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Melisa Aslı Pamuk

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→ Melisa Aslı Pamuk as Sibel Koraslan , in EGO 1.03

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Eriyorum🤍🥰

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Tasia, tickled by Dinah's unaffectionate response, felt even more inclined to hear the woman out. Where was all of the dangerous duplicity warped in the vivacious vision of a thief draped in jewels. No bells or whistles. Just another ghoul draped in gluttony. Just how I like it. "I've had a fabulous morning thus far," the thought of the glinting edges of the blade passing through the third knuckle of some nameless still dancing in her mind; it was a simply but effect sprinkling of dramatics to cement the debt owed. Her jaw tensed at the bitter reminder of her own debt hanging so openly for the world to see. Tasia hastily grabbed Dinah's hips to press her flush against the stone pillar that shielded them from the prying eyes of a lazy Friday crowd. Her temper a side effect from the sordid actions of her past.

"Owed or not, it's always on my terms, маленька�� птица." She purred along the shell of Dinah's ear, fingers digging into the supple curve. Tasia's gaze lingered hungrily for the fight or a taste; whichever Dinah decided to take. "Considering I'm such a good mood, I'll blow off the next one. You've saved a man another few moments to sort his affairs."

            “ wow, ” dark brown eyes conveyed everything that needed not be said with a disenchanting roll, but in such a manner it almost seemed like the only proper response with her melodic tone. “ how utterly charitable. i'm touched. ” and that was the now problem, a dillema as it were, dinah felt a compelling desire, suddenly the request had become protracted. “ but since it's you owing me, this is on my terms. ” dinah took an eased step past the woman with a reputation that put most on edge, dinah's own visible by way of the gaze she refused to place anywhere else. trust had never entirely been an east feat for the jewel thief oddly enough.

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Tender toes tipped through the slow flickering shadow that cast against the grayed out carpet that lined the hallway. She could count the squares sloppily woven in like some amalgamated mosaic tying together each transgression laid here. A blemish poorly disguised. The air tasted of stale cigarette smoke and despair. It matched the ambient tension with each soft inhale of these walls. Aiyla dared not weep as she stood in the moist palate of the beast. A slumbering shadow that found peace and purpose at night when the world was too vulnerable to fight it off.

Places like this thrived in the epicenter of a bustling and robust city; for there were too many sore eyes to notice the decay. Her resolve to cure the festering disease that lingered in wait had signed off her future like a bad check. One day it would bounce; her breath simply turned to air for another to consume. If she were smarter, or far more self perserving, she would have turned and walked away when the chance presented itself. Yet, she had to know the truth of the night her mother was murdered. Why did she come to this place, to this very room, studded in the dreary bleakness they already toiled beneath. No one, not even the goddamn police commissioner of this forsake city, could leverage the heel of revenge bareknuckle justice that pressed down on her fleshy throat and continued to apply pressure.

"Lost?" Aiyla's wiry shoulders pulling back taunt, like the strings of a marionette handled too roughly. It was a sorrowful effort to imitate some sense of confidence, like his, a vow of sameness in an unknown land. His honeyed drawl left her teeth on edge; a unforeseen obstacle fashioned in two prying eyes. "I actually just moved in," she reached into her purse for whatever miscellaneous key had been produced. Her gaze sharpened to safeguard her secrets in the tight corridor. "Are you sure you're not lost, mister, or are you faking the accent?" Aiyla's head cocked to the side in a lame attempt challenge his curiosity. Maybe, just maybe, her protest will be enough to exhaust his interest.

The door that held the very last string she could play was just within reach but so far away.

           a warm body in ivory tangled bed sheets served to be the alibi left behind a closed door that never shut quite right, less it be slammed. a promise to return, of which the blond figure would only succumb to with a cigarette dangling between his lips and a right turn by the late night diner after a cup of coffee suited for an insomniac. you'd know the diner, the one on the corner with a neon sign where the ‘ n ’ and ‘ r ’ were burnt out, illuminating the new york night with a prophetic symbol.  oh the irony, a flashing reminder for when the man who reeked of cheap liqueur and tobacco standing on the corner failed to slur placated profanities could just point a bandaged finger to that sign. it said it all for him — much like the unspoken sentiment echoing in each creek of the old building. a turn past the last door on the left snagged his attention, for much like every other worn door, behind it secrets lurked. his steps slowed to a stop, turning just by number 411 and he waited, tall frame leaning closer until again. hushed whispers warning another who'd dared to let out a shrill gasp. but jesse, like most, had been a man of self preservation and business that did not revolve around threats to his own life, money or lifestyle fell on deaf ears, imperceptibly passed off to be nothing more than another creak in an old building. and so, he walks. his eyes, hard, found in the dim lighting of the hall never make it past that room, 411 before he caught sight of her. like a flower growing in the middle of winter, she, in all the doe eyed nature possessed by a single glance, she doesn't belong. his protracted stare warrants as much, but like the man on the corner, sometimes pointing to the obvious just doesn't cut it. “ you take a wrong turn on the yellow brick road there, dorothy? ” a southern inflection pulled at every word, hidden amongst the desired native accent he'd failed to acquire some decades ago. “ you're looking real lost right about now, kid. ”

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Matthew elected to ignore the sardonic quip that flowed so confidently from Henri. The potent taste of his suspicion brought an ache that wedged deep between his ribs; a pain worse than the injuries that ravished his bones. His personal circle grew smaller by each passing day. Another person lost to the diamond studded lust of this city or plagued by death. He couldn't bare to watch another one slip away because of the choice Matthew decided to make by deceiving him. The truth sat on the tip of his tongue like a dagger scrapping against the roof of his mouth. All he had to do was open up. "Dare I say that was his way of shooting his shot with you? A young strapping lad like him using a mere water bottle to get close to you. Henri you've still got it, my friend." He deflected like he had been taught before the silver spoon sat comfortably between his lips. "You got me," he rose his hands up with a feigned wince to sell the beating. Matthew grew accustom to the bump and scraps; the pain signaling that he was still alive beneath the thick shell of his trauma. "When was the last time you were jumped? Everyone along the Hudson knows who your father is. Beating your entitled ass would be an easy jump to three hots and a cot at Rikers."

            “ steve from accounting asked me to open his water bottle last time i saw him. ” henri’s accusatory gesture hadn’t gone unwarranted, though maybe it should have, with incessant, protracted blinks that rendered any further action useless in making his point. “ be honest, ” he paused, “ did you get jumped? ” the only plausible explanation henri could fathom looking at his childhood best friend, a boy who'd been allotted a silver spooned upbringing and biggest challenge was the kid who threatened him, like he did ever other boy a foot shorter than the school bully, for lunch money. “ happened to me before, and plenty of other people. ” or so henri would say, setting up his own tall tale for when he too would inevitably be caught with the marks that claimed a secret neither dared to share.

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MELISA ASLI PAMUK  |   1.05 ﹣ Erkeğe Güven Olmaz (E.G.O)

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"I told you it was a freak accident at the racket ball court downstairs. Steve, from accounting, has a freakishly strong serving game." Matthew's tale fringed dangerously on too ridiculous to believe at this point. Although, if he ever decided to be truthful about his nightly activity, he swore they wouldn't believe him; and most likely question his mental capacity. "It doesn't even hurt." @phantomfable

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"You called and I came," the disgust in her elusion to loyalty etching between her brows. "Consider this how you've chosen to cash in your one time favor owed. Speak up, I've got another appointment in twenty." @phantomfable

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The distance sounds of the street permeated through the pristine halls that sat vacant for the evening. Even after an afternoon filled with shuffling feet and the squeaky wheels of strollers, the floors of museum shined with a pearlescent glow; a place dotted with such a long, winding history of status and exclusivity. He almost scoffed at the sanctity that it still managed to retain in his mind. He no longer wore the deprivity of his childhood on his shoulder looking for meaning but basking in the empire he built in the ruins. It was what pushed him to come here to finish one last piece of business for the day. "Rembrandt never shied away from the dark," his ringed fingers waving thoughtfully at the painting, Man with a magnifying glass, depicting of a man draped in decadence with sunk eyes that cut through dark background. "He leaned into because it was necessary to for the viewer to search for the light. You see a man overtly proud but ever consumed by the dark." The velvety cadence that cut between each syllable did little to hide the cruelty in his gaze. Armin finally turned to the well worn person bound to the bench that sat before it. The cold, glinting barrel of his pistol passing delicately along their jaw, a reminder to keep their eyes on him as his metaphor sprang to life. "Have you become too proud? Too self important for the role I've appointed you? Hm," he questioned with a feigned sense of betrayal. "How can I, as the head of this family, listen to you beg for leniency when that you've been stealing from the very mouths I've been toiling so hard to feed? Does that seem fair to you?" His body acted on its own accord, jamming the barrel beneath supple flesh beneath their chin. "What would be the best way to make this right?" He turned his head to engage the onlooker who lingered in the shadows. @phantomfable

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If you're reading this, chances are I'm dead..

Those were the words she should have etched into the leather bound notepad swimming at the bottom of her purse. Instead, it was the jumbled thoughts and long forgotten grocery list she scribbled there. Aiyla didn't make it a habit to break the law unless the truth stood somewhere beyond it. With another tip from a seedy homeless man on 42nd street, she slipped between the bustling throng of tourists towards a dingier apartment building hidden beneath the chaos of the theater district. Her fingers passed over the crossed names above the buzzers, pressing each without discrimination before sweeping into the shadow of a maintenance man who barely noticed her. She took the stairs to ensure no one really got a good look at her in the elevator. Her gaze swept through the vacant hallway before she floated closer to her final destination. @phantomfable

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TITANS – Dick & Carol & Ted & Kory (S04E08) ››› Brenton Thwaites as Dick Grayson / Nightwing

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OSCAR ISAAC VULTURE (2023)

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JODIE COMER 76th Annual Tony Awards “Meet The Nominees” Press Event, May 4th 2023

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CEMRE BAYSEL via sertac kolay’s instagram

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So I'll go back to L.A...and wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles I'm faking