#all of the party members have a pretty decent pain tolerance

[madwheelerz]

Mike has a pretty high pain tolerance actually I mean who else is getting up to go running after one of their friends despite being knocked out .5 seconds if not him and Max.

#byler #platonic madwheeler #i have no idea where this idea that mike can't handle pain came from #boy got knocked into a metal rod and nearly went comatose but immediately went running after realizing El was missing #Max too #all of the party members have a pretty decent pain tolerance

[yellingmetatron]

I Just Need to Get This Out (Political Content Warning)

Now more than ever, I am going to be avoiding politics on Tumblr.  This is, with any luck, the last political post I will make on my blogs.  It is meant to serve as an explanation of why I’m going to be a lot less tolerant of political content on roleplaying blogs.  TL;DR, I don’t fit in on the right or left and I’m fucking tired of seeing politics everywhere.  I deal with it at work, and I deal with it at home.  I don’t want to deal with it here.  I’m going to start unfollowing people when I see it.  That doesn’t mean our friendship is over, it doesn’t mean we can’t RP.  But I’m so tired of it all. If you want the long explanation, keep reading.

From about middleschool to shortly before the election of the current president I considered myself an ardent conservative.  Listing out a lot of my positions, this might have seemed not to be the case: I’m not religious (try as I might to be so).  I’m pro-LGTBQ+.  I’ve always been a proud member of what Rush Limbaugh used to call the Wetland Gestapo. I think anthropogenic climate change is a real thing.  I want pot legalized.  I think military interventionism is a mistake in all but the rarest situations (granted this is a more recent position).  I think the welfare state is necessary and in places ought to be expanded.  I am enthusiastic about multiculturalism. On the other hand, I am pro-religion despite not being religious, and feel religious conservatives shouldn’t be compelled to violate their own religious beliefs as long as it’s not hurting anyone (and my definition of ‘not hurting anyone’ seems to be a bit broader than most progressives).  While I’m not anti-union, I think that unions can be corrupt as any other institution, particularly at a national level, and that the Left is too inclined to overlook that.  I’m solidly pro Second Amendment.  I consider illegal immigration a bad thing (mostly because it’s an excuse to exploit the poor and undocumented).  I think “states’ rights” is not just a dogwhistle term for racists, but something that really does need to be taken into account given the way the American republic works. I could have expanded the above to paragraphs, but they’re already ungainly and, I’m sure, a pain to read through.  Where am I going with all this?  Well, first I wanted to establish that I COULD consider myself “an ardent conservative” while holding a lot of varied opinions (like literally everyone on the planet has).  Secondly, I want to establish that I hold all of the above views, and have for some time, while bearing a specific label—right winger.  I’ve ended up rejecting that label, and rejecting what for want of a better term I’ll call “the conservative movement”, but my positions haven’t changed.  And, most importantly, stopping thinking of myself as a conservative DOES NOT mean I’ve come to think of myself as a progressive. Let me try to tell a story. I’m decent at stories. Metamun in middle school and high school was a lonely creature.  He was sick a lot, and pretty socially awkward, although he could make up for it by being funny and knowing some trivia.  But he mostly kept to himself.  Since being on the bus made him sick (it was at a time of life when people experimented with scents that screwed him up at close quarters) usually his dad picked him up after school.  That’s where Metamun picked up his politics, those drives home with dad.  Dad listened to a lot of Rush Limbaugh, and so Metamun did too.  Metamun was already sort of inclined to conservatism—he had a pessimistic view of the world, distrusting the US government and feeling that people ought to be able to protect themselves (i.e. own guns).  Rush did not convert Metamun, but he did affirm Metamun.  He didn’t usually say anything that seemed greatly outrageous to Metamun. (Mark that “usually”.) Now, as Metamun was living in suburban New England, it happened that conservative politics did not go unchallenged as they might have, say, farther south.  To Metamun it seemed as though he was in a tiny minority, especially where authority figures were concerned.  Looking back he’d realize this wasn’t the case— particularly not in terms of his actual views.  But remember, Metamun didn’t get out much.  And furthermore, although he considered himself conservative, he found he usually didn’t like the company of conservatives— they tended to be less interested in the things he was, like books and acting.  So most of his friends and acquaintances tended to be, if not self-identified progressives, at least the kind of people who sneered at conservatives and made the obligatory comparisons of Bush II to Hitler. Because that was who Metamun dealt with day-to-day, he was left with the impression that this was the norm for the society he lived in.  Most of what was on TV, with the exceptions of Fox News and South Park, seemed to confirm this. And so Metamun became genuinely terrified of people learning that he was not like the majority. Being homebound so often, Metamun spent a lot of time online.  That did nothing to lessen his terror.  Lonely as he was, Metamun went looking for conservative blogs.  Pajamas Media was the big one, but there were plenty of smaller ones.  One important thing he learned was that post 9/11, there were a lot of people who sort of fit his description—socially liberal, but mistrustful of leftist politics for various reasons.  Ex-leftists. Neo-Cons.

One important factor was patriotism: It seemed like all progressives genuinely hated the United States on principal.  Unflattering and quite often spurious comparisons to other countries seemed to abound on the Left.  One of Metamun’s new acquaintances explicitly wrote on their blog that they’d always wondered how the Right “co-opted” patriotism before concluding the Left simply threw it away. This acquaintance, a gay Seattleite, would be a touchstone for Metamun’s sense of political self for some time.  During the Tea Party era, the Right genuinely felt more fun and open than the Left.  Metamun still felt like an underdog, but also like he was part of a ragtag resistance movement with real emotional bonds.  And yet, even with all that, his prime political emotion was fear. (Mark the recurrent theme of fear.) Some of you might see the shape of this narrative and guess that Metamun was fed a steady diet of paranoia by nasty wingnuts.  Yes and no. The conservative blogosphere was a scary place—it told him that his basic values were under constant assault. That some of the “basic values” in the package were not actually his was beside the point, because Metamun just generally hated the thought of State force being used to coerce people into violating their own principals.  Metamun was happy to fight for values that were not his own, on that account.  It did bother him, sometimes, the assumptions conservatives made, but by this time he had gotten used to thinking of himself as a minority, so the majority being different wasn't so jarring.  Of course there would be a few differences of opinion. But the Right accepted those differences in the way that surely the Left would not.  And he knew that this was true, because he’d seen it with his own eyes. The Left was VICIOUS to conservatives, sometimes in a very personal way.  In some ways, sick and often absent though he was, Metamun still got the basic high school experience as he watched insults and worse fly fast and thick.  Leftists expressed GLEE at any conservative misfortune.  They made absolutely insane comparisons between conservative pundits and Nazis.  “Republican” was a punchline to very cruel (and sometimes racist and sexist) jokes. Sometimes they seemed to outright lie.  Metamun remembered a novelty song about Satan claim he was “in all Rush Limbaugh’s rants”, and Metamun KNEW that was untrue because he’d been listening to Rush for years and couldn’t recall the man even referencing scripture outside of holidays. Metamun heard people casually cite Glenn Beck as routinely opposing gay marriage when Metamun had heard the man himself arguing that the government shouldn’t even be involved with marriage (and thus that it couldn’t compel churches to validate gay marriages, sure, but that seemed a separate issue). But it was watching his conservative friends’ comments sections and twitter feed that solidified the image of progressive-as-persecutor.  It was blatantly apparent that these people hadn’t come to engage, they just wanted to take potshots.  Ad hominem abounded, total lack of reading comprehension was displayed, and just general delight in cruelty was rampant.  He was particularly appalled by the treatment of minority conservatives, who received all sorts of abuse based on race, sex, and orientation. Something that stuck with Metamun for years was watching conservative women get rape threats, death threats, and admonitions to kill themselves.  One of his best friends got such an admonition in response to mentioning on twitter it was her birthday.  That was it. Nothing political.  Just excitement for a special, personal day.  And none of his Leftist friends seemed to understand what their own wing was doing.  They talked about the Right doing such things, which baffled him—he’d never seen anything like that, or, if he did, it was only once or twice and never anybody HIS friends actually associated with.  Every movement has a few bad apples, right? (Mark the irony.) It didn’t help that once, depressed, Metamun DID admit on twitter that he was a conservative, and moreover that he was afraid people would stop being his friends over that. He promptly lost two friends. When he asked a third friend if they could please ask if he’d been unfollowed on purpose, they said they’d do it. And then THEY never talked to him again, even when he reached out.  He was convinced the only reason he didn’t lose everybody was that they hadn’t all seen the tweets—he deleted them quickly. So there Metamun was: Lonely, convinced that even if he didn’t line up perfectly with conservatism that at least conservatives accepted him, and very angry at the Other Tribe that was so cruel and callous to him and his friends.  But he was starting to grow up, and as he did he began noticing certain discrepancies.  Now and then the movement that was supposed to have a Big Tent felt oddly crowded. People sometimes rubbed each other the wrong way.  Metamun particularly hated it when the term RINO got thrown around, because he was all too aware that might apply to someone like him. Then there was the lack of nuance.  He slowly came to realize people on both sides of the aisle would sometimes use “nuanced” as a snide insult.  When the Dalai Lama described himself as anti-capitalist Metamun was disappointed, but understood (and also His Holiness was on record as saying when someone’s shooting at you it’s reasonable to shoot back, which Metamun thought made up for a lot). He did not expect certain conservatives to not only sneer at His Holinesses “nuanced” relationship with capitalism (accepting material support to fight against Mao) but actually accused him of being a PRC puppet. What?  Hadn’t they read anything about the man’s life?  Or his own writings?  Yes, he’d tried to work with Mao, but that fell through because Mao hated religion unequivocally—how could any religious leader work with that?  Why were they jumping to such insane conclusions?  This wasn’t what conservatives were supposed to do! There were a thousand other cracks in the façade, but two stand out. First, Metamun admitted to a dear friend, full of apprehension, that he voted for Mitt Romney. And not only did she not cut him out of her life, she explained WHY she wouldn’t do that.  Metamun was elated but also very confused—this wasn’t how the script in his head went.  He was admitting this because the pain of keeping a secret was too much, and he fully expected to pay a price for that.  He was (and remains) a drama-addled moron that way.  He was also a creature who put a lot of stock in narrative, and this narrative was nothing like he expected. Next, Metamun himself cut two friends out of his life over politics—years apart, but the number is important.  The first hurt, but felt very justified.  The second haunted him.  Metamun was easily haunted, but by this point he’d started really struggling with intrusive thoughts.  Around and around they went in his head, and although there was extreme, maddening monotony, now and then he’d see angles he’d missed before. The number was important. Two friends he’d definitely lost (he was never really sure of the third).  Two friends he’d rejected.  Why did he reject them?  Because he figured they’d hate him if they knew he didn’t agree with them.  He figured they had made their positions so strident that it was just inevitable that they would cut him out if he didn’t cut them out first. And he realized, stupidly, after years of realizing nothing, that maybe that’s exactly how the people who left him had felt.  Oh, perhaps they didn’t.  But what if they did?  What did that say about what, ultimately, they had in common? We’re getting closer to the present, so I’m going to start talking about myself in first person again. I recognize this version of myself more easily. As time went by I grew more and more jaded with American conservatism, but I still thought of myself as a conservative.  A lot of people were like that, children of the Tea Parties who had thought that the Right was the only alternative to all the abhorrent things we saw on the Left. But familiarity breeds contempt, and soon we were well acquainted with abhorrent things on the Right.  It seemed as if there was a rot spreading, something that had started as a speck and was now growing.  The spirit of fellow feeling was starting to evaporate.  There were a few things going on, but by this point I was barely paying attention to any of them.  I hadn’t looked at a conservative blog in years.  I didn’t listen to Rush.  The fracture of American conservatism could probably be better documented by someone who still gives a damn, but we all know what was the final crack in the glass. Donald Trump’s candidacy split the Right seemingly overnight, and not neatly down the middle. The big question is, of course “love him or hate him”, but even people who don’t go to those extremes get caught up in the animosity.  This, really, was when I couldn’t call myself a conservative anymore—no, not because his election was an indictment of conservatism, but because as the jagged rift grew, I suddenly realized that literally everything that scared me about the Left was present in the Right, both the MAGAheads and the Never Trumpers. All the bile.  All the cruelty.  All the callous disregard for our shared humanity.  All the absurd stereotyping and reductionism. Everything I’d seen on the Left that made me feel that the Right, imperfect as it was, was my only refuge, was suddenly EVERYWHERE, from quarters I’d thought were safe.  A lot of my conservative friends were hit even harder than I was; a few people desperately tried to reconcile people who had once laughed and dined together, but were now swearing never to speak again, or worse, verbally assaulting each other on a daily basis.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  This was not the way we were supposed to work.And then, at last, I realized that the only reason I was just seeing all this awfulness NOW was because it hadn’t been directed at me and mine in the past.  And here we come to the main point I want to impress on everybody who’s bothered to read this far: My short-sightedness was in no way unique. We always try to show our best face to our friends—and to our Tribe.  We are thoughtful and considerate of people on our side.  We roll our eyes at the people on our fringe—silly things, aren’t they?  Imagine someone taking them seriously. Our enemies do not see our best face.  They see our war face.  We fight them tooth and nail.  We exult in their defeats, which become our triumphs—somehow.  And we see this horrible, poisonous crest at the top of their wave that threatens to engulf everything—their fringe. A leftist is not going to be threatened and insulted for being a rightist—at least not consistently outside of “purity” arguments.  A leftist will be more cognizant of the threat posed by rightist fringes, because those fringes are not attacking the Right, per se.  And you know, this goes for all conflict.  You don’t see a problem as clearly if it’s not directly shoved in your face every day.  And you will become convinced that the problems that ARE shoved in your face every day are the only ones really getting worked up about, because everything else seems so ephemeral. I read people scoff at their own fringes—“Oh, nobody REALLY believes that stuff, and people who complain about it are just showing their white fragility/race baiting/gay agenda/whatever the key phrase to stop critical thought is in a given situation”. Guess what?  Those fringes are constantly needling at the other side. THEY are what is representative of your tribe to the Other Tribe.  They are loud, and they are cruel, and ignoring them because the other guys “deserve it” or you hope “now they’ll know how it feels” is fucking insane.  And yes, one of the reasons the Other Tribe sees it so often is that they go looking for it, but they go looking for it BECAUSE THEY ARE AFRAID OF IT and they want to make sure they know what it’s up to. The only thing worse than seeing the devil is losing sight of the devil. I’m no longer a conservative because that ideology is poisoned by hate.  But I didn’t become a progressive, because that ideology is also poisoned by hate.  Or maybe both ideologies have actually been abandoned, and now we just have two flavors of hate in opposition to each other.  Please believe me, I do not WANT to be apolitical.  Everybody hates the apolitical—we don’t even like ourselves much. And anyway, I’m one of nature’s conformists; I like belonging to a group.  But at this point committing to ANY political movement feels like I would be sacrificing my integrity.  And I would not want to be part of a movement that accepts people without integrity. I call myself a localist these days.  Something risk analyst Nassim Nicholas Taleb came up with.  Keep power close to the ground, don’t try to manage everything from the top down, resist interventionism in communities where you don’t have skin in the game.  Not aiming for a world without blowups, but keeping them at a smaller scale than we currently experience.  Forget fussing over socialism and capitalism; both are bad at large scales.  Both can work together at smaller scales.  The false dichotomy is a tool of tyrants. I want my country to get better.  But that’s not going to happen until people admit there are malicious, corrupting forces even in their own Tribes.  It’s not all the Other Tribe’s fault.  I still see people I love treating other people I love as subhuman.  And when I point this out, tentatively, people nod their heads and tell me I’m correct and then go back to thoughtless hatred. What I want people to understand, please, is that I want nothing to do with  political mass movements.  It’s all about different flavors of hatred.  It’s all about hurting people.  It’s all about hypocrisy and cruelty.  Fuck it. I am going to try to be a good person without hitching my ego to too many abstractions.  I am going to try to make the world around me a more pleasant place, and I am going to do that without giving a fuck about whatever sacred cows the Left Tribe and Right Tribe are busy genuflecting to. So.  I’m going to work harder not to deal with it here.

#out of voice #this is really just a personal political essay #it's not funny and it's not thought provoking #i've just been sitting on it for years #i don't fit in any political clique and i no longer have any desire to do so #block this tag if you don't want to see politics #update: maybe i just won't come back to tumblr #but this would be a decent epitaph

[hunterartemis]

The Assistant: Chapter 8: Silver and Diamond

Word Limit: 5152

Summary: This is the Night that will be known not only the one that changed the fates of Two Nations, but also four lives

Chapter Theme: Vasily by Martin Phipps https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeA8K6sACiA

“May I have this dance, Miss Goldstein” Tina’s brows crinkled slightly with this most unlikely of proposal. She started to wonder what she did owned to this unlikely of pleasure, and most importantly… why Newt’s brother from all the people. She could sense a subtle politics behind it, but chose to think that it was beneath her.

As if Theseus could hear what Tina was thinking, he took his lips near Tina’s ears and whispered “It’s a changing dance, Tina… we may get the chance with the ones we really want… so” he straightened up to sport a natural courteous manner “are you in?”

Tina hesitated for a moment then without losing another word glided with Theseus into the dance floor.

He and Tina positioned themselves and started to glide to the rhythm and waited for the fated moment they all waited for. As the beat changed and their desired ones came closer, they looked at each other with a peculiar glance that looked shrewd and anticipating at the same time. One moment passed and then from the closest of quarters Theseus and Tina would drift apart from them. And he couldn’t resist the temptation to talk with the woman he was dancing with.

“So... you must be wondering why the man you hexed so badly six months ago is getting so friendly.” Theseus asked, swallowing his nervousness, “remember miss Goldstein, this is not a simple dance” he masterfully led Tina through the six principles steps around the circle, “in fact most important of society’s decision are made during dances. There is something mesmerising and distracting about it, that its motion stirs our rowdy mind and deposits all our thoughts at the bottom of the calmest part of our mind.” Tina, whose height rose up to Theseus’ eyes, looked at him with an unknown stare, “you are quite a philosopher Mr. Scamander… and it seems that you are not as short tempered as you seemed in the French Ministry” she let go off his hand and paired herself with a blond man.

“Does that surprise you…?” Theseus added with a smirk, peering over the shoulder of his current dance partner. With that passing inquisition, Tina’s eyes flashed with a certain severity which made Theseus almost regret his choice of words, but instead of a harsh reply, the woman counter questioned him quite smoothly.

“No… I would be a fool if it didn’t. I don’t pretend to understand a man I met only once. I wager even my legilimens sister would be able to figure out the whole in that short amount of time.” Tina added with a sarcastic smile “The only thing that surprises me that, why are you bothered to talk with me at all?” she said, while they once again united.

Theseus lowered his eyes in a mock embarrassment, “ah… the things we do for love, don’t we?” his eyes oddly fixated on the face of Tina, as if to imply she was in the same situation as he was, “we pretend, deny and avoid and the wretched thing keeps pulling us to it despite ourselves to make complete fools out of us...”he remarked abjectly as he changed his stance to go counter clockwise, contrasting with the inner circle of the waltzers, “look at them...” he glanced towards Newt and Maxine in the inner circle, “I envy them so much...”

“You don’t say...” Tina smiled sardonically and then changed her tone to reply assertively “we look at the people who truly belong to us and curse at our fates.”

“Oh no... You misunderstand me completely” Theseus denied, “I didn’t envy them for that... I envy them because they are so natural with each other... as if they were two sides of the same coin.” Tina huffed a laugh, that kind of laugh that people laugh when they don’t really respect the other party, “isn’t that the same thing being in love... being the sides of the same coin or whatever crazy stuff you are saying?”

“Who said that they are in love?” Theseus anxiously commented while they changed partners again and changed position towards the inner circle. Although his frown was causing distress with his very pretty current partner, but his eyes didn’t notice anyone but Tina, who danced in an obligatory manner with a man with sleek hair and thin moustache. He impatiently led himself and his partner towards Tina and very tactfully switched, against the rule, leading Theseus’ partner to stomp away from the dance floor angrily.

“Who said they were in love...” like a relief after an exhaustive labour, Theseus’ previous agitation melted to a huff which made Tina a little taken aback with him.

“What is it then... what do you think is between them?” Tina asked again with her characteristic assertiveness.

“A game...” Theseus’ eyes looked towards the ivory figure of Maxine, waltzing gracefully with Newt at the centre of the circle where the chandelier of a thousand crystal lights shone all over them. Maxine was cleverly keeping Newt within the circle so that he could not change partners, “She is playing a game of flirtation and Newt is enjoying all the attention he can get from her... we are men Tina, we may love a woman deeply with all our heart, but if another beautiful...ravishing one gives us positive attention we can’t help but to admire her. The world condemns us to fulfil the role of the governor, the provider, and the stoic responsible ones, meant to do our duties without any qualm. We crave for someone who will take care of us” Theseus tore his eyes from them and towards Tina, “don’t you think so?”

“I think it is utterly stupid to feel something like this for someone so cruel...” Tina scoffed at Theseus.

“And you said you’d be stupid if you knew a man you met only once...” Theseus’ smirked at Tina’s uneasiness.

Some moments of silence passed between them as they glided through the inner circles, changing and then reverting to their original partners. However they could not penetrate inside the circle where Maxine ad Newt dazzlingly danced. Theseus could not help but to admire their chemistry. Maxine put Newt in an absolute ease, and Theseus knew he could not be in love with her; he knew Newt was still in love with Leta when Theseus and her were engaged. There were some hints of shame and flusters about him when she was around, avoidance, a denial and a pain; even since Newt was in Hogwarts, but not here. Newt was in love with Maxine, but not the sense Newt loved Leta or Tina for that matter. It was something very beautiful and inexplicable. After all, it was impossible to love Maxine like any other woman. That’s what he had thought all along.

That’s why he gave her up for Leta.

It was her own impossibility that never let Theseus reach to her.

And yet, the strange dichotomy of despair and the ever-burning yearning was always present in his heart.

After a few turns the waltz came to an end. Theseus forcefully tore his eyes from Maxine and bowed to Tina as an after dance etiquette.

“Your plan failed Mr. Scamander...” Tina spoke with a futility in her voice and sarcasm on her lips. Theseus didn’t even tried to conceal his annoyance and defeat to Tina; with desperation of a wretched man, he kissed Tina’s hands and silently walked towards the bar.

“Martini, dry” Theseus ordered emotionlessly and leaned on the counter pensively; his eyes suddenly veered towards a voice that was addressed to him.

“Can you believe the British Ministry, can’t do politics and now can’t even party decently...” Theseus was slightly offended because no matter whoever spoke this he, Theseus Scamander, would be a loyal member of the British ministry. He could not identify the accent because he sounded like a Englishman—Theseus’ intuition could mostly let the speaker be a sarcastic Scot or an over-enthusiastic Irish, but nothing other than that. “... and the booze, tastes like piss...”—or maybe an Irish wizard.

“Do I know you?” Theseus asked annoyingly taking his martini from the counter. His annoyance made him look up at the Speaker, he was a man who looked he was very close if not in his forties, well proportionate hexagonal face, high forehead and his icy blue-gray eyes sported a kind of feudal arrogance. He was very pale, and looked even paler under the white-gold lights, whose shadows cast a skull like contours upon his otherwise handsome face, and his platinum blond hair was arranged in careful pinned curled waves that reminded Theseus of both polishedness of a nobleman and ostentatious manners of a muggle flapper.

“...it’s unlikely...” the stranger replied, “I studied and served abroad: Germany, Bulgaria, Russia...anywhere but in this murk.” He was speaking without looking at Theseus, “but I know you...” he finally turned towards his neighbour “Theseus Scamander, die kriegsheld.” He led his hand towards him. Theseus did not like him very much, but as this party was an unofficial Pan-European diplomatic summit, lest he offend any foreign official and badly represent the British ministry, he took his hand and shook it anyways. The man didn’t sound like he was supporting the British Cause against Grindlewald.

“Nice to meet you Mr.--”

“Anatole Malfoy...” he spoke in a pompous tone and let go of his hand, “I have utmost respect for you Herr Scamander... but I think you have made a poor choice of standing on the wrong side.” Anatole added with a half smirk, “The British Tolerance Policy has always been ineffective, the most witch burning, heretics, inter-mixing with the mudbloods... and the pureblood-lines dying out because they were committing incest... this country is nothing but a joke.” Anatole huffed, “take them for example...” he pointed at a tall dark haired man with wavy shoulder-length locks dressed exquisitely in purple velvet and black leather, “Hrothgar Bartholomew Valois... a beacon of the European purebloods, married and related to some of the most finest of the pureblood families in Europe. He is married to an Orleans, his sons married from the houses of Orsini and Gruzinsky, but for what? The man is a lily-livered coward who cannot see the brighter times that are coming.”

“I am sorry, but aren’t Orsini and Gruzinsky families two of the most extremist pureblood groups? Then why they would be wed to the Valois?” Theseus, despite his disgust could not help but to know a little about Maxine’s family, which she kept a secret all her time. the reply came in a form of a most cryptic of tones “There are many things that wretched family has that none of the family nowadays has: wealth and influence over muggles. The Valoises are as well reputed in the Wizarding communities as they are amongst muggles. ” Anatole huffed in disrespect, “can you believe? The French Muggle Histories record some of their ancestors are French Kings, and apparently they have two branches of the family, muggle and wizard to get best of both worlds. Fucking fence sitters I tell you, but their wealth is to die for.” There was a stench of greed in Anatole’s voice.

“Very nice to meet you Mr. Malfoy...” Theseus downed his drink in one go, “and now if you’ll excuse me--”

“—and their daughter, Mademoiselle Maxine.” Anatole threw another comment in the air with a vicious pride, “such a ravishing piece of work isn’t she?” he stopped, “I have travelled far and wide across Europe, and I swear many purebloods will stake their lives to lie with her.”

Theseus stopped for a moment on his walk, looked back at him slightly and then walked away without any word. This evening was getting worse and worse by the moment for him. He walked towards the men’s washroom without registering his mind to others. After slamming the door shut after him, he banged his fist hard on the counter. He was angry, but this time he was not only just angry. Something else worked inside him, which he could not understand...

He looked up at the mirror and couldn’t recognise the face that looked back at him, a reddened angered face, glaring back at him with icy blue eyes. His brunet locks were astray and he shook like a madman; who was he? How did he descend down to this level? His vision suddenly started to blur a little and blood pounded so fast at his neck that it felt like he would faint. The moment between wake and unconscious seemed like eternity

He didn’t realise how long he was in that position until he heard random thuds at the door. Before he could go and react, someone came in with hurried steps. It was none other than his boss Travers; it seemed that he was a bit out of breath and sweaty, even in the Christmas cold, and he looked a little cross also, which comically reminded Theseus of the days when Travers didn’t got the reports within the deadline.

“There you are... I have been looking for you all around.” He exasperatedly asserted. Theseus, being a straightforward man asked his superior “why, what is the matter” in the most curious manner, and within seconds, like a sudden chill felt right after stepping outside, a fear crept inside his heart: it was a Pan-European peace summit, was something wrong with the Allegiance?

“Is everything all right?” came Theseus’ second question with a unintentional tenseness.

“Yes, yes of course...” Travers almost pulled Theseus out of the washroom by his shoulder, “The French High Secretary has been asking for you.”

Theseus was almost dragged to the middle of the hall, in front of a bunch of people. He recognised the man at the very front from his luxurious gray waves, who was facing his back towards Theseus and chatting with a bunch of other men, who looked like they were in high offices of their respective ministries.

“Your Excellency...” Travers bowed deeply to the man with wavy hair, and he turned towards him. The man had a nice proportionate face. He seemed to be nearing sixty, but his age could not mar the natural beauty that was graced by him. He had deep set dark eyes, and wavy grey man and beard and there was something pleasant about him. On the other hand, in that cordial outlook there was something else in him that made the onlooker to be wary and on their best behaviour.

“Ah, Travers mon ami...” his voice was low and melodious, “comment ca va...?” he grabbed Travers by both of his shoulders and patted them very strongly. There was something condescending about that friendly gesture that made Theseus even more uneasy. Travers was well known for his irascible and firm nature, this man was nullifying that within seconds.

“Votre Excellence, let me introduce you Theseus Scamander... the Deputy Head of the British Law Enforcement and the War Hero... and Theseus, this is His Excellency Hrothgar Bartholomew Valois, Duke of Angouleme.”

“Enchante...” Theseus beckoned his hand and Hrothgar Valois took it to shake with his gloves on.

“Monsieur Theseus, how kind of you to meet me... I have been very excited to meet you, after all in these troubled times we need men like you to protect the Wizarding Law from the kinds of Grindlewald” He gave a professional, as if very well rehearsed smile, and then he hug him by the shoulder, “come, I have some matters to discuss with you... would you do me the honour to sit by me?”

Theseus walked alongside Hrothgar, and it would be prudent to say that he was locked under Hrothgar’s strong arm, and even if he wanted to escape there was no way that he can without making a scene. He could almost hear Hrothgar smiling, and it gave him a sinister feeling that he considered Theseus nothing compared to him, an arm candy to be graced and shown off—but why? People his kind were always haughty and dissosiative, but this man was going all over the way to make him feel humiliated. He and Hrothgar were walking towards a giant golden oak door, which opened to the most glorious banquet hall. Theseus knew all about it and he had all the feelings of avoiding it, but circumstances were very different.

Maxine and Newt, who were a little weary after their second dance took a break and went to the counter to have some drink. After ordering a whiskey and a champagne, Maxine turned towards Newt with a smile of satisfaction.

“Ah... can you die of happiness?” Maxine chimed silverly catching the glint in Newt’s shy eyes, “I hope not, or else I will end up with no assistant again... I do not want to go through the interviews again.” Newt gave a little smile as if enjoying the witty remark he passed on about himself.

“Of course not, I won’t leave you a destitute...” Maxine changed her tone while veering towards the side aisle of the dance floor, “As expected, all my family is present as usual... look at the regalia of the French Diplomacy!” Maxine gave a sarcastic huff, but in spite of her, Newt looked curious about Maxine’s family.

“Your family is here...?” Newt asked curiously, taking a sip of whiskey.

“Yes...but let’s leave them, all official stuff!” Maxine waved the matter way like a stray fly in the wind, and suddenly her tone changed into a more serious one,

“Newt, you trust me right?”

As if a lightning bolt has struck nearby, Newt bolted towards Maxine with an alarm in his eyes. Maxine was seldom serious outside of her work, and this tone didn’t suit her. He kept his eyes on his assistant, who was twirling the nearly empty glass of champagne with a faraway, forlorn look. As if realising that she was being watched, she veered her sight towards him and Newt’s heart thudded loudly against his ribcage.

“Maxine... is everything alright?”

But before she could confide, they were called in the Banquet, and they soon found themselves sitting near the middle left of the long table. The moment that scared Newt out of his mind, was shallowed within seconds by Maxine. No matter how much he pried, he could not get Maxine to open her mouth. She denounced it as a moment of drunken passion. Now he found himself in a new situation where Maxine couldn’t help but to spoke some fun at the officials.

“And there goes the Bulgarian Secretary...” Maxine led her lips towards Newt’s ears and laughed at his weird accent, “do you want to have some fun Newt?” she looked at her neighbour with the most mysterious and most mischievous of ways. She clicked towards a nearby valet and whispered something in his ears. Only Newt could see that she poured some galleons in his pockets.

“Ah... Charlemagne, bonsoir, viens...” Maxine called aloud and a gentleman with neat hair and moustache came near her and stooped to kiss her hand, “Charment as always Mademoiselle Valois...”

“Always a flatterer, aren’t you Charles...” Maxine said flirtatiously and covertly winked at Newt, “By the way, I forgot to propose you a toast for your latest promotion...” the previous waiter walked in with two drinks, Maxine picked up one and offered the other to the man, “to your health and success... ah ah, how rude...!” she prevented Charlemagne from drinking, “offer the Bulgarian Secretary first...” she spoke with a feign scandalous tone. The man nodded and walked away towards the secretary and Maxine slowly turned herself towards the table. Newt was looking at her with mildly offended and highly amused eyes.

“What did you do now...?” he asked with humour laced in his tone.

“You’ll see...” Maxine bit her lips to prevent herself from laughing out loud. Suddenly a commotion made Newt to bolt and to look at his back. The man who was offered a drink by Maxine, spilt it all over the secretary, and both of them were jumping on the floor to wipe off the liquor on the secretary’s dragon hide jacket. The Secretary on the other hand was painfully oscillated between uncontrollable laughter and inconceivable anger and annoyance and made quite a spectacle of him amongst the foreign officials.

“A shot of tarantula mescal on the old toad’s jacket... worked like a charm...” Maxine mused on her own and laughed in a manner that she was like another beholder of the incident, covertly and briefly. When she turned her face at Newt’s side, someone was already standing there.

“Do you play with people’s lives on the daily basis or this is just for the Holidays?” Maxine turned her head at Newt’s opposite and saw someone was already standing there.

“Tina...” Newt stood up, so abruptly that he took some of the glasses and napkin down smashing with him, “I didn’t see you the whole evening...” Maxine pulled his hand downwards to make him sit down so that he doesn’t make things more awkward. He was already getting some funny glances from the others. Tina smiled politely at Newt and attempted to focus her dark eyes upon him in a manner that seemed a little forced. “I was otherwise engaged... talking with some ministers and all...” Tina said and it didn’t escape Maxine’s notice that her lips quivered a little to give out the smile afterwards. It fell on no one’s notice that a cruel smile graced Maxine’s lips for a second, and she knew exactly how she was going to play her game.

“So... would you like to have a seat...?” Maxine couldn’t resist the chance to humiliate Tina a little and offered the seat right next to her. However it was not Maxine’s call to hold all the cards on the table. Tina, who completely understood the ploy, replied with her usual calm assertiveness, “no... I would like to sit by Newt, if he wants me to.”

“By all means Tina, come sit by me.” Newt invited.

“Ladies and Gentlemen... Dinner is to be served.” As soon as the sonorous voice announced, the dinner table filled with most fantastic of foods. It reminded Newt oddly of the start of term banquet at his days at Hogwarts. But the situation indeed felt very tense, he was sitting sandwiched between two very important women of his life and he wished they could get along; otherwise it was very cumbersome to lean to either side each time one of them spoke. Newt kept one eye at Maxine because in his heart he knew something was off. Maxine was behaving her usual way, but not really in her natural way. She wasn’t relaxed and it was three times when her hand slipped while cutting into the Wellington. Her jaw was stiffened between the conversation and casual flirtation and her black eyes reminded Newt of a wary animal. Despite Tina’s distress, he couldn’t help but to reach out to Maxine.

“Maxine... is everything alright?”

There was it, the faraway look... she tore herself from the state of gazing and tried to look at Newt. Her look was peculiar, as if she couldn’t recognise her boss rightaway, and then in a more unnatural stumble came the hesitated reply.

“Yes... yes, everything is fine... everything is fine...” then as if to establish that she was ‘fine’ she forcefully cut into the wellington.

Newt’s foreboding was buried under the clinks and clangs of cutlery and wine glasses. But it is said that when the doom comes the human intuition senses it first. Fate was playing an even complex game which no one, even in their darkest of fantasies, could imagine. On the other side of the table, near the French Officials, Theseus and Hrothgar were dining with utmost luxury. Hrothgar had introduced Theseus with at least three ministers from different states, and was boasting about how his daughter was flourishing under the guidance of this brilliant and young war hero. Theseus could not bring himself to say that his dear daughter no longer worked for him. Neither heart, nor the gut. Between the meals, Hrothgar’s hands will find itself on Theseus’ back, slapping the heck out of it; to be honest, he was a bit frustrated with the scale of affection of the old man.

“Ah Theseus, tu es magnifique...” Hrothgar slurred after a sip of wine and looked at him with approving sort of way. Theseus, in the reply could only laugh in a nervous manner.

“I am feeling very nervous today mon ami, because I have something very important to announce today.” Hrothgar smiled with his cheeks glowing with the effect of the alcohol. “You see, it would be the foundation of my family and my people in the Duchy of the Angouleme. You may think that why does this old man is latching himself on me...”

“That’s not what I--” Theseus politely defied.

“—it is okay, mon chere, je comprends tout—but I know what the world is. The world I have known for so long is changing so rapidly that I cannot even recognise it anymore. With the brute burgeoning from Eastward, families like us are in the verge of extinction...” Hrothgar philosophised, “So I have taken the responsibility to change it forever...” Hrothgar slurred drunkenly and thudded the goblet on the table.

“How will you do that?” Theseus asked tentatively, he was a representative of the French Ministry and he was a second tier employee from the British Ministry, there was no way he could escape this conversation. Hrothgar looked at Theseus with unfocused eyes and gave a smile that looked a little strange to Theseus’ eyes. He felt that he knew that kind of smile, a smile of a fool hiding a truth that the beholder cannot even begin to comprehend. It was a smile of someone who posed his smile so craftily that under that drunken mask of a fool lurked mystery, madness and shrewdness that was either a bugle for something great or the premonition of utter catastrophe.

“Patience my dear friend... let them eat, drink and be merry, my announcement will come at the twelfth chime” Hrothgar gave a laugh that for some reason made Theseus’ heart stop in fear. Like a puppet he followed Hrothgar and the rest of the officials out of the hall, and the moment Hrothgar let go of him from under his arm, Theseus huffed a sigh and ordered a glass of champagne. The stress that he was put craved the alcohol to be down instantly.

After the dinner the entire ambiance of the Yule Party changed, as if they awaited for something great. Maybe it was because what Hrothgar said, at the twelfth chime, something was going to happen that could change the diplomatic relationship between Britain and France. Britain was at the isolated space right now, and their greatest of former allies, France and Italy were quite tentative about joining hands with England against Grindlewald, despite their cause being the same. Although he laudated the ministry, he wasn’t an idiot. The current ministry was infirm and faulty, and as much as he hated to admit, but he was with Anatole when it came to the ineffectiveness of the government. Maybe this will be the time when Hrothgar, the French High Secretary will join hands with Britain. He had made allies with Germany, Italy and Russia with political marriages, but what cards he has this time? He was the stronger party, what will he do?

The clock started to chime twelve. Theseus felt that the hammer that slammed against the melodious bells permeated through their bright brass bodies and hammered straight into his heart. A rumble in the crowd made him more attentive as he saw Hrothgar Valois moving towards the stairs and the entire crowd parting for him to make a way.

“Ladies and gentleman”, Hrothgar spoke sonorously, pointing the wand at his throat. “Today, I am honoured to be invited in such a prestigious celebration of Christmas in the British Ministry of Magic, and I am grateful to the ministers both countries to give me this opportunity to speak” Hrothgar looked upon the crowd proudly and continued, “At the twelfth Chime of the Bell, I am going to give you an union that will strengthen the Bond amongst two countries: Britain and France. Tonight, I present you, my daughter, Lady Maxine Adrienne Odessa Valois, Duchess of Croy...”

A shower of applauds followed as Maxine’s tall figure approached her father in the most graceful manner, and as she turned towards the crowd, Theseus could also hear some murmurs ensuing in the people, which he assumed caused from the British ministry stuff, surprised to know that this woman, who had worked for them held such a parentage.

“And I am proud to announce my youngest daughter’s engagement with Anatole Vasillius Malfoy, the newly appointed junior undersecretary to the British Ministry of Magic.”

Theseus couldn’t believe what he had heard. If the lightning deafened him, it would have been of less surprise. No matter how much he tried he couldn’t process the thing at all; no no... it must be some kind of joke, a cruel dream. He tried to screw his eyes shut and open it once again to wake up from his nightmare. Yet, there was some cruel and masochistic voyeur lurking inside Theseus that forced him to look beyond the past and into the finality.

His eyes started to burn profusely and a vacuum created inside the skull where the brain functioned in him day and night, keeping cool, solving crises. He vegetatively saw as the man he saw before walked towards Maxine and knelt in front of her; he had a burning urge to whip his wand and shoot him with the crutiatus curse on that wretched piece of work called Anatole Malfoy. His pretentiousness was so mercurial that he managed to fill his face with tenderness and love as he looked up to see Maxine, the Duchess, who looked down to contemplate whether she would accept her proposal or not.

Please say no... Please say no...

Theseus looked towards the inhuman spectacle that was happening in front of him. He was locked with an inconceivable hypnotism, like a fly to the flame, bend to self destruction. His whole concept of world and human beings shattering into pieces and there was he, standing like an abject statue to behold, and behold. And his eyes, that refused to glance anywhere found themselves locked with another. The same dark, angular eyes that dazzled him in the first day at the interview, however there is no mischief left in them. Their magnetic force locked Theseus to witness the pure feral revenge in them. The black eyes showed him the abyss to Maxine’s heart and echoed nothing but rage and empty.

“I do...”

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

I have formally introduced the Paterfamilias of the Valois, Maxine’s Father, and soon I intend to expose them through an edit. 

I took the inspiration from the political marriages amongst European aristocrats, and I intend to present the Valois as dying aristocracy in the 20th century Wizarding world, who are doing their best to hold the glorious past. I tried to write other members of the families, but it felt unnatural. Usually the officials didn’t take their family into a state party, unless they are formally invited. So I thought to Write Hrothgar as a Diplomat rather than a family man, a side which I will explore later.

Herr: German for Mr.

Die Kriegshel: German for “The war-hero”

Fun Fact, Orsini and Gruzensky are in fact two of the noble families from Italy and Russia. I have taken the names from real nobles.

“tu es magnifique“: the pronoun ‘tu‘ is more informal and often avoided in official conversation, it was quite condescending of Hrothgar to use such terms, or may be he was just drunk.

The character of Anatole Malfoy was inspired by Anatole Kuragin from Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace. His middle name ‘Vasillius’ was inspired by father of Tolstoy’s Anatole: Prince Vasily Kuragin. Why his name was Anatole, will be revealed in later chapters. 

Fun fact, Anatole Kuragin was played by Callum Turner (the actor who played Theseus Scamander) in 2016 BBC version of War and Peace.

Anatole is a french given name that means ‘Sunrise’

#newt x oc #newt x reader #newt scamander x oc #newt scamander x reader #heartbreak #love triangle #jealousy #engagement #theseus X oc #theseus x reader #waltz #christmas #dinner party

[vamplifyingdotjpg]

please tell me ALL about your ocs!!! 💕

I am Crying thank u so much thank u for Finally asking abt my ocs I have so many of them and I love them all so much so I’ll just sum up my few main ones and favorites (buckle up and also this whole story takes place in london as of now bc I’m uncreative):

Beckett (full name Beckett James Montgomery) is a happy little man who’s full of love and also a lot of chronic illnesses and other conditions. He just has really rough luck but he’s still pretty content with things. He’s working hard to overcome his shyness to set boundaries with others and he’s becoming a lot more confident in himself!! Of course losing a large portion of your childhood to illness and injury is pretty traumatic but he has a really solid support system. He loves his friends and is also very passionate about horticulture. And some other facts abt Beckett:

his favorite colour is pink (which is why his hair is pink throughout his teens and into his 20s but it’s naturally a mousy brown!)

he’s big gay

he’s a manlet (5'6")

he goes on to open up a plant nursery

he plays piano

his entire life is like 1/8th of a plan and 7/8ths of a prayer

Cherry Nova Griffin is a cool girl who’s super smart and just the raddest ever. She’s the older sister friend despite being the baby of her family bc she really really cares abt her friends and wants the best for them. She’s no square so she’s not gonna harsh anyone’s vibe but she is very sensible so u won’t go fucking yourself up on her watch bc she’s your voice of reason. This doesn’t mean she doesn’t partake in her friends foolishness, she just makes sure the foolishness goes smoothly. She’s super smart and very interested in science. She’s also pretty much always dressed to the nines (heavily influenced by her sister Azalea who’s a fashion icon). And some more facts abt Cherry:

her favorite colour is purple

her and elfie are the co-Just Dance™ wii champions of their friend group

she comes out as a lesbian in her 20s because that Internalized Home Of Phobia Tho

she’s 5 foot nothing she’s Small (she looks nothing like her two tall, rake thin older siblings)

her and Beckett are childhood friends, meeting when Beckett joined her class at school when they were both 7 or so

she’s always trying to prove herself to others but she has enough people around her that know how cool she is

Elfie Pepper (or Elfie Kiyoko Takemago-Pepper) is a fun, spritely Irish girl (her mom and biological father are Japanese but she was born in Ireland and raised there by her mom and now-stepdad). She’s super funny and very much the life of the party like she will always get u to chuckle. She can make any situation better just by being there bc she’s hilarious and rad. Her girlfriend is a super butch buff athlete but Elfie’s more often than not found eating lucky charms straight out of the box on her couch. She does like to skateboard tho and she’s pretty darn good at it. She’s the friend who makes all the playlists for driving/partying/chilling bc her music taste is universally liked (without her everyone would be fighting to play their own tunes she’s the peacemaker). Basically everyone likes Elfie. Now for The Facts:

she’s probably the rowdiest of the bunch. she’s like permanently cranked up to 100

Elfie is Big Lesbian

she’s a decent base player

her mom wanted to name her Kiyoko but let her hippie boyfriend pick the name Elfie for her

she moved to England when she was 12 and joined Beckett and Cherry’s squad then

She’s like 5'3" their whole squad is Tiny

Eleanor Lucille Atwin is the only one tall one in their squad. She’s 5'11" and the definite mom friend of Elfie, Cherry, and Beckett. She’s always got snacks and extra sweaters and pain medication and makeup wipes on her. She’s patient and caring and will have your back no matter what. You could indefinitely count on her in a crisis. Eleanor is also trans and has really been through it and still sometimes struggles with loving herself (not to mention dealing with transphobia) but she receives endless love and support from her friends. She’s good at painting and is always lookin super pretty. And some Eleanor facts:

she’s 20

she was born in Yukon, Canada

she joined the main group when she was 15

she’s prefers painting with watercolours

she marries her high school sweetheart (a ginger soccer/football player who’s like the only cishet guy involved in this story)

she goes on to become an interior designer bc she’s got rly good taste

Kimmo Alric Seppänen (23) is kind of a bitch, but he’s been through a Lot so it’s kind of expected. He had a really rough childhood where he was neglected severely by his parents before he was taken out of their house and placed with his adoptive parents who treated him super well and loved him a lot. He struggled a lot with fitting in and became really edgy in high school where he started dating Fredrik on and off. Then after school he had problems with addiction and did a lot of unhealthy shit but he eventually sorted it out. Now he’s living with Fredrik in London and they play in a band together (he still smokes like a pack a day). Kimmo is grumpy, and prone to lashing out, but he’s also a talented musician, wise beyond his years, and very dryly funny. He’s hard to get through to, but oddly lovable when you get to know him. And some Kimmo facts:

he was born and raised in Jyväskylä, Finland

he’s a killer guitarist and an adequate singer

he has a total of 12 piercings, most of which he got in his teens

he was diagnosed with Klinefelter’s syndrome in his early teens

he uses he/they pronouns and hes bi

his nose is crooked as shit from being broken several times

Fredrik Jeremiias Harmaajärvi is beefy and dumb. He’s the second oldest of 4 brothers. He’s like a big stupid golden retriever: cute and overall friendly, but kinda air-headed. He drinks too much (though he has captain america-level alcohol tolerance) and doesn’t notice many emotional cues from others, especially his emotionally unstable boyfriend Kimmo. When he was 21, he formed a band with some friends and Kimmo (his then ex-boyfriend whom he had newly reunited with). Kimmo and Fredrik moved to London after the band lost its two original members. Fredrik is easygoing and fun, but he has literally no brain cells. Some facts:

he’s a killer singer and an adequate guitar player

He’s also from Jyväskylä

His whole family is absolutely disgustingly beautiful (to his kinda ugly bfs dismay)

pure, unconcentrated himbo

His band is primarily punk/garage rock but Fredrik loves pop music

he’s also pretty into fitness and maintaining his image so he frequently goes to the gym (this is why he’s a big muscly Viking man)

Phoenix Delphinus Griffin is Cherry’s oldest sibling and he’s also a gem and a treasure. He’s a professional dancer and dance instructor. He’s 6'5" and all lanky, wirey muscle. He’s a laid-back, sociable guy who easily builds relationships with others. He acts super chill on the outside but he does struggle with pretty bad anxiety. He’s very fit and health conscious and is always up early to go to the gym or go for a run or drink a smoothie or whatever healthy people do. He has a number of large friend groups and is probably the most “popular” of all my ocs. And some facts abt him:

Phoenix has a phobia of drowning and is very uncomfortable with swimming in large bodies of water

he prefers contemporary ballet, but he’s trained in classical ballet and tap as well

he was once in a local production of cats the musical (he played macavity and plato due to his height and lack of singing required for the roles) and his friends won’t let him live it down

he’s bi

he dated the bassist in kimmo and fredrik’s band for a few months

he’s just a way friendly dude everyone loves him

I seriously needed motivation to make a post like this of all of them so thank u again!!!!!!!!

#ocs

[leannefmarshall-blog]

Thursday 7th Nov 2019

I have decided I need a space where I can vent. I am not writing these posts with the intention that they will be ready by others, purely to keep a record of my own mental heath, thoughts and generally just to get these horrible feelings out. I am someone who has been recently diagnosed with severe symptoms of depression and moderate symptoms of anxiety. I find it difficult to talk in general, but particularly about myself. I generally dislike everything about me and I always have really, although it is only in recent years I have allowed this to make me feel as bad as I do. I know for a fact it’s to do with growing up. I am 25 now, what used to be a fairly large group of friends have broken up/moved on. All have jobs they love or at least tolerate and I’m left behind in this rut. I’ve not spoken to anyone I used to class as close friends since 2016, I didn’t make the effort and neither did they. I was ashamed of where my life had headed, I made a big deal of getting my “dream job” and turns out it was a complete fail, a man with his teenage daughters sitting in there kitchen trying to churn out ideas for a failing company, while is wife sits in the corner discussing her bowel movements with the group, for me to be fired 2 weeks into the job because I “didn’t fit in” to use their words. I knew I didn’t fit in, and I realised on the first day this was not what I thought it was going to be, but something about being fired, despite your plans to quit anyway, makes you feel like even more of a failure.

Roll on the next few weeks, I had just moved out with my boyfriend, exciting but less so now I’m jobless, so I apply for absolutely everything, and settle on a temp job cold calling clients asking them to book their xmas parties. Absolutely dire.Cannot begin to tell you how depressing it is calling people for 8 hrs straight just to hear them moan and complain to me about how bad the previous year was, and how it’s MY fault that the previous year was poorly organised, despite having only been working for the company for a few weeks. Was an actual dream when I got accepted to work for an Orthodontic Practice to train as a nurse, not because I wanted to do this as the thought of spit, blood and plaque physically repulses me, but an actual job in an actual company. Sorted, I trained, I hated it, but I stuck with it. I realised this place was toxic the minute I stepped in and heard all the nurses bitching and whining, but the money was decent, and it was always going to be better than cold calling. Roll around one year, I decided not to take the course, I could not see myself here in the future and I didn’t particularly love dentistry so I transferred to admin within the same company.

And that brings us to today. 2.5 years in total at this company. The relentless bitching and nastiness, the inconsistencies with how the diaries are run, changes in how the orthos like to be booked every 5 mins, how NHS and Private patients should be booked, other people dumping their work onto me and my team, the lack of support from the bosses, the rude patients, the rude staff members. I had enough. I was starting to get panic attacks, couldn’t breath properly, twitching, searing headaches that stopped me from doing anything, obsessive picking at my fingernails without realising to the point where they bleed, and still continue despite the pain, physically being sick with dread at the thought of going to work, spending the majority of my free time sleeping to get away from it or playing Sims to try and live out the better life.

Basically things are pretty shitty. I have a stressful job, I’m on medication, I have one friend (besides my boyfriend) in the whole world, I’m in therapy (first session was today... I HATE IT), no idea where my life is going, no desire to keep going, if I am being honest, been signed off work for 2 weeks due to depression. I’m due back next week, and my therapy is weekly sessions, so I booked the next one as late as possible so I can still work a half day...my manager messages me after I request the afternoon to tell me to rebook as she has no one to cover.. bear in mind this is my mental heath, she is meant to be the manager of the team and keep us all happy, yet I have to rebook my appointment for my mental health because it inconveniences her, not the practice, but her because she isn’t willing to be a receptionist for a few hours to cover me while I sort out my head... and yet is surprised when a member of her team has put up with this shit for over 2 years and FINALLY has a mental breakdown???

SO sick of this shit. I’ve barely taken any time off my whole employment, this is serious, and I don’t have the support I need in the place I need it most???

#depression #sad

[thekestrelsbeater-blog]

Amelia – “Do you think it will ever go away?”

The pain that Zach felt as he stood in the Ministry hadn’t quite hit him yet.  He knew what he was standing there for.  He saw the Aurors, the coworkers of both his parents as they walked by him.  Some of them had addressed him, his mother, and his sister as they tried to piece together what exactly happened.  But none of them had answered.  The three didn’t know what had happened within the Department of Mysteries.  Zach had barely known that his father was a member of the Order of the Phoenix.  He just knew that his father was strongly against the Dark Lord.  He had no idea that the older man was part of an organization that wanted to overthrow the man.  But now those that were fighting were less one man.  The one man that Zach had idolized more than anyone else in the world. The one man that he had wanted to make proud more than anything. But now that man was gone.  Zach felt as if he was incomplete and there was nothing that was worth living for anymore.  Sure, he had his mother and he loved her dearly.  But his father had made him feel as if he could do no wrong. That there was something much bigger in this world and he had a higher purpose.  But now Zach’s feeling of elevated status was taken from him.  He had seen the faces of the captured Death Eaters. They knew who his family was.  They knew that his parents were both Aurors and where their loyalties were.  They had been labeled blood traitors from early on.  Zach remembered the time in which he and Tracey Davis were able to run around in their yards, their parents not caring what they had done.  But it all changed when the two were nearly nine years old.  Tracey stopped coming over, the messages stopped being answered.  Something much darker was going on that eight-year-old Zach didn’t understand. He heard Amanda sniffle as he had his arms wrapped around both his mother and sister.  He could tell that his mother was trying to keep her composure for her kids, but he felt her trembling in his grip.  He would hear her that night in her room when she thought he and Amanda were asleep.  But Zach wouldn’t be able to sleep.  He would have the same nightmare until he returned to Hogwarts.  He would see his father standing before him, giving him the illusion that the man was still alive.  That would be until Zach would start walking towards the man to embrace him. His father’s eyes would be trained on him, but it would be a cold stare that Zach felt deep into his soul.  It would be at that point in which Zach would wake up, in a cold sweat, and breathing heavily.  He would look around the dormitory and realize that he wasn’t in the Ministry like he had seen within his dreams.  The darkness he would see in his father’s eyes would stick with him as he would lay back down, unable to fall back asleep for the rest of the night. It would only be when Susan joined him and slept beside him that he felt completely relaxed and was able to push this nightmare aside and get a decent night’s sleep.  It would be the scent of her perfume that would put him at ease. He would smell it in Potions class when the Love Potion was sitting in front of him.  He knew what the smell was as soon as he smelled it.  Other than the cinnamon smell from Firewhiskey and fresh baked cookies, it was that smell that Zach knew that he loved.  It was what told him that he was truly in love with Susan. But he didn’t want her to be in love with him.  He didn’t want her to be in love with the Veela in him.  He was afraid of the abandonment that he would feel if she had decided that she couldn’t be around him.  It would destroy him more than he realized.  But he never shared this fear with anyone.  It was an internal and mental struggle that he would deal with on his own, even though some people would tell him that he didn’t need to feel so alone. He didn’t need to struggle on his own. Talking to someone would help ease the pain that he was feeling.   But he didn’t know if he really did feel pain. He didn’t really feel much of anything. It was mostly just a numbing sensation as the harsh reality set in that he would never see his father again in a physical form.  The man would only appear in his dreams or at worst, his nightmares.  He had expected this time was going to be difficult but as he stared out the window in his room, he was lost in the void he put himself in.  He would eventually be driven mad and considered mentally unstable, his anger eventually getting the better of him to the point where he would want to yell or punch someone who looked at him funny.  The worst would be the taunting from the Slytherins, sometimes hearing that his father wanted to be away from him so being killed was the best thing that had happened to the man.  It would be that line that would cause him to see red and not remember what he had done. He’d get into fist fights, coming out bruised and bloodied just like his opponent.  But he wouldn’t remember how he got into that state. Hearing his bedroom door creak, he remained seated in his sofa chair as the balcony door sat open.  He felt the warmth of the late May air as it wafted in and taunted him with an inviting touch upon his skin.  He didn’t look over when the person had sat down in the sofa chair next to him.  He knew who it was though.  It was a woman that had known his father when they were younger.  They had trained together under Mad-Eye Moody to become Aurors and they both held positions in the Wizengamot at the Ministry.  He didn’t know if she was in the Order or not.  He didn’t even know that about his father until Kingsley had told him that his father fought valiantly for the Order.  He had thought that the organization was a myth, it had died out when the Dark Lord had fallen the first time. Wiping his eyes after the tears had fallen freely, he finally looked over towards his visitor and acknowledged Amelia for the first time since he had been home.  His eyes were bloodshot, masking the fact that he was drunk and had been for a few days.  He was able to hide it from his mother, staying locked up in his room and playing up the fact that he was in mourning.  It wasn’t a complete lie.  He was in mourning, but he had been drinking the alcohol his cousin in France was sending him to numb the pain that he knew he should be feeling.  But he reeked of alcohol.  He had a feeling that she could smell it and didn’t know if she was going to say anything to his mother.  They had all known each other while in school, his father briefly dating this woman before meeting his part Veela wife.  He knew there was no bad blood between them all.  Or else there seemed to not be any when the adults were around not only himself and Amanda but Susan as well. “Don’t tell anyone.  Please.”  He pleaded with her as he held up his father’s flask and looked back out the balcony.  He could see the Parkinson manor not too far away, having snuck out of his house to go see Pansy during the summer holiday. He had been asking a lot of Amelia and felt that she more than likely would tell his mother.  He didn’t hide the fact that he was still drinking.  His tolerance was basically through the roof and he would let the habit kill him when he was older unless he got it under control.  He would eventually take the healthy route and only drink on special occasions.  His holiday parties would still contain the copious amount of alcohol as well as his birthday parties.  After the adults would leave his sixteenth birthday party, he and Justin would pull out the bowls of punch that they made and made sure that everyone that attended his party would drink their fill.  It was the same way since he turned fourteen.  He knew he had a problem, he just wasn’t vocal about it. “I know you’re going to ask the question, do you think it will ever go away? And it does, Zach.  Believe me.” He knew what she was referring to. She had lost most of her family, so she could relate to him more than anyone else could.  Taking a swig out of the flask, he looked over towards her as a fresh set of tears started to fall.  She offered him the box of tissues that were sitting on his desk and he blew his nose. If anyone else had said that to him, he would ask them how they would know that and more than likely lose his temper with them.  But Amelia was one of the people in his life that he could turn to, even if he wasn’t vocal about it.  It was his Aunt Carys that he had made major problems for.  He’d show up at her house in the middle of the night, drunk off his ass and would raid her fridge.  She would tuck him away to get the alcohol out of his system before she would go off on a tirade about how he was being irresponsible and more than likely will get caught drinking underage. If only they knew what he was going to start doing during his sixth year.  He’d find his way down to Hogsmeade and into the Hog’s Head.  He’d start sleeping with a young bar wench in order to feed his addiction in exchange for her not to tell anyone what he was doing.  He didn’t need to be thrown out of the school for the choices that he made.  He would almost be thrown out in the middle of his sixth year when he was accused of forcing the various girls he was with to sleep with him.  He would barely use his Veela charm on them and would never do what he was accused of.  The girls did pursue him, hearing the rumors that he was more than capable of showing them a good time.  And he would deliver to them to help further feed the positive rumors that would go around the school about him. “I won’t tell your mother, but you may want to stop drinking at least for a few hours. You are starting to smell pretty bad.” She got up from the chair, squeezed his hand as it rested on the arm of the chair, and kissed the top of his head before starting to make her way out of the room.  Standing up quickly and catching her off guard, he turned around to face her.  “Amelia? Thank you.  I know I’ve been a shit to Susan but thank you.”  He wasn’t referring to the fact that she was going to keep quiet.  It was just her presence there that was helping him get through this tough time.  Seeing the smile that graced her lips, she replied back to him stating that he was welcome and left the room to join the rest of the people that were downstairs. Looking down to the flask, he placed it down in the chair and stepped into the bathroom connected to his room. He freshened up, getting rid of the strong smell before heading downstairs himself to join the rest of the mourners.  It had to be better to be in the company of others rather than wallowing in his own misery. When he made it back downstairs, he had seen both Amelia and Carys standing with his mother.  They were by a table that featured his father with pictures of when their group of friends were younger.  Their smiles were showing in the moving photographs while they were on the grounds of Hogwarts.  His pictures were a timeline of his life, showing initially when he was a baby to the previous summer when the family had taken a trip to Greece.  They had no idea that the year ahead would change things for the entirety of the wizarding world.  That much was showing in the picture, the ignorance of the dark times that lay ahead of them would be in the distant future, just waiting to turn around and slap them all in the face.  The darkness ahead of them would seem never ending and hopeless, a darkness that was difficult to get through and it would only get worse as more deaths would line the horizon in front of them.  And it was only just beginning.   The two women gave him a smile that he could barely return as he started to wander through the house to the kitchen, feeling the hunger pains that the large amount of alcohol created for him. He’d at least be able to fill this void for the time being, even though he’d just throw it back up after a few hours. It was a risk he was willing to take. He needed to do something, anything to distract himself from the world around him.  He wanted none of the food that was offered around the house.  He wanted just a slice of cold pizza.  Once he ate that, he would linger just long enough to let people know that he was still there but would disappear again once he had his fill of people.  He’d drink the night away and pass out, forgetting what had happened earlier in the day, only to start the same motions again the following day with a different group of people invading his home.   He’d opt to go back to school just to get away from the people who were feeling sorry for him and his family.  This sadness would be what put him on the downward spiral to the point where he was diagnosed insane.  Alcohol would only fuel his insanity and he’d pass through the summer in a fog, being able to barely remember a thing until the beginning of the school year that would become a personal hell for him.  It would be even more of a hell then the one that he was experiencing right now, and he would barely get out of the year in one piece as the wizarding world was slowly crumbling around those thrown into the secluded world.  The light that they all thought they had would nearly fade and they would all be left with hopeless despair.  He’d scoff at the saying that things would get better.  He took the cynical approach and believed that they were all doomed to die, forcing those that opposed the Dark Lord to live in a world of constant fear and having to always look over their shoulders.   That would become the norm and they would all have to get used to it or attempt to flee with their lives.  Neither one really seemed worth it to him.  He never contemplated suicide, but he did think that nothing was going to get better.  There was no chance that things would get better, it was all a lie that many people would force themselves to believe.  And Zach would be one of the few that didn’t believe it.  He’d laugh in the people’s faces, calling it a dream of a fake reality and people needed to wake up and see the bigger picture.  They were all going to die at some point.