy hats.”

And Martin who’s got enough practice now dealing with Tim’s antics, retorts: “No, I mean, yes, I know, I mean: You didn’t wear it in the summer, why?”

“Usually, I wear my hat to rituals and stuff because channelling energy is way easier with a hat. But in October my coven wears it to let the spirits and the fair folk know they shouldn’t fuck around with us,” Tim explains. And Martin looks him dead into his eyes and says: “Makes sense.”

.

Three days before Halloween (or Mischief Night as Tim likes to call it), Tim drops off a bottle of essential oil at Martin’s desk. Before Martin can ask about it, Tim says: “I brought you essential oils for your headache.”

“Because,” Martin starts and stops hesitantly, wondering when he mentioned his headaches in front of Tim, without coming up with an answer, “you’re a witch.”

Tim nods, adding however: “But, you know, essential oils don’t need magic to work.”

“Makes sense,” Martin says, for the simple reason that he doesn’t know what else to say. This is getting ridiculous, but he doesn’t want to be the buzzkill. He wants to be Tim’s friend (or date, despite the whole witch-thing) and friends are supportive of each other! Friends don’t judge you for your oddities.

Tim changes the topic: “Do you have anything planned for Mischief Night?” Martin shakes his head. “Then I would like to formally invite you to celebrate Mischief Night with me.”

“Wouldn’t a formal invite require an invitation card?” Martin asks back, propping his chin up on his hand, a curious tilt in his voice.

“I’ll get to that,” Tim replies, while he suppresses a smile that threatens to take over his face. “So, it’s a date?”

Martin closes his eyes, short enough to be mistaken with a blink, and says: “Yeah, it’s a date.” The aching in his chest makes him wish Tim would be a little less nice and a little more without ambiguity. Even though he wants it to be a romantic date, this is just a friendly outing with a guy claiming to be a witch.

.

Fortunately, Mischief Night (or Halloween as everyone else seems to call it) is a Saturday, which means that Tim can pick Martin up at his flat in Stockwell. Neither Tim nor Martin own a car, but Tim borrowed Danny’s well-loved VW Beetle and it’s only about thirty-seven kilometres until they reach Bocketts Farm.

Martin’s glad the midday fog has eased up, and the sun warms the skin on his forearms, since he rolled up the sleeves of his jumper. Tim is right beside him, his pointy hat decorated with probably fake cobwebs.

“I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t pick me up on your broomstick,” Martin says when they walk through the entrance of the farm. Despite the slight fear that Tim will take offence and abandon him on this farm, he feels comfortable enough to make a joke like this. He thinks he knows Tim well enough to know that Tim would tell him if he were overstepping any boundaries.

Tim’s answer is a little more defensive than Martin anticipated: “Flying is hard, okay. Usually, I ride shotgun.”

Martin gapes, for lack of a better word, and almost walks into a fencepost if it weren’t for Tim pulling him aside. Instead of letting go of Martin’s arm, Tim threads his own through and links them in the most casual way Martin has ever seen. This is nice. (Tim is nice.)

“What do you want to do first?” Tim inquires when Martin doesn’t say anything else. “I personally am inclined to start with apple-bobbing.” He points to a small group of people around a water filled barrel. Martin makes a noncommittal sound, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, and Tim steers him softly towards the event.

“Supposedly, the barrel symbolises the cauldron of rebirth,” Tim says while they walk the remaining distance. Martin casts a look in his direction. He’s a bit preoccupied with the thought that Tim wants him to stick his head into ice cold water to fish for an apple with his teeth, so he only says: “Makes sense.” Even though he’s not sure in what way rebirth is connected to divining the first letter of your future spouse’s name.

When they come to a halt in front of the barrel, it doesn’t take long until they have their turn. Tim yields to Martin and he sighs before he steps up the barrel, takes a deep breath and dives in. The water is freezing, tiny pinpricks on Martin’s skin, and it’s really, really hard to actually get his teeth on an apple because every time he touches on, it submerges and sideslips. (It’s frustrating. Like shelving books in the Magnus library is frustrating. He knows he got it right but in reality he doesn’t.)

It takes forever or at least it feels like forever, his face in cold water and his fingers in Tim’s hand. (Wait, when did Tim grab his hand? Did he grab Tim’s hand? Oh, he must have sometime between their arrival at the barrel and his endeavour to bob for an apple.) But then he catches a small one between his teeth and gets out of the water as fast as possible. Tim lets out a loud whistle and his free hand pats Martin’s shoulder in congratulation. Whereas Martin’s free hand gets rid of the water in his face and pulls the apple out of his mouth.

“This is terrible,” he says through a chuckle because he can’t be mad with the sun shining into his face like it’s late summer and not autumn. “It’s your turn.”

Martin has to let go of Tim’s hand because a member of staff hands a knife to him and he starts peeling the apple in one unbroken strip.

Apparently, Tim’s either more practiced in apple-bobbing or he’s really a witch and helped himself along with magic, because it takes him not nearly as long as Martin to catch an apple. He waits for Martin to finish peeling his apple and relieves Martin of the knife.

“You have to throw it over your left shoulder,” Tim explains earnestly. “It’s the side of the heart. It won’t work otherwise.”

“Makes sense,” Martin says, and it kind of does. Still he waits for Tim to finish peeling his own apple. Then they hand back the knife and stand side by side, throwing the peel on the count of three over their left shoulders.

“It looks like a T,” Tim says, when he catches sight of Martin’s apple peel, tapping the tip of his index finger against his chin.

Martin laughs, he's not entirely sure why but he can't stop himself. He replies: “It looks like a C, all of them look like Cs. And if they don’t, then they look like Os.” He points at Tim’s apple peel. “Look, yours looks like a C, too.”

“It’s just a tad short,” Tim retorts. “See, it started to form a small M but only came around to curve into a small N.” He laughs, too. “The apples have spoken, Martin. We’re destined for each other.”

“Well,” Martin says and he can’t shake the soft warmth that curls underneath his solar plexus, “if the apples say that, it must be right.”

.

They spend a good few hours on the farm, carving pumpkins and turnips, wandering through the maze and passing by goats and sheep and pigs, before they get to a bon fire Tim wants to sit down at to warm up a bit. The afternoon had been warm, but now that the sun has set cold creeps into their clothes and Tim complains about his between-season jacket. Martin who’s still warm despite the cold breeze gently extends his hand for Tim to hold.

For a few moments they fall quiet, only listening to the cracking of the fire.

But it doesn’t take long for Tim to reach into his pockets to fish for something and bring four conkers to light. He presents them to Martin and says: “Do you want to?” And Martin nods, only in part because Tim could ask anything of him and Martin would gladly do it.

They place their conkers in the flames respectively and when Martin’s first one cracks, Tim questions: “Did you name them?”

Martin shakes his head. Only a moment passes by, then:

“Did you name them?” Martin asks, and he doesn't look at Tim. His eyes are transfixed on the two conkers resting side by side. The left is already cracked. Tim doesn't look at Martin either, but he answers nevertheless: “I named both of them Martin. Didn't want to take the risk.”

And this, precisely, is the instant, Martin realises this could indeed be a date. A date date. A rendezvous Tim has asked him on, waiting for Martin to make a clear step towards him or not.

“Is this a date?” Martin blurts out, finally looking at Tim who ducks his head and blushes. He doesn’t want to sound incredulously, but the sheer ridiculousness of the situation sends his head spinning. A laugh bubbles out of his chest before he can stop it. “Tim, is this a date?”

“Well,” Tim starts and has the audacity to sound something akin to shy, “I thought it was a date. It was implied, I thought I explicitly said it was a date.” His gaze falls onto their joined hands. “I thought you knew we were dating.” Then he pales. “Oh, this is really awkward. I’m sorry.”

Tim attempts to let go of Martin’s hand, but Martin holds onto him.

“No, no, no, it’s okay,” Martin says, the laugh still on his tongue. His chest feels lighter than ever and he can’t keep the bright smile off his face. “I wanted this to be a date, honestly. I just didn’t think it could actually be one.”

“Oh, that’s,” Tim clears his throat, finally looking back at Martin’s face, “that’s good. Nice. Toit.”

.

“Does this have deeper cultural meaning, too?” Martin asks after sitting between stacks of hay on top of a wagon. He’s not sure if he’s a tiny bit sarcastic or if he finally accepted Tim’s commitment for his aesthetic.

“No,” Tim replies, while he sits down cross-legged next to Martin. “I just think hayrides are neat.”

“I’ve never been on a hayride before,” Martin says, before he moves closer to Tim, so that his thigh slots underneath Tim’s knee. “It’s kind of romantic.”

“Is it?” Tim teases, leaning into Martin’s space with ease. “I didn’t notice.” Then he pauses for a second, his eyes flicking down to Martin’s lips. “As soon as the tractor starts it won’t be anymore, so if you want to use the magic of hayride romanticism to kiss me, you should do it now.”

Martin moves in closer, too, now he can feel Tim’s breath on his skin. He says: “So, hayrides are magical.” But Tim doesn’t answer him. Instead he closes the remaining distance between them and kisses Martin. (And maybe, only maybe, hayrides are magic.)

Their kiss only lasts for a few seconds before the engine of the tractor starts and the hayride begins. (They’re extremely lucky or magic is involved because they’re alone. The only other option is that hayrides are typically for children and their parents and it’s too late for them to participate. At this point, Martin doesn’t care. He’s surrounded by hay and Tim kissed him.)

Martin laughs breathlessly when they break apart because he catches sight of Tim almost losing his pointy hat due to the jolt of the wagon and says: “You’re right. Romance is dead.”

“My greatest virtue and my greatest curse is always being right,” Tim replies, readjusting the hat on his head. “I’m kind of glad tomorrow is the last day and I can take this thing off afterwards.”

For a second, Martin contemplates saying that Tim doesn’t have to wear it now. That if his aesthetic gets in the way of his everyday life, it’s alright to break out. But he doesn’t. Because this is nice, and he won’t tell Tim what to do. If Tim wants to wear a pointy hat, Tim gets to wear a pointy hat.

In search of changing the topic, Martin looks around the wagon and his gaze falls onto a small lantern at the back of the wagon. It’s supposed to be lit so that crossing folks can see the wagon; like the backlights of a bicycle or car. The lid isn’t fully shut, though, and the steady breeze of the moving wagon has extinguished the flame.

Martin pats his pockets from the outside, before he turns to Tim: “Do you have a lighter?”

Unfortunately, Tim shakes his head. More unfortunately, he says: “Doesn’t matter.” Then he leans forward, opening the lid fully and reaching into the lantern. The tip of his finger connects with the wick of the candle and by the time he pulls it back, the wick ignites and a small flame flickers to life.

Martin, once again, gapes. This is magic, Tim is a witch, Tim is a witch, o my fucking god.

“What?” Tim asks as he sits back down next to Martin.

“You’re a witch,” Martin says, and to his own surprise without the exact amount of disbelief he feels. “This is magic and you’re a witch.”

Tim smiles through his irritation and ripostes: “Martin, dear, I told you I’m a witch.”

“Yeah,” Martin responds and maybe he sounds as hysterical as he is, but this is ridiculous, “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“What did you think I meant every time I told you I was out with my coven?” Tim inquires bewildered, and everything about his demeanour suggests that he’s going to burst into laughter at any given moment.

“Honest?” Martin doesn’t wait for Tim to answer. “With all the essential oils I kinda thought it was a MLM.”

Tim furrows his eyebrows, the laughter dying on his tongue. They stare at each other and Tim says slowly: “My coven is not a group of Marxists who Love Marketing.” He stops dead in his tracks. “Men Loving Marketing?” Tim screws up his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re insinuating that I love men, that I’m a comrade or part of a pyramid scheme.” Before Martin can interject something, Tim says: “I’m working for the Magnus Institute, so where’s the lie?”

He pauses, then he says: “Witches are real, and you thought this is just a funny multilevel marketing meme.”

This breaks something lose in Martin and he honest to God starts giggling: “You’re terrible. Do you know that?”

“I’m doing my best,” Tim retorts, laughing as well.

After their laughter dies away, Martin says: “Is this why you said the institute is one pile of magical bullshit?” He thinks better of it. “Is this why you said the library isn’t conscious? Is it a witch who’s rearranging the shelves?”

It takes a moment for Tim to answer: “No, it’s a ghost.”

“A ghost is rearranging the shelves,” Martin repeats. “Okay, alright, sure. A ghost. Is there something else I should know about?”

“I don’t think so. His name is Jürgen, he died in the tunnels underneath the Institute and thinks it’s really funny to fuck with us.” Tim grabs Martin’s hand again. “You can talk to him and tell him to fuck off, though. Sometimes it works.”

Martin makes a noncommittal sound and lays his head on Tim’s shoulder even though their shoulders line up and it’s incredibly uncomfortable. This is weird and this is nice and they will have to talk about this, but their ride is almost over and Martin wants to bask for a few precious minutes in Tim’s silent company before they have to get off and head back.

Tim draws nonsensical shapes on the back of Martin’s hand with his thumb, and Martin feels content and warm and perhaps a little bewitched.

Before the ride ends, Martin asks: “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Tim says hesitantly, “we’re going to celebrate All Hallow’s Day. My coven’s going to light a fire to ward off evil spirits and ghosts. The ashes of All Hallow’s fire keep calamity at bay and we use it for augury.” He sounds apologetic. “But I could come by afterwards.”

And it’s the first time, Martin doesn’t hesitate or feels that his words are tinged with an exasperated confusion when he says: “Makes sense.” So he adds after a moment: “That would be lovely.”

#the magnus archives #martim #martin k. blackwood #tim stoker #tim stoker x martin blackwood #alternate universe #witch tim stoker #schmok writes #fanfiction #hhhh martim rights

[gcllowcys]

new york’s very own lydia galloway was spotted on broadway street , with a striking semblance to victoria pedretti ! you may know them as @galloways or hitting the front page of tmz as LYDIA GALLOWAY PROFESSES LOVE FOR ADAM SANDLER FOR 15 MINS ON INSTA LIVE … AGAIN. according to tmz , you just had your twenty-third birthday bash . while living in nyc , you’ve been labeled as being facetious , but also ardent . things that would paint a better picture of you would be small, inconsequential stick and pokes , bumming cigarettes off of others after swearing cold turkey the night before , drinking $11 smoothies that taste like someone’s backyard all because you saw gwenyth paltrow drink one . ( cisfemale + she/her  )

hi hello !!!  my name is barb and this is my 2nd time around in wealthyhq. v excited 2 be back, v excited to write with everyone !!!  this is gonna be uber short bc i have work in less than an hr and yeah , pls message me or like this to plot and i hope y’all like this dumbo !!!

lydia is frm brooklyn and yeah ,,, the accent is there you won’t have 2 guess on that one. her parents are very big in the entertainment industry as her mother is a hotshot producer who’s worked for all the big directors and her father is on the same level as brad pitt. she’s met brad pitt, gr8 guy

growing up she NEVER wanted 2 be apart of the spotlight it scared her like no other. she saw how pushy the paparazzi could be, how ugly the haters were. lydia made sure to make it clear with her family that she never ever wanted to be famous. her parents obliged by her wishes and kept her out of the limelight. due to this, she was able to go wherever and do whatever she wanted. there was an occasional camera pushed in her face, but she lived a really normal childhood.

when she graduated frm high school, she went to college 4 graphic design but eventually dropped out to help her friend with his streetwear brand. his famous friends became her friends and the more and more they posted photos with her on insta or mentioned her in a tweet, the more the internet got nosy on who she was. “is that ur new gf?”, “who is she?”, “uhhh that lowkey looks like the girl from hill house wtf”; the attention was growing and it didn’t get any better once she started to date one of the fuckboys in their ever-growing social circle.

being the girlfriend of an up and rising singing heartthrob wasn’t as bad as dating someone who was already established in the entertainment industry, but his fans were about as loyal as could be. it seemed half adored her while the other wanted her out of the picture. with every “STEP ON ME!!!!” comment there were five d3@th threat comments to follow. the wild scary fans eventually calmed down once they became more established as a couple, but lydia could never shake the anxiety that followed.

as her and her beau broke up this year (many speculate it was due to him never standing up for her, which it definitely played part, but it was mainly due to a drunken night of her sobbing and screaming how they just didn’t work), the fanbase she accumulated over the years never died down. while she was just arm candy for the famous or their “strange new friend”, she was making her own come-up happen behind the scenes. was she subconsciously using them? YES, but no one gotta say it like that!!! her new clothing brand, Dog Eat Dog Co., has gained a cult following. many celebrities alike have been seen wearing her clothes, which is just the start for her.

PERSONALITY

def still working on that for her, but off her own online presence, she exudes that “cool girl” lifestyle that many people essentially just assume is how she is irl. which, SURE, she can come off that way, but lydia is much more complex than that. she’s super shy, reserved which could come off bitchy to people but in reality, she’s a big ol’ scaredy cat. she’s extremely goofy and is always making her friends laugh. she has rose-colored lenses for people and is always letting the wrong people in. she’s great and dumb and everything in-between!!!

rn she’s trying to coming to terms that she is a big bumbling lesbian but it’s also very scary to her and pls don’t ask for opinions on boys bc she will stutter her way into a different topic. 

does she have mommy issues due to her only wanting to drink when she was home which wasn’t often essentially leaving lydia feeling unloved by her? umm yeah :) don’t point it out she will cry :)

:)

as for connections, i love everything and anything okay loves it !!! ttyl beautiful peoples !!!

#wealthyhq:intro #umm lets see here #anxiety tw #mom issues tw #adam sandler mention tw

[ageless-aislynn]

NaNo update because I AM EXCITE!

Rough drafts finished:

1. “Just Right” - FrostNash, one-shot prompt, completed, just needs final editing to be ready to post, title maaay change

2. “Guardian Angel” - ReverseSnow AU, 4 chapters, rough draft finished but it is in WRECKED condition currently so may end up with more chapters or be cut to a long one-shot when all is said and done, in need of tons of rewriting/editing love so won’t be appearing for a while. But still… FINISHED! \o/

3. “Finding Home” - SnowHarry, one-shot prompt, rough draft finished, just needs some final editing to clean it up for posting

4. “Cherryished” - Peter/Lydia (Pydia), Teen Wolf, one-shot prompt, just needs final editing

5. “Cupid’s Kiss” (NSFW) - ReverseSnow, third and final chapter rough draft DONE, started June 15, 2020, yikes, lol! But it has made it in for a landing at last, frens and fam! *parties like it’s 1999*

Now writing:

“Split” ReverseSnow, FrostNash, third part of The Ghost of Eobard Thawne series, chapter 1 is already in progress, probably will be at least 5 chapters, maybe as many as 10, we’ll just have to see as we get there 😲😉

Coming up:

“Red String” HR/Killer Frost, second chapter, probably will finish with just this one chapter but might need a third, we’ll see 😉

“The Proposition” (NSFW), ReverseFrost, chapters 2 - however many it takes to finish this delightfully and absolutely filthy tale of sorta semi-hot professor Thawne meets quite-willing student Frost 😊 Gird your loins, frens. This one’s not going to be for the faint of heart. 😳😉 (Unless I, you know, change my mind and tame it down... 😜)

“The Price” (NSFW), Snowhunter, 5 - 10 chapters, probably won’t be as graphic as “Proposition” but it’ll still definitely earn its NC17/M rating. Or it may turn out to be absolutely filthy, too. I dunno. 🤷‍♀️😳😂

NaNo will probably finish before I can complete all of these and I have no idea what order they’ll be written in or what order they’ll post OR how quickly they’ll post after November ends. But still... “Cupid’s Kiss” is DONNNNNNE and I’m so happy about that!

♥♥♥

#nanowrimo #nano #ais is writing #writing #snowells #pydia #snowhunter #frostnash #reversesnow #hr x killer frost #whew #ageless aislynn #ais is excite

[coinira]

Gold IRA Companies

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In 1998, the mine closed because of depressed gold rates after producing 88,000 ounces of gold. The company now reports that it has 524,000 tons of reserves at an ordinary grade of 0.23 opt Au. Addwest (Mohave Desert Minerals) resumed the mine in 2007 as well as put its initial gold bar in 2010. In the same way that the household home need to not be considered as a financial investment, gold is not really an investment per se, instead it is a type of 'conserving for a wet day' or of economic insurance coverage. It is to be taken property of or kept with a safe 3rd party and also should not actually be traded like shares and stocks. One does not trade an insurance coverage and thus as a form of financial insurance, physical gold must not be traded. Zimbabwe-Shona minstrel Thomas Mapfumo (2) concentrated on the genre of political tracks (chimurenga songs) that remained in vogue throughout the civil war. Replacing electric guitar (Jonah Sithole) and also drums for the mbira thumb piano and hosho rattlers, Mapfumo developed his very own individual crossbreed of African and also western music on cds such as Gwindingwi Rine Shumba (1980 ), while Chimurenga for Justice (1986) opted for a mellower noises and introduced a weak fusion of reggae, heart and rock. The world's largest gold ETF - SPDR Gold Depend On (GLD) - saw three successive weeks of internet inflow in May. This recommends that more customers are returning to the bullion market after months of marketing. The variety of GLD shares outstanding boosted 5.0 million last week, after climbing 3.7 and also 2.5 million in the prior two weeks respectively. Gold rates as well as the number of impressive GLD shares have shown a strong positive correlation in the past (chart below). Consequently, a sped up speed of registration to the ETF may be considered as a favorable signal for costs. 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Every one of the thousands of other geologists to stroll the containers and varieties in Wyoming missed all kinds of treasures as well as gold. Based on my experience, only a really little part of Wyoming has actually been prospected for gems (possibly 5 to 10%) while the rest of the state is large open for prospecting (if the damned bureaucrats will leave you alone). In addition to the gold-bearing shear areas (lodes), cupriferous veins with Au and also Ag values are found at a number of places in the belt. Since of the lack of tonnage, these blood vessels have little economic worth. They are hardly ever greater than 2 feet broad as well as pinch and swell over brief ranges along strike. However, one Cu-Ag stockwork discovered along the northwestern flank of the belt might be of passion. The degree of the stockwork is unknown since it exists under dirt in a large aspen grove. Get hold of examples of the mineralized rock produced 3.23 % Cu, 3.2 ppm Ag, and 0.16 ppm Au (Hausel, 1991). Can housewives as well as stay-at-home mamas obtain Roth or Typical Individual Retirement Accounts? Here are some typical misconceptions regarding opening a Spousal IRA. There are additionally brokerages with reduced minimal financial investment IRAs that can help get you started. Gold is pointed out frequently in the Old Testament, starting with Genesis 2:11 (at Havilah ), the tale of the golden calf, as well as several components of the holy place consisting of the Menorah and also the gold altar. In the New Testimony, it is included with the gifts of the magi in the very first chapters of Matthew. Guide of Revelation 21:21 defines the city of New Jerusalem as having streets "made from pure gold, clear as crystal". Exploitation of gold in the south-east corner of the Black Sea is claimed to date from the time of Midas, and also this gold was very important in the facility of what is probably the world's earliest coinage in Lydia around 610 BC. 83 The tale of the golden fleece dating from eighth century BCE may describe the use of fleeces to trap gold dirt from placer down payments in the ancient world. From the 5th or 6th century BC, the Chu (state) distributed the Ying Yuan, one kind of square gold coin. Best Rollover IRA Accounts 1. Physical Coins - Gold as financial investment purposes has actually been around for countless years, and so started the minting of coins. Coins have the benefit of being tiny, portable, and also they hold a tremendous quantity of wealth in a little dimension. These treasures can be purchased from lots of dealerships online or at your regional coin supplier. That may or might not be the case, relying on just how intelligently you have invested throughout the years. So, many people maintain both a Roth and also a standard IRA. It is in some cases recommended that the conventional account be surrendered right into a Roth, to ensure that you can have the tax obligation advantages of both. It is allowed under the IRS regulations, but the majority of brokers and also banks bill roll-over charges. I have actually constantly wished to buy realty, however prior to I had a self guided IRA, my trustee would just "sneer at" as well as or else prevent my rate of interest. Now I have the ability to hold property assets, which have actually always been one of the safest possessions to have. With the existing problem of our economic climate, I can really feel safe recognizing that my investments in property are risk-free and also not in danger of being shed with the following financial institution or investment home collapse. The disagreement is frequently made that holding gold in a mutual funds is the very best means. While it can be very easy to acquire silver and gold in this manner, it is not the least expensive. When you buy in a fund, the investor goes to the grace of the fund supervisor and also has no control over their charges or expenditures inside the fund. The goal is preservation of concept as well as keeping prices down, this is not the case with a gold common fund. Rare-earth element anomalies are also reported in black shales and phosphorites of the Phosphoria Development (Permian) in the Overthrust Belt of western Wyoming. These rocks host anomalous Ag, Au, Cr, Cu, v, and zn (Love, 1984). The U.S. Bureau of Mines as well as the UNITED STATE Geological Study record rocks from the Phosphoria Development to have high silver values (as long as 2,600 ppm) and anomalous gold (0.2 ppm) (Allsman and others, 1949; Love, 1984). Precious Metals IRA Reviews Precious Metals IRA Rollover Twitter also recognized 13,512 more automatic Russian-linked accounts that tweeted election-related material during the period, bringing that total amount to 50,258. In the company's post, it additionally reported better safety strategies found 60 percent extra questionable accounts last month than it did in October 2017. They're improving at observing automatic task, Twitter claims: Near-instant respond to tweets, too-regular Tweet timing and coordinated engagement are all red flags. In 1895, a prospector called John Gleeson prospected near Blue-green as well as located copper and also opened the Copper Belle mine. Other mines were established as well as the brand-new mining camp was called Gleeson Mines in this district operated till copper rates decreased leading to mine closures in the 1930s (Hausel, 2019 ). You'll additionally want to ensure that target-date funds get on your broker's list of funds. These are investments that become more conservative as the time frame (the date of retired life) methods, which is a good suggestion since you don't want a great deal of volatility near or during retired life. Content. Our Services display some material that we did not develop as well as do not own. This material is the single responsibility of the entity or individual that makes it available. We presume no obligation for the conduct of 3rd parties, consisting of persons or entities with which you communicate using the Providers. Many of the Providers allow you to send material. You - not Verizon Media - are totally responsible for any type of content that you post, post, email, transfer, or otherwise provide through the Services. We might get rid of as well as refuse to display material that breaches the Terms or applicable legislations or policies, however that does not suggest that we keep track of the Solutions or review or display any material. By utilizing or accessing the Services you concur and understand that you may be exposed to offending, indecent, or objectionable material. Robert Shiller, the 2013 Nobel Laureate economist, writing in the New York Times, declares the globe has actually never experienced an occasion like the Covid-19 pandemic. The devices of Analytical evaluation and also artificial intelligence, powerful as they are, can't appropriately assess what the globe is experiencing." When asked if the market is affordable today, Shiller responds, It's not as highly-priced as it was just months back." He frets that the marketplace may reproduce the experience of the Great Depression. From 1929 to 1932, the S&P 500 shed three-quarters of its worth and did not return to the exact same degree till 7 years later. PVD is a more technically sophisticated procedure than gold plating approaches. A gold haze is put on a base metal item, through a vacuum procedure or ion bombardment. (Seems crazy, ideal?) A layer of titanium nitride adds sturdiness to the gold layer. This is commonly liked for watches, which frequently flex as well as rub against the wrist, because the result can use an extra long lasting gold color than gold plate. Gold IRA Companies

#invest