lost cause.

grief & growth live hand in hand.

[ourcboros]

they say, 'there is no such thing as destiny. there is nothing you can't control.' but they are wrong, so wrong. i choke on my secrets, i show them my scars. they say, 'memories are like family, you can always walk away.' ( they haven't seen their FATHER since high school ).

#OURCBOROS. a dependent nazli demirtaş established by rachel on the 16th of march, 2021.

biography.     statistics.     pinterest.     noxtms.

[ourcboros]

chacswins​:

“Fuck.” The English language is complicated animal, with many idiosyncrasies and odd ways of describing situations. So perhaps fuck wasn’t the most flowery or mature thing to say when Damien was walking into the place he almost died in. But it felt most appropriate to him. 

As he does best, he slinks to the backs of each crowd, desperate not to be noticed in a place he most likely would be anyway. “This is,” He says out loud ( defeating his original idea. ) “Very fucking depressing.”

“it’s a memorial,” they’re input isn’t needed, nor has it been asked for, but damien just happens to put voice to his thoughts as nazli passes by. much like him, they’ve been keeping to the edges of every individual event, lest they get drawn into meaningless small talk by some well meaning ex classmate or worse, offered condolences for the death of a father everyone had only chosen to mourn rather than curse the memory of, two years ago. they’ve thought pretty much the same all day, but the key difference really is the fact that they didn’t think it appropriate to say aloud. “funnily enough, we’re not really meant to be dancing for joy. why did you come if you were expecting any different?” 

[ourcboros]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:  the white wyvern, knockturn alley  ! 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆:  @cvriousheart​  !

"two galleons,” nazli shouts at them without preamble, inclining their head towards the stubby boardman wannabe on stage and adding, for clarification, “on him winning.” someone who had staggered into the bathroom they’d taken up haunting earlier in the night had said something about betting on the outcome, and someone else had directed them towards none other than oriana trelawney. it didn’t seem entirely their speed, but naz had been confident enough in approaching them until a long enough beat passes for them to start wondering if they’d been fed false information and with uncharacteristic sheepishness they ask, “you’re taking bets, right?” 

[marscottage]

Sylvia Plath // Holly Warburton // Working for the Knife, Mitski // Are You Satisfied?, MARINA // House of Hummingbird, directed by Kim Bora (2018) // Lady Bird, directed by Greta Gerwig (2017) // Tender Offerings, First Aid Kit // Play it Again, Sam directed by Woody Allen (1972) // Ruins, First Aid Kit // Ikiru, directed by Akira Kurosawa (1952) // Nightlife no. 1, Sangram Majumdar // Sorry to Myself, Alanis Morissette // Sabrina, directed by Billy Wilder (1954) // The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa (1982) // Rashomon, directed by Akira Kurosawa (1950) // It’s Not, Aimee Mann // Les Animaux de Distance, Paz Boira

The complexity of being free, but forever imprisoned by the idea of not knowing what you could or should be

[ourcboros]

cvriousheart​:

( 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ) — outside the daily prophet offices, negotium walk ( 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 ) — open

oriana pushed the door to the daily prophet office open with their shoulder, bag slung across their shoulder and coffee in hand—one of those paper to-go cups that never seemed to actually keep coffee warm, full of more syrup and milk than coffee. They carried a tension in their shoulders, the sort they’d come to expect after work but it was worse today than normal. “my editor struck down my planned article for tomorrow.” it was a complaint spoken in the direction of a friendly-looking face. they drank the coffee, grimaced—cold and bitter with just a hint of the copious amounts of sugar and syrup they paid for. “apparently an article about sightings of sybill trelawney’s ghost is too distasteful.” then, they took another drink, finishing the coffee in a gulp, all the overpriced syrups and sugar seemingly contained in that drink—sunk to the bottom now, after half a work day spent sitting on their desk, forgotten. 

they should’ve had an inkling about what they were in for the minute that oriana appears and directs bitter words towards them. nazli doesn’t know them WELL ( same house, a few years apart / same trauma, much the same ), but they’re easily recognisable. the only chance they stood of guessing where the conversation was going to go would’ve been remembering what one year anniversary they’d somehow managed to hit, though, and forgive them, but nazli doesn’t keep track of when their professors were brutally murdered. “that’s one way of coping, i suppose,” they’re not judging. really, they’re not. merlin knew they’d dealt with their losses in weird ways too, but with no idea what they can offer ( they can be forgiven for this, too; they’re only crouching on negotium walk to get some fresh air on their lunch break & weren’t expecting this unfolding moment ), nazli keeps it simple, “you want a cigarette? you can tell me all about it.” 

[ourcboros]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:   shared house   ! 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆:   @graciieux​​​   !

“you can’t keep doing the dishes like that.” she was LUCKY nazli was the first to emerge from their bedroom, this morning. their bleary eyes an unnatural shade of turquoise and a rat perched on their shoulder ( hairless rum was the chosen one, with coke sleeping as soundly as their muggle roommate back in her cage ), their first stop upon trudging into the kitchen like every step pained them was the coffee pot, their words a mumble. even the smell did wonders for them, and as they waited for the machine to heat up what little remained in the pot, they admitted, “it is effective, though. how’d you get so good at cleaning spells?” maybe they just didn’t share the knack, or maybe they’d spent too long doing things the ‘muggle’ way to master the alternative - nazli had never been able to trust magic when it came to their chores, and there was probably a degree of jealousy fueling their early morning chastising. 

[ourcboros]

ofmccnlight​:

            𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙   𝚒𝚗   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖   was   meant   to   be   a   quick   break   :   a   way   to   catch   a   simple   breather   .   nazli’s   presence   in   the   bathroom   brings   forth   a   new   sort   of   excitement   .   itʻs   a   different   sort   of   BREAK   .   nazli   brings   the   promise   of   relaxation   ,   both   with   with   whatever   sheʻs   snuck   in   with   the   her   and   the   EASE   of   her   company   .   ❝   i   might   have   heard   that   once   or   twice   ,   ❞   she   agrees   easily   ,   before   her   face   melts   into   a   smile   .   she   ignores   the   stalls   as   well   to   hop   up   on   the   counter   beside   their   fellow   ravenclaw   ,   making   grabby   hands   at   the   other   in   silent   request   .   ❝   hiding   away   from   the   festivities   then   ?   i   noticed   you   didnʻt   sign   up   for   a   date   for   the   evening   .   ❞

someone  needed  to  get  into  contact  with  the  current  batch  of  ravenclaw  students  ;  there  was  a  perfect  research  study  that  could  be  conducted  out  of  how  their  alumni  always  seemed  to  seek  solitude  in  the  middle  of  a  party.  it  wasn’t  the  first  time  that  nazli  and  luna  had  found  themselves  happy  to  be  alone  together  &  truth  be  told,  it  was  unlikely  to  be  their  last.  luna  wasn’t  like  anyone  else  that  naz  knew,  and  they  enjoyed  her  company  FAR  too  much  to  avoid  it  on  a  night  like  this.  relinquishing  the  blunt  to  her  without  complaint  or  hesitation  is  as  small  a  kindness  as  it  is  a  price  to  pay,  after  which  naz  directs  a   wry  sort  of  smile  their  way  &  leans  their  head  back  against  the  mirror.  “do  you  pay  much  attention  to  my  movements,  luna ?”  playful  smile  plays  around  their  lips  even  while  they  give  a  delicate  shrug  of  their  shoulders,  deciding  the  truth  is  worth  saying.  “i  don’t  see  the  point  in  all  this.  i  mean,  who  decided  valentine’s  day  had  to  be  this  whole  fuckin’  thing  ?  there’s  no  emotion,  it’s  all  just...  money.”  

[argonauticae]

“ANTIGONE: And also because - Oh, my darling, my darling, forgive me; I’m going to cause you quite a lot of pain.”

— Antigone, Jean Anouilh (trans. Lewis Galantiere)

[ourcboros]

ft. @dolors !

[pollyjean]

[weggebobble]

[persimmonns]

- Kaveh Akbar, “Forfeiting My Mystique”

[richardsikendaily]

[text ID: And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them. /end ID]

[serratedpens]

Danez Smith, “It Began Right Here”

[myfilesrd]

[ourcboros]

ft. @dolors ! 

[ourcboros]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:   amortentia, diagon alley   ! 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆:   @ofmccnlight​   !

for  a  moment,  they  are  a  deer  caught  in  headlights.  the  door  to  the  bathroom  pushes  open  and  nazli  freezes,  the  flame  of  their  muggle  lighter  flickering  just  inches  away  from  the  tip  of  their  joint.  they’d  done  their  best  to  choose  the  space  with  the  least  amount  of  traffic  to  hide  away  in  &  are  briefly  fearful  of  being  caught  in  4k  before  the  other  pushes  all  the  way  inside  and  they  breathe  a  sigh  of  genuine  relief.  hiding  away  in  one  of  the  many  empty  cubicles  would  have  helped  them  avoid  all  this,  but  nazli  is  most  comfortable  when  they’re  perched  on  the  corner  of  a  marble  countertop,  and  luna  isn’t  anything  for  them  to  fear.  “you  have  impeccable  timing,  lovegood.  anyone  ever  told  you  that  ?”

[lifeinpoetry]

“Maybe memory is all the home / you get.”

—

— John Murillo, from “Mercy, Mercy Me,” Kontemporary Amerikan Poetry

“Maybe memory is all the home / you get. And rage …”

[kingofthegringos-deactivated202]

Deep down we all want to bite someone hard as shit. Jaw power on 100% for like 5 to 8 seconds. Just once.

[lifeinpoetry]

I tell my mother

            don’t speak to me

like I’m already gone.  don’t look at me like I’m already

            an echo

of your eye.

— Kristin Chang, from “Intoxicated British Boy, 19, Kills Chinese Grandfather Visiting His Daughter,” published in HeArt