#technically a month and a couple hours because it’s still the 23rd where i live

[heavensincarnate1111]

WRATH OF THE TRIPLE GODDESS DROPS IN A MONTH IM SO PUMPEDDD

[bananonbinary]

Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

.

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

.

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

.

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

.

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

.

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

.

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

.

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

.

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

.

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

.

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006. 

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

.

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

.

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

.

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

.

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

.

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

.

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

.

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

[cursedstrayct]

The tour. Taeyong

Pairing: Graffiti artist!Taeyong with Gender neutral reader

Warnings: Escaping home, some swearing here and there

Words: 2850

Author notes: Ohmygawd this is so long sorryyyehruifgheiru. Aight so I might have used way too much graffiti lingo stuff in this but i’m not sure, feel free to ask anything if you don’t understand. Also all the cities mentioned here are in the list of the 99 most popular cities for graffiti so yeah, no printer just fax. Last but not least: this story was so much fun to write because there’s a lot of stuff in this that actually happened to me so yeah, it’s like little snipets of my and some of my friends lives :)

Tomorrow it was your 23rd birthday and also the 8th anniversary since you left home. Your gang was at the billboard you usually hanged out, holding a cupcake with a candle on it. You thought about what you could wish but honestly right now everything was fine, your friends were there and your brother was also at the “party”. You were able to enjoy a pretty happy life.

Usually people told you your future was going to be dark, that you would have nothing and art wouldn’t take you anywhere, of course you never listened to them and you kept forming your path. Yeah maybe you lost your first family, but you found a new one in the streets, the other artists you had met across the years became your new siblings and most of the things you know now were thanks to them. It was like a family of 5 siblings and no responsible adult to watch over you even though all of you were technically adults.

Right now you were happy.

After a while, the group of people you were with were just talking while they were waiting for the night to arrive so you could go to an underground dance battle all of you were invited to. You started to think why you left your parent’s house in the first place, you were just a kid but apparently not you or your parents saw that, so seeing that you already couldn’t be fixed from your less than common aspirations in life on your 15th birthday you just left the city without any notice except for a note. You heard that your parents looked out for you for a couple of months but they got tired of looking, according to your brother, the only relative who you still keep contact with.

“They miss you, y’know?”

Your brother said in a shy tone, trying to bring the sensitive topic to surface.

“Please tell me you didn’t cross all the country just to tell me that”

You answered sharply, it wasn’t something you loved to hear to be honest. It always went the same way, your parents missed you but you didn’t and that made another year of you not going back home.

“Just wanted to tell you how things are back in Chicago”

“Tell them that things in San Francisco are good”

You checked your phone and it was 11:37, and because you were going by foot, it was probably a good time to leave to the pier were the dance battle was.

You always loved going to those battles, even though you couldn’t dance for shit, there was a lot else to do, like freestyle battles, graffiti sessions and overall there was a bunch of new people to meet.

You guys arrived at about 12:30 to the pier and everything was already set up, obviously. The music was playing and the colored lights gave a different feeling to the place. Some people were warming up while others were just sharing a cig. It was like another world, happiness and relevance took another meaning here and it almost felt like time stopped, you were at your element right now.

You grabbed some paint cans and checked one of your sketches, you didn’t really care it was night time, your phone lantern could help out a bit. After a couple of minutes some more people joined you were you were, but you could only concentrate in the sounds of the can and the sea behind you, maybe it was a bit dangerous being at the breakwaters of the pier but you thought that just for this day the tide wasn’t that high.

About two hours passed when it was only you and another guy who you couldn’t really recognise at the breakwaters. You saw him before with a couple of cans in his hand but apparently this guy stayed just to look at the waves and listen to the music of the battle.

“Don’t you think we should leave?”

You said in a loose tone with a can still in your hand. The waves were indeed getting taller and taller and maybe it was for the best to go with the rest, you didn’t wanted for your birthday to finish in the tragedy of you and another dude drowning.

“I think you still have a couple of minutes to keep working”

The guy was also lingering a bit, even though you thought it was a smart consideration.

“Are you watching over the waves?”

You were chuckling a bit, you’ve never seen this guy before and you were curious about him, he looked like he didn’t had much friends with him right now.

“I thought it was weird you guys were working near the sea at this hour so I thought someone should be watching”

“You’re not from here right?”

“Nope”

With this comment you imagined he was probably a pretty nervous guy who overthought everything, probably a hopeless perfectionist.

“You alone right now?”

“The guy I’m traveling with is at the battle”

You sat down next to him and both of your feet were dangling, following the pace of the waves.

“Don’t you want to go check them out? I think the rappers already stopped their thing.”

“Oh yeah sure, by the way I’m Taeyong”

“I’m ___, so you said you were traveling huh?”

“Ah yes,  I’m actually from Seoul but I’ve been doing this thing with a friend that we call ‘the graffiti tour’ it’s basically us going around the world going to cities were it seems nice to leave some tags.”

You were surprised about this, you could think of about a 100 cities that would be worth the visit and a bunch of 20 year olds weren’t the first type of people that popped to your head that could afford that much traveling.

“We actually arrived from San Diego yesterday, It’s our first stop in the states -he continued- We still don’t know how we’re getting to Los Angeles yet but we’ll figure”

“I’m actually leaving in about a week to LA with some friends, I can get you a ride if you want.”

You now knew what their way of moving was, they just took a plane to get to a part of a continent and the rest was just them moving on their own, you were so familiar with this type of thing that you couldn’t help but to feel almost pity for them.

“That’d be awesome”

His smile looked sincere and… pretty; unusual if you had to say another thing.

The both of you went up to where the battle was to check up on Taeyong’s friend, and like 30 seconds after you got on the superior part of the pier, you saw a wave hit the place you were just in. You noticed Taeyong saw that as well, he looked with wide eyes probably contemplating how much of a coincidence was the fact that he didn’t just got crushed against the rocks in who knows how much kilometers per hour. You shot him a nervous smile and he did the same.

A short guy approached you two and bumped Taeyong on his arm in a friendly way. His smile was as bright as his ears thanks to his piercings, you thought that was what an elf would look like. He said something in Korean that you couldn’t understand for obvious reasons but you did hear you name in the phrase though.

“Hey this is Ten, he’s actually Thai” Taeyong said with a big smile in his face, he looked like he was showing off a new toy.

The three of you talked for a couple of minutes about various things, apparently Taeyong was a dancer too and a very good one according to Ten. People started to move to the circle where the battle would take place and you took the both guys by their wrist to lead them, you were so curious to see them perform, you were giggling like a child.

The mc and the judges stood in the middle and gave a few words, including mentioning your birthday. One of the judges that was a close friend to you gave you a small gift that you decided to leave for later. Taeyong looked at you with a surprised face, almost as if he had forgotten your birthday, ignoring the fact he just met you.

“It’s your birthday?!”

“Well yeah, like as of 1 hour ago”

You chuckled a bit with bright eyes, it was like you involuntarily got the bubbly part of your personality thanks to Taeyong.

The last cyphers were finishing off and everyone was having a seizure thanks to Ten, he was crazy good and you were pretty sure you saw your judge friend shedding a tear. You encouraged Taeyong to go in, at first he got shy because he didn’t knew anyone but Ten talked him into it.

Taeyong was standing in the middle like a deer on headlights with his eyes fixed on the floor. The track wasn’t starting and people were looking at him weird because nobody knew who he was. Finally the music started after someone kicked the speaker, Taeyong started easy with some footwork but you could see that he was getting more relaxed as time passed, he just had a bit of stage fright but his overflowing confidence won over. You thought someone who was so sure about his skills had such a hard time opening up about them.

Eventually the battle finished with Ten taking the second place to a new kid who was probably made of rubber and Taeyong getting kicked out at the fourth round.

You changed phones with Taeyong to keep him posted about the LA trip and left to your house with your friends.

“Actually do you know any place where we could stay?”

Ten approached you, apparently the lady where they had rented had bailed them last minute and so far, it looked like they would have to sleep for a week on the street.

“Can we take take the pretty tourists back home?”

“Take it as my birthday present, the one on the left is going to be my Christmas present”

“We can understand english”

“OH”

You finally arrived to your dorm at around 5:30 in the morning, you gave the invitees a bunch of pillows and blankets and made gave them some instructions of the house, what things were of who and how the bathroom works, etc.

You guys woke up and two of your roommates were preparing breakfast, there was soft music playing and Ten was taking a shower. You saw Taeyong cleaning his space a bit frantically, leaving everything in an order that looked very planned, you saw him and smiled a bit.

“How did you sleep?”

“Ah ___, I slept well and you?”

He answered hurriedly, as if he was waiting for someone to ask them that.

“Like a baby”

“Did you wake up in the middle of the night crying because you were hungry and with pooped pants?”

“Whatever makes you happy”

Most of the mornings went by like that, the 7 of you having breakfast with the sun creeping in the window while you and your friends bombarded Taeyong and Ten with questions, questions that with the days got more and more personal, going from how’s life in Korea to what is up with Taeyong and bacteria.

Taeyong was a pretty fun person to hang out with. One day you went out to tag some walls and as you expected, seeing him paint gave you a lot more information of him. What he thought of the world, how he liked to do his stuff, that was always something that mesmerized you.

“Ah dammit, I lost some of my cans at the battle”

He said with annoyance in his voice while he looked for something in his backpack.

“Chill, we’re sharing”

He took a deep breath and proceeded to check up what you had in your backpack.

He was a helpless perfectionist, but he was very optimistic with the world, he was such a bright person. You talked about the sweet and the sour, his family back in Korea, your rocky relationship with your parents, your childhood years, how you got into the underground scene.  You never thought you could get this close to a person you met some days ago. Taeyong was one of those people that felt like you’ve known them for forever.

The day that you were leaving to LA had arrived and you started to prepare your stuff while you shared some conversation with Taeyong. Everything was pretty chill until one of your friends entered the dorm completely out of breath with an expression as if they had just seen a corpse.

“____ you need to get out of the city or you’re going to jail”

“WHAT?”

“Apparently one of your murals you did on the pier was found by a cop and it apart from being a literal vandal act, some residue fell to the sea and you got the Sanfran sanitary department coming for your ass”

“What do you mean residue? I arrived with everything here and I saw everyone taking their shit”

You noticed Taeyong’s face going pale as paper, he couldn’t move and it looked like he was trying to say something but the shock wasn’t letting him.

“It’s my fault”

He said it almost unintelligible, he probably left his cans somewhere that night and when you two started talking he just forgot.

“Dude we can’t afford an international legal thing”

When Ten stated the obvious Taeyong shot him a look that could break stuff while everyone entered in a slight state of panic because either you were going to jail or Taeyong was getting deported or some shit.

“We have to leave right now let’s go, I’ll call my brother to buy us some time until we have the money to pay the fine or something or to justify I was out of the city and none of us did anything”

You said as you grabbed your backpack and the car keys, fortunately everyone was moving fast. You weren’t sure if a 6 hour car ride at night was the best idea but it was certainly the most convenient.

When you were already two hours in the trip, the only awaken people inside the car were you and Taeyong, he took shotgun because he felt he had to calm you down since all this mess was his fault according to him. To your relief, a couple of minutes later your brother called back to tell you that incase you had to pay a fine he had you covered so you had to pay him and not the government and the charges were somehow lifted from you, you were finally breathing calmly

“____ there’s just one thing”

“What thing?”

“Our parents found out”

“What? Why?”

“They didn’t have in mind that their child would get in trouble with the cops!”

“I fucking escaped from their house! What else were they expecting? That was what they always thought that would happen to me, that I was going to be a delinquent, escaping from everything for the rest of my life, what’s the fucking news?”

“I don’t know maybe they had like a secret hope or something, I don’t care, you better talk to them in LA”

Then your brother hanged up and silence conquered the car. You just wanted to cry.

“Do you want me to drive?”

Taeyong said in a small voice, he was looking at you shyly.

“I’m okay thanks.”

Anyone kilometres away could notice you weren’t with your shaky voice and red eyes.

“I didn’t knew you escaped your home”

“It’s been 10 years since I’ve seen them and my brother was getting worried and shit and I thought maybe it was a good idea to rub in their faces that I’ve been doing fine but apparently they are going to see this and it will go the other way around.”

You pulled over because your view was getting way too cloudy.

“You’re an adult now, they probably understand that, and I’m sure they won’t rub one mistake on your face after 10 years of a clear record”

“I’m just scared, it’s been so long”

Taeyong took your hand to try to calm you and looked at you in the eyes, he tried to say something but again, nothing came out.

You started laughing while tears kept rolling along your skin.

“I’m so stupid, I shouldn't've ever done this”

“I mean, you’ve had fun the last ten years right?

You kinda just looked at him while he was still holding your hand, and a thick awkward silence formed and you both chuckled.

“You should hit the road, we still have a long way to go”

Taeyong said in a slightly teasing manner, you just chuckled and then bumped him playfully on his arm.

“What the hell do you know, you’ve never been here”

[elixirsoflife]

across seasons and seas

@inekepp

HAPPY BIRTHDAY INEKE!! 

i’ve actually been planning this present for a while... i got the idea a few months ago, started it, stopped it when my muse flaked out on me and recently completed it (as of 23rd sept) just in time to spring it upon you. to my soulmate and the person who hyped dormitory 2.6a to a whole new level, here is a brand new novus one shot for you ^.^ <333

(i can’t guarantee it’s any good lmao)

(also bc you are a beast at validating on hpft, i had to upload it onto tumblr first)

"It can only be true love when you enable your other half to be better, to be the person they're destined to be." -  Michelle Yeoh

PRÓLOGOS 

It starts like this.

With a party in a cosy common room. The lights are dim, and the music is loud, and there are bodies everywhere, too many to count. There's a brief parting of the crowd, a glimpse of one tipsy girl's heartfelt laughter, and a momentary appreciation for the more beautiful things in life.

(Al stops. He stares.)

It starts with the party and then it stutters as the school year gives way to the summer holidays and Al forgets all about Nova Hale and her pretty little laugh.

(Elijah tackles him without warning. The trance he's in shatters as he hits the ground.)

♥

In sixth year, the engine groans to life again, hesitant at first - and then as the Scottish air rapidly chills, everything switches into fifth gear. Whatever is slowly blooming to life between the pair picks up speed, hurtles through the corridors of Hogwarts like drag racers along lamp-lit streets. One moment, Nova Hale is a mere classmate and the next, she's the star of his dreams.

(He's sixteen years old, months shy of his birthday, and he thinks he's in love.)

Loving Nova Hale is easy.

Granted, her friends are without a doubt her immediate concern at all times and she shies away when his hands are a little too familiar in public. But the smiles she offers are soft and sweet, like he's her entire world, and the way her cheeks darken makes his heart sing. Her laughter comes easily and her kindness quickly follows suit and her pinkie links delicately with his whenever they stroll through the courtyard.

They argue over each other's priorities and they're in love.

Exams drive them to the edges of their sanity and they're in love.

The wizarding world barges into their personal bubble the second they leave Hogwarts and they're still in love -

But sometimes love simply isn't enough. And the fact is that Nova has never been great with attention in the first place while Al's surname and dream career greedily sucks it all up like a black hole. Their regrets are countless and their tears are earnest, but in the end, they agree – 

It ends like this.

♥

(Months earlier, one hundred and sixty seventh years loitered on the grass near the Black Lake, reluctant to clamber into the boats that first brought them there. Al remembers looking at the girl beside him, the way she tugged on the tassles of her graduation cap, and thinking that, though things will inevitably change, he knows she will always be a constant in his life.

He thought wrong.)

EPISODE ONE

Life without Nova Hale isn't necessarily life without Nova Hale.

There are a couple of months that immediately succeed the break up and though it wasn't messy, it still hurts. He sees her in Diagon Alley, snowflakes melting on her cheeks, and he wants. It's intense and sharp, far more powerful than the puppy adoration from those early days in sixth year when he didn't know the sweetness of her mouth or the press of her arm against his. And quite frankly, it’s…

It hurts.

Strictly speaking, their lives do not intersect much. Without him, there's no reason for Elijah or Adam the Puff or even Scorpius to go out of their way to contact her so there's little risk of Nova tumbling into his life without warning. But Al’s also good friends with Alice and good… something or the other with Dahlia, who both carry with them a constant reminder of everything he's lost whenever he sees them. So life without Nova Hale isn't necessarily life without Nova Hale, even when she abruptly leaves England with a backpack choking with clothes and a pouchful of Galleons, off to travel the world.

(Even when she's somewhere in the middle of Asia, sun on her back and skin darkening to honey, she remains in the peripheries of his existence. Sometimes he thinks that'll never change.)

Life without Nova Hale is –

Gruelling practices where he's run into the ground, thighs sore from clamping around a broomstick for hours on end. Days begin with the sun rising over Montrose and a quick trip to The Harpy for a coffee to wake him up. They end with a hot shower, maybe a night out to the pub with the boys, or crashing at someone's place for the evening. Life is a crappy flat he shares with the reserve Keeper, Ahmad, and Al’s brother – who technically doesn't live with them but can never be found elsewhere. It’s downing chocolate quaffles straight from the cereal box in lieu of an actual breakfast and then having his dad pinch his waist and reprimand him for not eating more.

It’s waking up one day and realising that it's getting a lot easier to breathe again.

(He's pissed out of his head on Firewhiskey when he realises he is no longer in love with Nova Hale. Nothing will scrub away the fondness he regards her with or make her less beautiful in his eyes, but he can accept that. He's moved on. He's moved on.)

♥

Months fly by and his career takes off with them.

Sure, Al's young and inexperienced compared to the big stars of the league, but he's also somewhat of a prodigy when it comes to Quidditch. Passion meets a keen eye when he circles the pitch on his broom; enthusiasm collides with his natural Slytherin instinct to strategise down to every last possibility. He complements this by training furiously and it shows.

Quidditch magazines all over Britain and Western Europe note his performance, the way he elevates the Magpies to even higher ranks. In the meantime, gossip rags note his blossoming relationship with enemy Seeker of the Falcons, Briar James, when they’re seen together a handful of times over the duration of several weeks before they go finally public.

RIVALRY FOR THE SNITCH, ROMANCE OFF THE PITCH, screams Witch Weekly when the news breaks out.

("I will honestly murder you," screams Dahlia Darzi instead.

Alice helpfully points out that it's been nearly a year since the Incident and that Nova herself is in the midst of a whirlwind romance somewhere in the depths of St Petersburg. Dahlia tells her to fuck herself.)

So for a time, life without Nova Hale is a life with Briar James, with her tight afro and her big doe eyes. It's impromptu matches of football in a half-empty Muggle park and pancakes on Sunday mornings and being labelled Briabus by their adoring fans. It's beer on Friday evenings and sex on Saturday mornings and accented English venomously spitting his name over an intense game of Mario Kart.

It’s being moonstruck and happy again.

But then that too fades away and Al is left - well, not heartbroken, not really, but certainly rather upset because he really did like Briar. She was relaxed and easy-going, just as down to re-enact her favourite WWE wrestling moves as she was to tug Al’s jumpers over his head. Time with her was like a hall full of floating candles: bright and pretty. It's a shame they eventually snuffed out.

STASIMON

Nova Hale returns from Europe on a slow Sunday afternoon. They meet in The Harpy, Al walking out of the bathroom to find her on his seat at the counter, sipping on his white chocolate mocha. A million disjointed thoughts fly through his head when he sees her, but he settles for a quirk of his lips and clears his throat.

"Shouldn't you ask me out before you steal my coffee?"

She chokes on it, eyes blown wide as she turns sharply in his direction. There's an eased slant to her shoulders and a new air of confidence that clings to her, scavenged all the way from the far reaches of China, but her cheeks burn as red as always.

"I - I," she stammers, glancing between Al and the drink in her hands. Finally, her eyes settle on the smug smirk of her friend behind the counter. "You said this was for me!"

Dahlia shrugs without care. "Oops."

"Oh my god." Nova closes her eyes, mortified. "I honestly hate you."

"My life is complete."

"Good, now I won't feel bad about ending it," comes the retort before Nova turns to Al with a much gentler expression. Sheepish, she holds out the white chocolate mocha. "Sorry about that, I genuinely didn't realise. Here you go – or, never mind that, I'll buy you a new one if you'd like?"

He's already shaking his head. "No, I'm alright," he says not unkindly. Indulging in a small smile, he adds, "You probably need it more than me anyways. I hear travelling to half the countries in the world takes a lot out of you."

Nova returns the smile with one of her own. It's not nearly as lovestruck as it once was, but it's pretty all the same. "Not nearly as much as winning the Quidditch League," she replies and takes a fresh sip. The slant of her eyebrows is friendly and teasing over the lid.

"Ah. So you heard about that."

"Kind of hard not to," she confesses. "You're pretty big news, Albus Potter. The leagues love you."

On the surface, he preens under her compliments, pleased as ever to hear them. He's worked damn hard to get where he is, alright, and he deserves to accept some praise sometimes. But underneath that, beyond his teasingly arrogant response that of course he's big news and what else did you expect, Hale?, there's a moment of understanding between them.

Once they fell apart because of camera flashes and Quidditch robes. It was a struggle between wanting forever together and wanting their dreams - and now, over a year later, they can admit that they chose and chased the right option.

No matter how much it hurt at the time.

EPISODE TWO

Their story starts in a common room with Firewhiskey clouding their minds and the very edges of their worlds brushing. Then it hiccups, takes a quick detour over the summer, before hurtling down the motorway at ninety miles an hour. And then half a year after their childhood has drawn to an end, it stalls.

A season shy of two years later, it hums back to life again.

It happens like this.

♥

Italy's night sky is a dark blue overhead when Al sneaks out of his hotel. The past handful of days have been spent on Asinara as the wizarding world clamours around a glorious Quidditch stadium far from prying Muggle eyes. Country after country has played passionately, losing or rising to glory. And for the first time in a long time, England is storming ahead towards the World Cup.

The feeling is heady and exhilarating. Somewhere in the past, a twelve-year-old Albus Potter gazes at him in awe, trailing a wondrous finger over the number on the back of his robes. He's here; he's made it. He's finally reached the distant goal he set the second he made it onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.

There's a thrumming in his veins, faint and electric, a restlessness that begs to be dispelled. He apparates hundreds of miles away from the team’s accommodation to a fountain in the Eternal City and recalls a memory from years ago. Remembers the solidness of Nova Hale in his arms, the grandeur of the Trevi Fountain, the coin they tossed in for good measure.

He remembers being so wholeheartedly in love with this one girl.

It's been a little under two years since they went their separate ways. In that time, they've loved and known other partners, stitched together the hurts that lingered on their skin. They've avoided each other, ran away to different continents entirely, and then stood face to face and finally accepted that things have changed.

(The tricky thing about first loves, however, is that they never truly go away. As much as Al tries to kid himself, there's always a part of him that yearns to tuck himself into Nova's side and hide away.

As the months after her return draw on, that part of him grows.)

But here, here in front of this massive monument, the days of his youth burned into the back of his eyes, the acceptance of their situation seems to unravel. The night whispers of regression, of old things rising anew. He looks at the Trevi fountain and once more wants with a ferocity he hasn’t felt in a long while. Not since that winter they broke up.

He hears her footsteps before he sees her face. Hears her voice before she shifts out of the shadows and into view.

"Al?" Nova calls out softly across the courtyard. When their eyes meet, she breaks out into a hesitant smile, slowly drawing closer. "Fancy seeing you here."

Perhaps her presence there should be a little more jarring, a tad bit questionable. After all, as of a few weeks ago, Nova was still in England, scribbling away at the Quibbler. At most a month before that, she was in South America with his Aunt Luna, describing the sublime with words and painting a compelling picture with her articles. And now she's here in little old Italy by his side as they gaze up at the fountain once more.

It isn't.

Jarring, that is.

The last time he was here, it was with her. Back then, his arms were around her waist, fingers interlocking where they met - his chin on the top of her head, eyes drowsy as he absorbed the sight. Something in the quiet air whispered that there were far greater things than them at work here. Such intimacy can therefore only be shared with her; it makes sense for her to appear now.

"I couldn't sleep," he replies at last. His hands bury deep into his pockets. "Figured I should take a trip down memory lane."

Nova mimics his position and stuffs her hands into the silk depths of her coat with a sigh. It's not a particularly sad sigh, but Al struggles to place the emotions that lace it. Longing, maybe? Wistfulness? Or maybe that’s just him.

"Me too," she admits quietly. Her eyes are bright with soft gold lights and distant memories. "Luna brought me along to do a piece on Italy since the World Cup's here and I thought I might as well come here for old times' sake?" Her voice rises in a question at the end as if she's not sure whether it's okay for her to be there while he is. As if she’s an intruder on a private moment when the truth is, she’s the star of it all.

"I guess the coin worked then,” is what Al voices instead.

It takes her a moment to understand his words, but when she does, Nova lets out a surprised laugh. "I forgot about that!" She bats softly at his arm. "Maybe there really is magic going on here then, like all the rumours say. Sure feels like it, don’t you think?"

Al can't help but smile at her. No matter how many years it's been since their last visit, Nova's joy in the face of such grandeur has never diminished in its loveliness. A poet could write sonnets about it, he thinks. An artist could immortalise it in vivid sunsets. The sound of it, the sight - it makes him feel so, so warm.

"Since we're already here," he murmurs, "do you wanna see if anywhere's still open?"

When Nova looks at him, it's with very shrewd eyes. He can see puzzle pieces slot into place in her mind, conclusions being drawn in white chalk against midnight boards, decisions being made. But at last, she offers him her own smile - gentle and indulgent, a little nostalgic too - and cocks her head to one side.

"Lead the way."

♥

High school sweethearts rarely ever stay together. Did you know that? Hogwarts is not a microcosm of the wider world – and so, Al and Nova did not know how to function without the crutch of those castle walls. Life commanded them in different ways, tugged them to separate directions. Al flew up to Montrose, a stadium full of magpies calling his name, and Nova? Well, she travelled everywhere in the end.

Even when she officially returned to England, several countries under her belt and a year after they split ways, she was restless. A true child of wanderlust, she eventually signed up for a job that meant she was always on her feet, returning to town only to Portkey back out again. The Quibbler was more than happy to take her on as Luna’s travelling companion, her vivid descriptions of exotic locations partnered with the older woman’s magizoological finds. Both parties have never looked back since. 

Such busy schedules have meant that neither Al nor Nova have had the proper chance to rebuild a genuine relationship beyond standard niceties. Meant that their conversations have always hovered on the strange edge between polite warmth and flirty friendliness, enough attraction lingering between the exes to charge their interactions with an indefinable energy that is never addressed.

That night in Italy quickly unravels into much more.

A catch-up over Butterbeer dissolves into a conversation about old memories, happiness pouring from their tongues and shoulders shaking with its force. As they talk, their ankles are familiar underneath the table, brushing up against each other every so often. And the spark of tension that hovers between them, even years later, rapidly flickers into something much less tentative.

They're not drunk.

Not when Nova laughs so hard she collapses against his arm. Not when they stay in the bar long after their glasses are drained to the last drop. Not when they leave their seats and linger on the cobblestones outside, reluctant to leave for their beds. Not when Al's fingers trace along her wrist and then flutter against the curve of her waist inquiringly – and not when she steps into his embrace as the world blurs around them.

They're not drunk. At least, not on alcohol.

Maybe on this feeling though. This oblivion that wipes all comprehension from Al's mind save the sweetness of honeysuckle kisses from Nova's mouth. Maybe off the pressure of ten fingers on his shoulders and sweat sticking to his back and his heartbeat racing, racing, racing behind the safety of his ribs. Maybe on the way he breathes her name and she murmurs his and how the world seems to align perfectly once again.

♥

(The next morning, his coach’s thunderous knock on his hotel room door startles Al out of his sated slumber. He jerks awake to see Nova still there, face puffy and eyelashes clamped tight. She flips over, a pout pressed against the base of his throat.

"Do we have to get up?" she whines. "Because if so, I think we should stage a protest."

Butterflies swoop in his stomach when she says we instead of you. His fingers intertwine with hers. She holds his hands like she doesn't plan on letting go.)

STASIMON II.

This is a story, did you know?

In the beginning, it starts like this: at a party in a common room underground. A boy sees a girl laugh across the room and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. That summer, he forgets that he forgot how to do that - until sixth year arrives and he falls in love with that laugh again in a way that'll never really leave him, even when he tries for years.

Of course, all great stories must have conflict. They must have the readers on their edges of their seats, teeth worrying away at the crescents of their nails, desperate to know if their protagonists will make it through their turmoil. And so our story has a hiccup and the hiccup is - tragic, bittersweet - tainted with dreams that are too big and a love that weeps for it. There are Quidditch practices that demand all of Al's attention and cameras that gobble up some more until there is very little left for Nova. 

So, she leaves.

Kisses him goodbye, sheds a few hundred tears and packs her bags for a town in France (and then Germany and Europe and then the rest of the world. It’s not running away if she meant to do it eventually, after all.)

They stay this way for years, seemingly for forever. For some tales, this would be where the story draws to a close, the final words stained with melancholy and regret. Others, however - the best ones some might say - have a happy ending. Here, the happy ending looks a lot like:

Italy in the late hours of the day with its silk skies and hidden stars, a sliver of a silver moon hanging low against the night.

Nova's skin when it's kissed by golden light, soft and lovely as a fountain spills magic mere metres away.

Al's pulse juddering under a hot, velvet coat.

Skin on skin and small hands tracing blazing trails along his freckles.

Lazy smiles on sunlit mornings and private meals in the evening

Aa promise made over neat hotel napkins.

(The promise agreed that things between them feel different. That they think they might have grown up since two winters ago. That perhaps this means they can grab the second chance they’ve been offered with both hands - and this time, they can hold on tight.)

EXODE

"Albus Potter, you've just won England the Quidditch World Cup final! How does it feel to bring the trophy home for the first time in half a century?" "It feels great, mate. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go kiss my girlfriend."

[asalegend]

Note to self.

This is a note to myself. About her. About Martha. God Damn, it hurts. Y'all have no idea. Let me tell you this story from the beginning dumb ass. So that when you do doubt it, you remember everything. You met Martha in March, while all that’s dumb shit down there with Mel and natalie and even Naomi was going on. And you liked her since then. There was something about it and you just didnt know what it was. And she liked you, and you knew it after that day she kissed you goodbye. And from there it happened. You took her to the movies and for ice cream. Then you took her for wings 3 days later on was an actual date, where you both knew you were interested and you both were already invested. And it was super fun, and amazing ( side note, she fucked some random dude that night after she told you she was Home and asleep… But you found that out later) and thats how it went. On september 23rd, y'all had a real ass date, and you lost your virginity to her, and that might not sound important now, vut remember that it was super important to you Then. Remember that she told you she would only be with you exclusively if you had sex with her, even though you were technically a couple. Dont you ever forget that she literally, fucken forced you to have sex. That she threatened with pretty much cheating on you .Then she spend 3 days living with you at home while your family was out. And You both had a huge fight about Monica, and what she meant to you. And she wanted to break up with you, and incase your worthless ass forgot. You got on your knees and begged her to stay, and you told her you would never lie to her again. And guess what bro, you didnt. Not about important stuff. Not about being loyal to her. Not about how much you fucken loved her, and I’m proud of you for that, and you should be too. And remember that same fucken night, some girl text you. Asking your for dick pics and sending you fucken pictures so you’d go fuck her. And yeah nigga you were tempted as fuck, and yeah nigga you texted back. But then it hit you, the time you had just spent with Martha, and how amazing that felt. And how incredible she was with you. And you sent that bitch a text that said you had a girlfriend, and you loved her (even if you hadnt told her yet) the next weekend, was pricillas birthday/Halloween, y'all went out to tipsy, and Martha got fucken hammered. So hammered that she couldnt go home. So you called your mom and begged her to let Martha stay. You told her youd sleep on the couch or whatever. And that night, Martha told you how much she loved you, and how by not telling her you love her you were hurting her. And you realized what your fear had done to you, so you decided to deal with it. You both fell asleep and that morning you looked at her and said “Martha, tu eres mi Amor…. Te amo mi Vida” and you meant it. You meant it more that you meant it when you said it to larissa or Naomi. And things were going good, you had broken up with her over dumb shit, but the next day you were back together. And you realized that you were in a real relationship, so you became and adult about it. But she always held that against you, even if she had broken up with you because you lent her 20 bucks and was petty. Then one day, while you were in the car and she was having a panic attack she took it out on you. She told you that She could cheat on you whenever she wanted, she bragged about all the guys who hit her up, and how she could fuck one whenever. She told you that you would never fucken know if She did it too( she knew since day one…, what Naomi and larissa had done to you)…. She made you shake in fear, she made you beg her never to cheat…. She broke you emotionally… Then laughed and said to never break up with her over dumb shit again…. She thought it was a joke…. Exploiting your fears and insecurities. Then, it was holiday time… And terry slammed you with hours cause you were kicking ass… And she was slammed with hours… And you started to notice how much she like jose…. How she always said he was super cute and how shed get weak in the knees…. And you tried explaing to her that stuff was avout to get tough. You were working 22 hours a week at pho. 30 at LC and going to 4 classes in the mornings…. And she was working 40+ and getting out at 10pm. You didnt have time to work out or anything. And what little time you had, you gave to her, and all she wanted… It seemed was sex… But you were tired… Your were stressed…. You were exhausted…. And uncomfortable with how much she Needed it… You wanted a hug and she just wanted to fuck. So, you were going soft…. And she made fun of you because if it…. And she made it worse. Then, the second week of December she went with you to the lc party… And you never loved her more. You bought matching sweaters, and you were so deeply inlove with her, you thanked god ever day for blessing you with her in your fucken life… And a few days later, she went to her party, wearing your sweater. She told you “nilda said no couple baby, sunny is gonna give me a ride back, I wont drink ok” and you dropped her off… And you we’re worried… You could feel something was wrong… Very wrong…, you didn’t sleep that night, and she kept sending you pictures…. Telling you what she was doing… And the next day, she showed up at work, that moring she told you she left her phone in Jose’s car…. But, you thought sunny was giving her a ride. And that day she fought with you, and complained and tried pushing you to leave her…. And you could feel it in you soul that she did something…. Then you kept going. But things were different… She didnt care about you the same anymore… Fast forward past xmas (which was amazing tbh, she spent it with you and gave you great presents.., and you gave her everything she wanted) and your taking off xmas lights. Martha is complaining about how she’s itch and had a rash. Then has sex with you like its nothing( btw, her and jose were still besties here. Dont forget that)….. A few days later, you get a call to work, its her crying… She has hpv… (She knew that rash wasnt normal…. Yet, she still did it with you) and there goes your life…. 3 days later, its your birthday.you have an incredible time at LC, and when you pick her up she looks amazing, and she gives you a big gift she made, the basket…. And it almost made you cry… Because it was beautiful… And she got fucked up at your party….she insulted your mother and embarrassed you infront of your friends… But that wasnt the worst part… That night, you laid her down to bed and you saw her phone. And you knew…. You knew you had to check it, your heart was screaming it….. And whatd you find out…. She cheated on you… Tge night of her party, she fucked jose. And she was bragging about it to alex, she even sent her pictures of him and went off about how good it felt, how many times she came how big (or small in this case… That’s the only win you got that night) he was. And you woke her up, you confonted her about it. And she got violent, she pushed you and punched your and scratched you begging you to stay… And all you felt was cold and emptiness. And you took her to work the next day and disappeared. A few days later, she had her LEEP and texted you, and you stood by her that day even though you were hurt. And she went and saw you and you both talked… And you put your pride aside and got back with her, no matter how much it fucken hurt, no matter how much your friends and family saw you suffer and tried helping you…, because you loved her. But she started to poison you, against your family. And she was selfish. But you stood by her during the hpv. You didnt leave her alone, you helped her and you helped her move her life foward, you did her taxes and helped her with school programs and her diet and everything she needed for her hpv. All while you bottled up the fact that you thought you were gonna die because she got you sick(your fine now thankfully, and the doctor cleared you and told you that it was super lucky)…. And then your family forced you to leave her, in their way. And you did, and she got violent again… But you were dying, everytime you saw her… You saw what she did… What she described to Alex…. You saw that she didnt love you…, and you left her there, the next day she left to San Antonio. You were fine for a month… Then in April she reached out to you, and you let her in. She was “different” and you went for it. But this Martha was selfish, this Martha made you do things for her, this martha tried turing you against your family. This Martha didn’t support you ever, this martha believed that it was your fault things went bad, because you told your family she cheated. She called you a coward for how you dealt with the pain she caused you. And she started tons of problems with you family through facebook…. This Martha, was the worst one…. This one… Abused your love and made you feel like the bad guy…. This Martha…. Was a monster. And then Angie came to town, and gave you the examples of how a couple fights together. Because at the moment, going to san Antonio for her birthday was going to be a huge mistake at home. You never had peace at home, and every day you fought with you family about her. And she wouldnt support you, she would leave you to burn. So you told her, you couldnt go with her for her birthday…, and she broke up with you. So you left. Until last week…. Last week, after 2 months of her texting you, you broke…. You reached out and told her how much you missed her. You explained that you were afraid to love her cause of how much she hurt you…. And she told you you were the only one still, and how much she loved you and how she only thought about you. But it was all lies dude…. She was fucking Justin, who was her best friends man and baby daddy. And she messed around with other too…. She didnt even last a month with out doing it…, and yeah, she came clean after she build you up with lies and made you hope again…. And then she broke you one more time…, the last time remember that. Because remember that you werw going to move in with her this time..,, that she was coming back to be with you…. Remember how much you were going to risk based on her lies…. Remember… That all this… Is why you cant love her.., and it’s why your not gonna send that text, or make that call…. Because this^ is enough pain… All this,.. Is not love….

[poptarts-and-rainbows]

It’s been 96 hours.

Personal story/venting time. I’m trying to get sober.

I don’t have any friends where I’m located- which is my own fault, I have a tendency to isolate myself while I warm up to new environments enough to feel comfortable talking to people (and I’m moving again in a couple months, so I honestly don’t really even see the point in going through the effort of getting to know people and learning to care about them, just to leave and have to say goodbye and hurt again in March).

Plus, I’ve been spiraling for a bit, so the couple of long-distance friends that I *can* talk to about things are probably starting to get sick of my drama. The last few weeks have been especially difficult and they’ve had to help me a lot. Not to mention, the one is on vacation in Vegas right now and the other is hanging out with her boyfriend tonight, and I don’t want to bother her.

So… here I am, screaming into the void of Tumblr again.

I’ll keep all other details under the cut because it’s kind of a lot, and most people won’t care or want to see this all over their dash.

Anyway. I’ve had a problem with drinking for… close to the last 9 (ish) years. The first couple of years weren’t actually problematic levels, but that’s when I first learned I love the burn of alcohol. Especially vodka. Before I could purchase my own supply I didn’t really drink all of that often- it was just hard to get my hands on and I hadn’t learned how to function during a hangover yet, so one good binge could keep me tied over for a while, back before I finally turned 21.

Then, as it goes, things got progressively worse. I developed a severe problem quite rapidly. Honestly… it started almost immediately. I guess it was always just waiting.

The weekend of my 21st birthday, the very first time I legally went to a bar, I nearly died- Trexx. I didn’t know it at the time, but my friends were trying to get me to come out, so they took me to the best gay bar in all of Syracuse. Plus, Thursday nights? College night. Buy one get one free, all night, and the best Drag Show I’ve ever seen (I’ve been to a few since then- in different States and in other countries).

My birthday was on a Monday that year. That night I went out to a restaurant and my friend bought me a beer with dinner- but liquor has always been my vice (although I did foray into the world of wine for a while, as it is more socially acceptable to be a wino than drink a bottle of vodka alone), so I sipped politely on my glass of Blue Moon and just bid my time until Thursday.

When Thursday finally came, not only did I throw back 18 drinks in about four hours, my dumb drunk-ass barricaded myself in the bathroom stall (of which there were only two) to throw up, and then drifted in/out of consciousness for several minutes. With there only being two stalls, people noticed- and it was actually one of the Drag Queens got me out.

I couldn’t even see clearly when I opened my eyes, but I recognized her green wig. I’d spoken to her earlier in the night, one of my friends was a “Townie” (born and raised in Syracuse, but also going to the school) and knew her, and she’d bought me a drink in celebration of my big day, and gave me the chip for the second free drink too. When she helped pull me to my feet, she called me sweetie and asked if I was ok. I brushed the concern off with an easy smile and told her I would go look for my friends- she let me go.

When I went into the main room, the bouncer did not. I guess I was obviously out of it. I was probably stumbling and about to pass out, or puke right there on the floor. I still couldn’t see anything, but I still remember hearing him say “this one is done” and feeling him grab my shoulders. The next thing I knew, I was outside on my hands and knees in the snow. I wanted to just lay down, but I kept thinking “I’m right in front of the door. If I stay here, I’ll be in the way and people will step on me.”

So I got up, wearing nothing but flats, skinny jeans, and a t-shirt, in the middle of winter in Upstate New York, and stumbled down the road. I found a stoop about a block away and sat down. I threw up over the guard rail and stayed there until the bar was closing, about two hours later. People had passed by pretty consistently, a few had asked if I was ok- but, because I couldn’t talk, I would just hold up my thumb and they would keep moving. One group, at closing time, stopped and asked if I want to Syracuse University- I nodded, they said they would take me back to campus, and I reluctantly agreed. I couldn’t stop shivering. Then one of the girls in the group recognized me, I had pink streaks in my hair at the time and we’d also met earlier that night through my Townie friend, so she went back inside to get my friends who had been freaking out for hours. I made it home fine, but I missed all of my classes the next day and threw up until Monday.

That was just the beginning. My first real introduction ended in disaster, but it didn’t stop me.

I was recovered by the next weekend and did it again. Then again… and again. I learned not to wander off, but I always drank hard and fast. I didn’t even make it to my 22nd birthday before I had friends telling me they were worried. That summer, my mom gave me a book about drinking too much (”Smashed”). The author actually also went to Syracuse. I skimmed it with mild interest, but she started drinking when was 14. I was an adult. What I did was legal, and nothing really bad had ever really happened. I was fine.

The next semester began and I got better at hiding it. I bought bottles and drank, secretly, in my room when I was supposed to be studying- it was cheaper than going out anyways, and nobody else had to know. When my friends and I did go out, I would split off “to meet another group” after so I could go get obliterated at the bar closest to my apartment, without worrying anybody. It was college, anyways. Land of keg stands and unlimited beer pong. Everyone did it, I was fine.

Right before my 23rd birthday, I joined the Army. During the first 8 weeks (Basic Training),  there was no alcohol. Hell, we were excited when we were allowed to have chocolate milk! Through that time, I didn’t miss drinking- but, it was mostly because they literally worked us to exhaustion every single day. There was no time to miss it.

After Basic, we left to our Advanced Individual Training locations (technical training), but we still lived under a lot of rules. We could earn different privileges/freedoms, but we still technically weren’t supposed to drink, but it didn’t take long for the people who earned the right to leave base early in our training cycle to start coming back to us with stories of bars, parties, and getting wasted.

By that time, I was close to 3 months sober- and I hadn’t even had to try! I didn’t crave it right away, but they reminded me it existed. I didn’t earn my off-post privileges for a while, so I had one of my friends smuggle me back a bottle of vodka in a jug of orange juice as soon as I could- and, oh god, the first familiar burn of that liquor… it felt like going home. Getting my friends who were allowed off base to bring me back alcohol was harder than getting older students to buy it for me when I was a Freshman, though, so I was still fine.

Once we graduated and all joined the “Real” Army, however, those restrictions were gone. When I was off duty, nobody cared what I did (drinking-wise), as long as I was back by morning and able to do my job.

In the beginning, I was still new to the Army. I was still scared of everyone, this whole new world I lived it, and I desperately wanted to make a good impression. So I only drank on the weekends, Friday and Saturday nights, like a sensible person.

Did I still drink excessively those two nights a week, loosing track of how many shots I had after eight or nine? Did I eventually start finishing a whole bottle of vodka in a single weekend, alone? Yeah… and then that bottle became one and a half. Then I started to chase my hard liquor with wine coolers. Eventually, two nights weren’t enough. I started throwing Wednesday night in to the mix, too- it was middle of the week, after all! It was just to get my through to the weekend. Then it was any night I knew I didn’t have to run the next morning, because running while you’re hung over really sucks (and when you sweat it smells like straight liquor, and other people know). Then I stopped even caring about that.

There were months, on and off, that weren’t so bad, of course. I either just, naturally, didn’t feel like drinking during those times, or our training schedule was just too intensive. When things got bad, my roommate and some of my closer friends would periodically express concern,  so I would back off. I wouldn’t drink for a few nights in a row, keep it on the down low during the week, sip on more water between shots during the next couple of weekends, and learn to throw up quieter in the bathroom- until people stopped looking so closely again, because people only see what they want to see. Then the cycle would start over.

It’s the Army, though. Just like college- most of us drink, and more than we should. It’s part of the culture! It’s what is expect from us and among us. With the company I kept… occasionally there was concern, yes, but most of them weren’t much better off than me. I was still fine.

Until I wasn’t.

Last year happened- and… I’d lost my best friend (tag: “Dear A”). I couldn’t sleep. I could barely function. I hid in the bathroom and cried at work. I had headaches all of the time experienced the second most severe depressive episode of my life. I didn’t know what to do, I was alone in the beginning there too, so I turned to alcohol- the solace that was always there for me, that was never too busy, or left, the thing that could make me forget how much everything hurt- and things started to get out of control, more so than ever before.

At first it was excused, laughed off- the military drinks. In Korea we drink more. I was expected to be sloppy at first, but I never found my groove. I started ignoring my limits. I put myself in dangerous situations, and things did happen there. I blacked out more often than not. Sometimes I couldn’t even find my room. I would fall, get hurt, and not remember how it happened. I even chipped my front tooth. I spent more than one morning puking at work, for hours. My supervisor had to peel me off my floor and roll me onto my side on more than one occasion. I was sent to the hospital three times. Eventually, I was given an ultimatum- get my shit together, or be forced to see professionals. I got my shit together. For a while.

My last couple of weeks in Korea passed without any incident anyone else knew about. I still drank, but it was like before, when I could manage it and keep it to myself. I did it quietly, and nobody knew the difference. 

I got to Kentucky in the beginning of June- it’s been full two months, and in those two months months, I have literally spent more days drunk than I have spent sober. Not a drink or two after work, not pleasantly buzzed, but drunk. It’s been mostly harmless, I don’t leave my room. I’ve cried a bit, slept on my kitchen floor a couple of times, and have had to make a few phone calls to be talked off the ledge on a few separate nights, but mostly… I still thought I was fine.

Then drinking every day, it became- “hey, I woke up still drunk this morning, I’m going to have one shot- just one- before work.” Then that shot had to be a double instead, of course, because what’s one shot really going to do for me? I drove to work, without incident (“this actually isn’t that hard”), drove back home for lunch. Three more shots, no food. Go back to work. Pick up a new bottle when I was on my way home at the end of the day. Drink until I pass out. Repeat.

Last Friday, while blacked out, I apparently stumbled my way out of my room and towards the parking lot- some people who work in the same office building as me saw and asked what I was doing. According to them, I said I was going to get my cigarettes from my car- but because I could barely stand up straight, they sat me down and gave me some of theirs instead, and then made sure I got back to my room safe. The thing is, I didn’t have any cigarettes in my car. I had run out Thursday night, and knew that before I started drinking. Which meant, I had planned on driving.

Either this stops, I do better, or something I can’t take back is going to happen, and it’s going to happen soon. I can feel it. Most alcoholics don’t change until they hit rock bottom, I was reading the A.A. site, and I’ve gotten a few books, and that’s what they all say. Alcoholics refuse to admit they have a problem until there is overwhelming evidence that proves differently. They argue they’re fine, that they can do better, that it isn’t really that bad… all things I tell myself too. I don’t want to have to fall that far. I don’t want to mess up my life forever, or end somebody else’s. I don’t want to crash and burn any more than I already have. So far I’ve been lucky. I’ve been given passes I shouldn’t have been, and more time than I deserved to do the right thing.

I’m Irish and Native American. I was practically bred to be an alcoholic. My father is one, he doesn’t have his license anymore because of it. His father was too, and that contributed to his death. I didn’t grow up close to either of them, but their blood is my blood. I grew up with my mother and step-father, though, and he is also an alcoholic. A violent and mean one, and he helped raised me since I was four. Genetic pre-disposition. Turbulent childhood household. Emotional abandonment. Issues with depression and self-worth. I’m text book.

At exactly 12:00am on 1 August 2017, I dumped the last of my vodka down the drain. I have now been dry for almost 96 hours, for 4 days. It’s the longest I’ve been sober in the last 2 months, and I am craving it bad. I miss it. The first day, my stomach and head hurt (long after a hangover would typically start), I broke out in sweat, and I couldn’t figure out why. Then I ended up having to pull a 24 hour shift. I slept for 4 hours the morning after, and then was too wound up to sleep at all that night. I’ve managed about 3.5 solid hours a night, since then. I’ve been agitated since I first woke up on the 1st, especially today, I almost threw my phone across the room earlier because I kept hitting the wrong button and it wasn’t doing what I wanted it to do. I had to put it away and take my third shower today, just calm down. I can’t focus. I can’t sit still, my leg is always bouncing, my foot kicking, or fingers tapping. I feel empty and sad. Now, I’m not only lonely for people, I’m lonely for my alcohol too. The holes I’ve always had are still gaping, but now there’s no vodka to fill them.

The thing is… I’ve tried to quit before. I pretend I haven’t. I was once even asked if I had every tried to stop, and I said no. I looked back at all those times and told myself “Well, I wasn’t being serious then. I was just doing it to see how long I could go. There was no actual reason to quit. I only needed a break for a couple weeks. I never said I was going to stop forever.” and I always swore “I’ll do better now. My tolerance is back down a little bit, so I’ll control it better. I’ll just have a few, one or two nights a week.”

I never did, though. Maybe a few weeks would pass where I could drink in moderation, but then I would have a particularly bad Tuesday, or something, and drink an extra night- and, eventually, two shots became three, and then three would stop feeling like three, because my tolerance would come back, and three would become four- and after four, I stop caring that I set a limitation for myself.

Honestly, I don’t think I’m the sort of person who can drink in moderation, and that scares me. I want to be the type of person who can just throw back a couple and still have a good night, maybe have just a glass of wine to relax, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do that- if I want to get this under control, I know, rationally, I will have to stop forever. I’m going to have to give up my one constant and reliable comfort. Usually I only make it a few days, usually five, because then the weekend has come again. Sometimes I can resist during the week, but once the weekend comes, and I don’t have work to distract me… it becomes almost impossible. Outside of training, when I literally did not have physical access to alcohol, only one time have I made it to 10. 

Today is Day 4. Today is Friday, the night I have consistently been drunk since I’ve come to Kentucky. The cravings are bad. There’s a liquor store about 5 minutes down the road, but I’m laying here and typing this instead. The top of my foot has been knocking against my bed’s headboad for the last hour, and I can feel a bruise forming. I want to say “just one last night of letting go, and I’ll do better after” but I know I won’t.

I know I need to stop, but I don’t want to. There’s a voice in the back of my head that is screaming it’s ok if it kills me, if I drink until I can’t see and end up crashing my car into a tree, or downing a bottle of pills because I just don’t care anymore- but that’s wrong. I know it’s wrong, so I’m trying to stop. I’m pulling at my hair and pacing my room just to get through this, even though I don’t really want to. Drinking might kill me, but this feels like it will. I need to do this, but I feel like I need to do everything myself, or it doesn’t really count as having done it- and I don’t know if I can handle this one.