punkchestnuts

[punkchestnuts]

one door closes and another one opens, final part

—

The next time Hilal wakes up, it’s still dark. But she knows where she is, and she feels rested. After Ali Kemal came home last night, the rest of the evening passed by quietly. They said their good nights once the dishes were cleared, and if Leon and Hilal shared lingering smiles at each other before retiring for the night, Ali Kemal had not noticed (or pretended not to notice).

The sun hasn’t come up yet, but Hilal has never been the one to go back to sleep once she wakes up, thanks to her job. She gets up from the sofa, folds the blankets, and arranges the pillows so that they’re ready to be returned to the linen closet or the washing machine. Any remnants from last night’s short movie screening had been cleaned off, and it’s only her phone sitting on the coffee table. It’s long been charged, and she realizes she has gotten up before her alarm once she checks the time.

She takes the small bag Ali Kemal brought her last night, and as quietly as she can, she walks to the bathroom to shower.

Yesterday, when she first came to Ali Kemal’s apartment, she was too tired to acknowledge the fatigue that was so obvious in her features. She remembers looking at the mirror after the shower to see pale skin, heavy eye bags, and slightly chapped lips. It’s different than what she sees now. Fresh from a hot shower, there’s a little bit more color to her skin, her eyes are still tired but a little better than yesterday’s, her lips are still chapped, but overall, she looks and feels better than she did the day before.

She’s surprised to find her little make-up kit inside the bag Ali Kemal brought from her locker. She keeps the kit in her locker for emergencies, and of course, for sudden invites outside the hospital. She doesn’t necessarily need the make-up kit now, since all she has planned for the day is to go home and hopefully sit on her own couch and cook her own food. But she finds herself zipping the kit open, something in the back of her mind telling her to just put on a little bit of lip gloss.

“They are a little dry,” she reasons and puts on some gloss, but continues to fill in her brows. This is her minimal make-up routine anyhow, and it does achieve the feeling of being ready for the day.

She stares at her reflection for a few minutes. Leon’s comment about her being just as pretty as her older sister suddenly rings through her mind. Remembering it makes her blush a little. It’s not that she’s never had comments or compliments about her being beautiful (she’s definitely had some of her co-workers ask her out on a date), it’s the fact that every time she gets a comment like that, she doesn’t actually believe it. She can admit that she’s not plain, but she can’t say that she’s pretty. When she thinks ‘pretty’ she thinks of her older sister, and it goes beyond just her looks. Yildiz had the unique Mediterranean features of dark hair and green eyes, and people see that as ‘exotic’, and it works like a charm. That’s what draws people in. But Yildiz also had a confident and charismatic personality, and that’s what makes people stay.

Hilal, on the other hand, with her chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, is a common look. She knows this. She gets compliments about her eyes, and that’s probably one of her physical features that she accepts as pretty. She does draw people in, in her own way, but she doesn’t have her sister’s charisma or confidence. Hilal has stubbornness and intensity that intimidate people.

As loath as she is to admit it, Hilal knows and can’t help but compare herself with her older sister. After all, she would not have coped well with their parents’ death without her, and the only reason she was able to become the woman that she is is because her older sister allowed her to do so. In a way, Yildiz is her role model.

But honestly, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Leon’s comment about her being pretty didn’t make her embarrassed because she didn’t believe it; she’s embarrassed because she wants to believe it. She snorts at herself for realizing this because of a guy, but she honestly feels seen by Leon, and she doesn’t exactly know what to make of that. She’s not used to the feeling of being seen or being the center of attention.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and it breaks Hilal out of her reflection (literally and figuratively). She suddenly realizes how long she’s been in there, and the brothers might have woken up already.

“Sorry, I’ll be right out,” she says and begins cleaning up her stuff.

“No worries, take your time,” the voice outside the door says. She isn’t entirely sure who it is, but she makes quick work of dropping her used towel and borrowed sleep clothes into the laundry hamper by the sink. When she opens the door, it’s Leon leaning against the opposite wall. He’s wearing a simple white shirt with an Amnesty International logo on his chest and navy blue sweatpants. His hair is unkempt from sleep. Compared to his pressed shirt and slacks, he looks cute like this.

She mentally shakes herself out of the thought.

“Good morning,” she greets and gives him a small smile.

“Good morning,” he smiles back. “Rest well?”

She nods. “Yeah. Sorry, bathroom’s free.”

“Thanks,” he says. She steps away from the doorway to allow him room. The door closes with a soft click, and she walks to the kitchen. It’s nearly 6 am the next time she checks her phone.

She takes the liberty to make coffee, since she’s not the only one awake now, and there are a few minutes of confusion as to how to operate Ali Kemal’s coffee machine before actually making it work. The coffee machine sputters and bubbles, and Hilal takes the opportunity to check her email and her work chat.

There’s an email about a design newsletter she’s subscribed to. Another from a gardening one, and a few newsletters she’s subscribed to in the past, but never got to unsubscribe. She deletes those without reading them.

Her only messages consisted of the head nurse telling her to take another day off, and Yildiz telling her that she’ll be coming home and talking to Hristos about the door situation. (Yildiz historically has had a lot more success in talking to their landlord than Hilal.) She gives her head nurse an appropriate reply, and to her sister: “Okay, will be coming home in a bit too. What did H say?”

“Hey,” Leon walks into the kitchen, and Hilal pockets her phone. “Coffee’s ready, I think.” He checks the machine, and Hilal makes a move to grab some mugs. She has a vague idea as to where they are, based on watching Leon cook last night, and hopes she’s opening the right one.

She does, and she smiles in victory. She grabs two mismatched mugs from the cupboard and hands one to Leon. Their fingers brush momentarily, and she brushes away the fluster.

“Do you have yours with milk or sugar?” Leon asks as he begins pouring coffee into both their mugs.

“Just black,” she says.

“Got it,” he nods.

They drink their coffee in silence, each choosing to lean against opposite sides of the kitchen.

Leon clears his throat. “You’re going back today, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yildiz says she’s talked to our landlord. I hope I can sleep in my own bed tonight. What about you? Will you be busy saving the day?”

He laughs. “You make it more exciting than it is. It’s just a meeting. And it’s still in the afternoon.”

She shrugs. “Social justice is a little bureaucratic.”

He smiles. “Do you have to go back to work today?” he asks after a beat.

“No, my head nurse gave me the day off.”

Leon stands straighter as he places his mug on the counter. He clears his throat again. “I’m here for a few days before I head back to New York.”

She nods, although she doesn’t understand why he’s telling her this.

“So… I’m wondering if you’d have time to get some coffee…or dinner? Or brunch, if that’s what you prefer.” His eyes keep drifting away from her, and his ears are turning red. He’s embarrassed, and Hilal realizes that he’s trying to ask her out.

This causes her to blush, too.

“Oh,” she says dumbly. “That’s…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, though. I might have read everything wrong, but please, don’t feel pressured to say yes.”

He is adorable, Hilal thinks. But she also cannot believe that she’s being asked out on a date by someone she’s never been more attracted to.

She doesn’t realize she’s taking a while to answer him when Ali Kemal suddenly steps into the kitchen. “End the poor guy’s misery and just say yes,” he says as he casually pours himself a coffee.

“Dude, can you not?” Leon snipes at his brother.

“What? I’m helping,” Ali Kemal shrugs.

“Seriously, you’re not,” Leon frowns and glares at her brother.

Ali Kemal sighs dramatically. “Oh-kayyyyy. I’m going to get croissants and breakfast bagels, and I will not be back in 30 minutes.” He places his mug down and walks over to his brother to pat him on the shoulder. “Now don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, little brother.”

“Fuck off,” Leon swats his brother’s hand away. Ali Kemal just laughs.

“Potty mouth, this one,” Ali Kemal shakes his head. “Oh, and Hilal, if you think he makes good pasta, just imagine his baklavas.” He leaves after that. They wait for the front door to shut before braving a look at Leon.

“Excuse my brother.” Leon clears his throat. “He tends to be…”

“Meddlesome?”

He chuckles. “Yes…and a pain in the ass, sometimes.”

“Older siblings can be like that,” she agrees.

It’s her turn to clear her throat. “And about your question…”

Leon perks, his face looking at her seriously.

“I go back to work tomorrow. I work the dead shifts, so I can’t do dinner.”

His expression deflates for a second. “Are you saying no just to dinner?”

“I can do brunch or coffee the day after next,” she smiles.

The smile that forms on his lips is beautiful, and Hilal looks away because the heat on her cheeks is getting too much. She can’t stop smiling, though, and even though her heart is beating so loudly, she can feel it drumming in her ears, she feels elated.

Leon walks up to her. “If that’s the case, then,” he says and whips up his phone for her to take. “We’ve skipped a few steps, but I’m still hoping you’d give me your number.”

She laughs. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, but takes his phone anyway. “You would have gotten it from Ali Kemal anyway.”

“Nah, it’s better to ask you directly.” He watches her punch in her number and save her contact with a simple ‘Hilal’.

“Here. Now what?” she hands him his phone back with a playful glint in her eyes.

Leon grins at her and pockets his phone. “Now,” he declares. “Now, I’m hoping you’re free for brunch today…or if I should make you my baklava, just in case my brother’s helpful comments have set an impossible standard.”

She snorts. “You don’t actually have to make baklava for brunch.” She looks away, shy all of a sudden. “Maybe make that next time.”

“Next time?” His grin couldn’t have gotten wider. “We haven’t even gotten to one date yet, and we’re already setting up a third one.”

“Shut up,” she shakes her head, but still smiling. “So what do you suggest for brunch?”

Leon's grin softens slightly, his eyes holding hers. "Honestly? I’m okay with anywhere. I’m just happy you said yes.” He straightens. “But if you’re looking for suggestions, there’s this great cafe near the park. Or we could toast the leftover bread from last night, and eat it on the couch if you’re still tired.”

Hilal considers him, feeling at ease. “The cafe sounds great. Although anywhere does work.”

She smiles at him, only to realize she already is, and he’s mirroring it back to her. Leon had been talking about decisions last night. She’s not entirely sure about love at first sight, and she can’t decide on that just yet, but she knows that this is a door opening for her. She decides to walk through it, and she’s excited to see the what’s on the other side.

[punkchestnuts]

one door closes, and another one opens, part 3

crossposted at ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50905135/chapters/170855074

——

If Hilal has to be completely honest, she’d admit that she doesn’t know much about relationships and romance. In the beginning, you could say that life got in the way of actively pursuing any type of relationships. Their parents passed away shortly after she entered university, and although they left some money for the sisters to live comfortably for a while, it wasn’t enough by any means to keep the house for the long term.

Naturally the first priority was to save up some money. She and Yildiz had to sell the house and some of their stuff, keeping the ones with sentimental and emotional value in storage until further notice. Yildiz had just graduated from university and had started working at a small family clinic (the pay was shit, but the work was decent and fulfilling), and Hilal, who had gotten a full scholarship had to find part-time work. (She eventually found one as an assistant librarian at the university. It was actually great considering that it gave her the excuse to study during the slow hours of the library. It just meant she couldn’t when it was exam season.)

It was like that for the first few years, and the sisters were able to get some sort of stability. The money was still tight, but they were just glad to live just above the poverty line.

But even without the financial insecurity, it was difficult enough to find time to socialize and date when you had a scholarship to maintain. Hilal had to be on top of her grades just so she wouldn’t lose it. The combination of working and studying at the same time didn’t really leave any time for other things. Although there were invites to hang out, and even a few brave souls asking her out on a date, Hilal had been too tired and too anxious to go.

It was more difficult when Hilal graduated. Yildiz finally left the clinic and was finding work at a private hospital, and Hilal herself had to go look for work. When she did, the priorities shifted once again. What time she had for herself after work, she spent on taking care of herself and her sister.

She didn’t have the same luck and might as Yildiz in the love and relationships departments however. Yildiz seems to have the superpower of finding time to do everything and accomplish anything with her limited free time. Despite the full time job, her sister manages to squeeze in a date or two, to meet up with friends, and to cultivate hobbies like crocheting and scrapbooking. She’s like a full-time mother on Ritalin.

In the meantime, all that Hilal has to show for are half-hearted crushes and missed opportunities. At least in the beginning, she had the excuse of life being a bitch. But now she couldn’t really say.

She is no stranger to crushes and attraction, of course, and she feels the beginnings of one on Leon. Who wouldn’t? The man was polite, he had a good job, he can cook, and he was physically attractive. Weren’t all these the features of a good significant other? But of course, being so out of the game (if she had ever been a player at all), she had no idea how to act on that attraction. And who was she to assume that the other man felt the same way that she did? He was, after all, a man who felt deeply for humanity, and Hilal wouldn’t be surprised if he did all these just to be kind.

But then again, crushes are harmless aren’t they? And besides, she trusts his kindness, recognizes his sincerity, and sees a kindred spirit. Even if the crush is one-sided, she believes that she could be good friends with Leon.

That being said, Hilal isn't above being embarassed when she realizes she's finished the food on her plate long before Leon. The pasta is good and aglio e olio is the easiest to fuck up in the pasta scale. Neeembarrasseddless to say, Leon made the pasta in such a way that an Italian nonna would probably approve of.

She places the fork in the middle of the plate and suddenly feels awkward, not knowing what to do. She's been to Ali Kemal’s place a handful of times so she's not confident enough to grab a glass of water or steal a can of soda on the fridge.

Leon notices this and offers her some of the bread left over. “Would you like a glass of water?” he asks but doesn't wait for an answer. He's already grabbing a glass from one of the cupboards before Hilal can protest, so she wordlessly watches him take a bottle of soda water from the fridge and pours her a drink. (She helps herself to another piece of the garlic bread. Leon has skills, and it's both infuriating and very, very attractive.)

He places the glass by her plate and shoots her a smile. “I'm glad to see you enjoyed the food.”

“Honestly doesn't say much when I basically went through a 48-hour shift without a proper meal.” Hilal takes a big chunk of bread and pops it into her mouth to keep from smiling too widely.

Leon raises a brow at her. “Careful, that can be understood as an invitation to have me cook for you again.”

Hilal almost chokes on the bread, but immediately gulps down the water just so she won't answer that. He returns to his seat and continues to smile at her. “In all honesty though, a 48-hour shift or no, I like it when people like the food I make. It’s a little anxiety-relieving.”

She snorts in disbelief. “You were just bragging about being a good cook not long ago.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I did. But it’s different when you’re cooking for someone who’s not family or a friend.”

“I get that. That’s why I let my older sister do the cooking when we have guests. That, or I just order some food.”

Leon laughs with her. “You can never go wrong with take-out.” She continues to munch on her bread, as he finishes the rest of his pasta. He leans back on his chair in content. “Do you drink wine?” he asks.

“Is it really a good idea to accept a drink from a stranger?” Hilal asks playfully.

Leon narrows his eyes at her with playful disbelief on his lips. “You can open the bottle yourself if you want.” He pulls the refrigerator door open and takes a bottle of wine out. “As you can see, little miss,” he says, showing her the bottle. “It is very much still unopened. Therefore, any indications of me tampering with it are not possible.”

She just chuckles and he continues to smile at her.

“Would you like a glass or not? I'll let you pour your drink too,” Leon offers.

And frankly, with a smile like that, how can Hilal refuse? She nods. “Sure, sounds good.”

Leon turns to grab at the cupboard door, leaving the bottle for her to unwrap.

“I've never heard of this one before,” Hilal remarks, reading the label. “Chianti?”

He returns with two wine glasses and a corkscrew on the other. “Yes. It's a wine from somewhere in Tuscany, I think. It pairs well with the pasta, supposedly. I would've offered it sooner but I was busy trying to convince you that I wasn't a serial killer with a penchant for lacing food.”

Hilal scoffs and takes the corkscrew from him. “So you’re a wine connoisseur too.” He doesn't bat an eyelash when she starts opening the bottle.

“Not really,” he shrugs and leans his hip against the kitchen island. “You need help with that?”

“No, thank you,” she says although she has trouble pulling the cork out. She manages after a few tugs and even brandishes the loosened cork in victory.

Leon just laughs as she sets the bottle back on the table to let it breathe. “Anyway, I don't know much about wine, but the stuff I know I learned from my mother. She's a restaurateur so she knows a thing or two about them.”

“I’m impressed. That’s totally on brand for you.” Hilal comments as she leans against the table on her elbows. “What’s next? Did you go to a fancy private school? Went to equestrian summer camp?”

He laughs again and shakes his head. “Close. Math camp.”

She furrows her eyebrows, “Math camp is a thing?”

“Unfortunately,” Leon says. “Didn’t make sense for a future lawyer, but my mother insisted.”

“At least it spruces up your resume.” Hilal still takes the bottle and pours generous amounts on both their glasses.

“What about you?” Leon inquiresinto after a sip.

The wine is good, Hilal has to admit. She doesn’t know how different it is with the other wines she’s tried, but it’s not one of those bitter wines she hates, and that’s something.

“What about me?” she asks. “Did I go to Math camp too? Of course not. Couldn’t afford it.”

“I wasn’t asking about camp. I meant your family? What do your parents do?”

“Oh. Well…” Hilal starts, finding herself momentarily uncomfortable. Even after years, her parents passed away, it’s awkward to tell people that they’re gone and that you’re basically an orphan. “My parents were scholars. They travelled a lot for conferences and research tours, they used to take us when they could.”

There were a few seconds of silence as Hilal let Leon take in the information, and the use of the past tense to refer to her parents. The soft smile on his face drops when he realizes. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t need to talk to them if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay,” Hilal says. “It happened a long time ago, and I suppose it does get easier with time. It’s just very weird to tell people that my parents are gone. It’s not usually the case for everybody.”

Leon nod, and she finds herself reaching for her glass of wine and tapping on the neck.

“You mentioned a sister,” Leon says, clearing his throat. Hilal suddenly feels bad for the dip in atmosphere.

“Oh yeah, actually.” Hilal nods. “Yildiz, my sister. She’s older by a few years. She’s the one who introduced me to Ali Kemal.”

“Ah,” he nods. “Ali Kemal has mentioned her a few times. I didn’t know she was your sister.”

“Yeah, it isn’t obvious at first. She’s super pretty, and she takes after our mom.” She takes another sip of wine. “Wait, you know of Yildiz. So, does that mean that Ali Kemal talks about her a lot?”

“Enough to know that he has a crush on her,” Leon says with a bit of a smirk. “Also, you’re pretty too, you know.”

She splutters on her drink. “What?”

“You said your sister is super pretty, as if that’s a big distinction between you two. But I think that only makes sense… You know. That you’re pretty too…and that you’re sisters.” Leon doesn’t look at her when he says this, as if he’s only thinking about what he’s saying at the moment. It gives her the courage to stare him down a little.

No. She refuses to get flustered by this.

“Anyway,” Leon stands up and clears his throat. The blush in his cheeks is obvious. It’s good to know she’s not the only one feeling embarrassed. “Why don’t you take your glass and the bottle back to the living room? I’ll start cleaning up in here.”

“Oh, no, I can help.” Hilal stands up as well, already reaching for the forgotten plates. The awkward tension dissipates almost immediately.

“No, you’re a guest.” Leon says. “And if there’s anything my mother has taught me, guests should relax. Just let me.”

He holds her stare for a short while. His cheeks are still a little flushed, and it looks very good on him. There’s something deep in his brown eyes that just gives way for Hilal to sit back on her chair and let him take the plates away.

“Feel free to turn on the TV,” Leon adds. The clinking of the silverware against porcelain was loud in the otherwise silent kitchen.

“Okay,” she just says and grabs her glass. She walks back to the living room and immediately fixes the blankets and pillows she slept in for the past hours. Something in the back of her mind tells her that there needs to be more room in case Leon joins her on the couch. She mentally slaps herself for the thought and drinks the rest of her wine.

There are no new messages on her phone, so she leaves her phone charging on the side. She finds the remote to the TV and obediently sets herself up to look for a low-key movie.

There are a lot of new movies available on the streaming service, but she’s momentarily distracted by the sound of running water and low whistling in the kitchen. She feels awfully warm and content, and she can’t put an exact name to whatever it is. She shakes herself off the mental train again, and finally settles on a rom-com

She’s a good few minutes into the movie when Leon steps into the room. He graciously refills her wine glass (which she left empty on the coffee table) and smiles at her as he sits beside her. She doesn’t want to pay attention to the fact that the man beside her has undone a few buttons on his shirt, and the apron is finally off. He’s close enough for her to get a whiff of his cologne, and Hilal has to physically pinch herself (surreptitiously did so, pretending to scratch an itch at her neck) from leaning closer to get a full smell of it. (She doesn’t want to admit how much of a creep she’s being.)

“I brought dessert,” Leon says, breaking her from her stupor once again. She looks at him, and he gestures towards the coffee table. True enough, there is a sealed box there. The box has a small logo of a café she isn’t familiar with. “And you can open it yourself, so you know I did nothing to it before you eat it.”

She snorts. but takes the box off the table, ignoring the movie momentarily. She easily takes the plastic sticker, keeping the box sealed off, and immediately smells chocolate. There are four slices of brownies in the box, perfectly seated against each other. “Oh wow,” she says dumbly. “Thank you,” she says, looking at Leon.

“No worries,” he says and gestures for her to get one. She doesn’t need more prompting and eventually takes one piece before handing the box to Leon. He accepts it with thanks and grabs one as well.

The brownie is divine. “Oh my God, where did you get this?”

Leon chuckles and takes a brownie for himself.“It’s from the bakery down the street. They used to be a client of mine, and I visit every time I’m in town. It helps that the owners give me a discount.”

“In my five years being a nurse, I have never gotten a patient or a patient’s family to give me a box of brownies. I am so envious,” she says.

“Poor you. You can have the entire box then,” Leon says with a little more weight. They look at each other, and there is that feeling again. It’s Hilal who shakes herself off of whatever this is. She clears her throat and pretends to savor the brownie.

“I’ve seen this movie before,” Leon says after a minute or so. “This is the one with the Shakespeare references.”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,” she says. “But I love the dialogue so far.” The two leads are in the airport cafeteria, discussing mayonnaise.

“It’s aptly named,” Leon continues. He finishes his brownie, and Hilal looks at him in time to see him licking the crumbs and the fudge off his fingers. She looks away quickly. “They really did fall in love at first sight,” he says. “With a bit of a realistic twist to it.”

She looks back at him. “How can love at first sight be realistic?”

He shrugs. “It happens. It doesn’t happen to everybody, but it happens.”

“Yeah, but can you honestly say that you can fall in love with someone just by looking at them for the first time? Isn’t that a little shallow?”

“Probably,” Leon says. “But you have to be realistic too, you don’t get attracted to nice personalities at first sight, either. It’s part of nature to be attracted by what we see.”

“Then you agree, it’s not love at first sight. It’s more attraction at first sight.”

Leon chuckles at her. “To some degree. But attraction can often lead to love.”

Hilal looks at him incredulously. “You don’t seriously believe in that?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asks, a challenge in his eyes. “I’m the who watched the movie, so why don’t we just continue, and you’ll see what I mean,” Leon suggests.

Without answering, Hilal holds his gaze and grabs the remote to rewind the movie to the beginning. She takes her eyes off him once the beginning narration starts again. He does the same, and the two begin to get comfortable.

Soon enough, the brownies and the wine are devoured, and more snacks are procured from the kitchen. The coffee table begins to see a steady flow of snack wrappers, and the bottle of wine gets replaced with a few of Ali Kemal’s soda cans. They are minutes into the movie when Hilal grabs the blanket she set aside to drape over her lap, but pretty soon the blanket is shared between them. Their distance on the couch decreases as each argument happens over the realism of the scenes they’re watching.

“You honestly can’t tell me that asking for someone’s contact information isn’t the third thing you ask for when you get to know them!” Hilal argues just after the scene where the female main character drops her phone and loses the male lead’s phone number.

“It happens!” Leon says, laughing. “And you have to admit, it’s for the plot.”

“That’s not the point! Either of them could have asked for each other’s information during the plane ride!”

“Come on, that’s asking for too much. I mean, you haven’t asked for my number yet, and I’ve made you dinner, and now we’re sharing a blanket. We’ve definitely skipped a few steps before getting here.”

Hilal goes silent, and is horrified when she feels herself get warm. Leon looks satisfied, evidently noticing her blushing. She huffs and turns away. “Let’s just watch the movie,” she says, consciously moving just a tiny bit away from the man beside her.

Leon doesn’t say anything else, but acquiesces.

The movie continues and ends. The end credits are rolling, and Hilal turns to look at Leon. “So?” He prompts. “Still unrealistic?”

“It’s cute,” she says. “But my beliefs stand.”

Leon scoffs, “Okay, do explain.”

“The whole premise of falling in love at first sight was challenged at the very beginning. There were obstacles, and there was disenchantment once they got to see their ugly sides. It’s infatuation at first sight, because at that point they realized they couldn’t love that person.”

“Ah, but they did, though. The movie did challenge the idea of falling in love at first sight, but it also showed how one gets to decide about it. It isn’t fate that you like a person immediately; you get to decide whether or not you should pursue it.”

“Then doesn’t that already debunk the point you’re trying to make?”

“The point I was trying to make is that falling in love at first sight can be realistic. I’m doing a good job so far, if I do say so myself.”

Hilal scoffs. “Don’t mean to tell me that just because you argue for a living, you get to win this one.”

“Oh, but I’m not. I just have a point.”

“Which you haven’t actually made yet!”

Leon laughs. “The point is, falling in love at first sight isn’t fate or a phenomenon. It’s a decision. And that’s what makes the movie realistic.”

He lets the point settle. “And you shouldn’t be fighting me on this, because admit it, you liked it.”

She scoffs. “That would mean admitting you’re right, and me admitting that I’m wrong.”

“And what’s so bad about that?” he asks. “You can win the next argument.”

Hilal snorts and snatches the rest of the blanket from his side. “You’re cocky. I am not arguing with you anymore.”

“Now that’s an invitation for another argument,” Leon teases, and she can’t help it. She grabs the nearest pillow and hits him with it.

He looks surprised. “You did not just hit me with a pillow.”

“Are you going to argue against the reality of what just happened?” She hits him again with the pillow. “How about that?” And she hits him again for good measure.

“You’re going to regret that,” he says.

“Threatening now, are we?”

He smiles drily, and lunges at her. His hands find its way to her sides, poking and tickling her. She squeals and laughs at the same time. She falls on her back, and he follows, continuing the assault.

“No—stop!” she wheezes. He has a tight grip, and he’s relentless with the tickling. She pleads with no avail, until finally, the tickling has stopped. But they don’t stop laughing, and when they do, they realize the position that they’re in.

She’s on her back, he’s on his elbows, looking down on her. His hands are still on her, and she feels his thumb running slow circles on her waist. She’s once again, suddenly aware that she’s not wearing a bra. Thank God her shirt didn’t ride up during the tickling assault. That would have been horrifying.

“Is this okay?” Leon asks softly. “Do you want me to get off of you?”

She gulps, and his eyes follow the action. Hilal doesn’t know what to say because she doesn’t know if she wants him to stay like this. It’s not bad. But it’s not doing good things to her blood pressure, that’s for sure.

“Hilal,” he says. “Words. You have to say it.”

Hilal doesn’t know what possesses her, but instead of saying anything, she reaches upward and touches his cheek. He sighs, and she feels the exhale of breath on her palm. She’s caressing his face, and his grip on her waist goes tighter. She feels his touch burn, and she feels her breath get heavier.

“Hilal,” he says her name again, insisting.

“Leon,” she says his name back. “Go ahead.” She gives him permission, to what, she vaguely knows.

He’s bending closer, and then the front door bangs open. “Hello! I’m back!” Ali Kemal’s voice rings loud in the entire apartment.

Leon and Hilal immediately spring apart. Leon steps away from the sofa, and is already halfway to greet his brother, and Hilal sits back, gathering the blankets to hopefully have them swallow her whole.

She vaguely hears Ali Kemal and Leon talking in the hallway. Minutes later, Ali Kemal pops inside the living room.

“Hey, Hilal, how are you doing?”

“Hi, AK, I’m good. Thanks for letting me crash,” she says with a little wave.

“No problem. You’ve met Leon. He didn’t give you a bad time, I hope.”

She doesn’t want to think about their closeness just minutes ago. “No, he’s been a good host.”

“Good. I’ve brought some fried chicken if you’re still hungry.” He then eyes the mess on the coffee table. “But I see you two have already raided my pantry.”

“Sorry, I’ll pay you back for them,” she says, getting up to start cleaning up.

“Hey, that’s not a problem,” Ali Kemal says. “And stop cleaning up, let Leon do it.” He calls for his younger brother then. “Also, Yildiz told me to go to the hospital, and told me to give you these.” He hands her a small bag. “I think wearing your own clothes will be much more comfortable than borrowed ones.”

“Oh, thanks,” she says when she sees some of her clothes in the bag. It’s the clothes she keeps in her locker at the hospital. Yildiz probably asked the head nurse to pack them up for her. “I appreciate this, thanks so much, AK.”

Leon steps into the living room, and he helps clean up the mess. “Do you need tea or anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, Leon,” she says, horrified at how shy her voice had become.

“Okay,” he just smiles.

[punkchestnuts]

One door closes, and another one opens, part 2

Crossposted at ao3.

Trigger warning: mentions of violence, child abuse, abortion, blood, and attempted su!c1d3

The part containing these is just a paragraph, but can be skipped. The indicator is ///. You can continue reading after the second ///.

Please take care.

—-

It’s the curtains she sees first when she comes to. It’s a sheer grey fabric instead of the maroon ones she has in her room and she stirs at the realization. She’s not in her bed either because the surface she's laying in is firmer; she can smell a faint citrusy smell that isn’t the kind she or Yildiz use on their own laundry. It takes her a few seconds to register that she’s not in her apartment, and to remember why she’s at Ali Kemal’s couch.

She’s not entirely sure how long she’s been asleep for. She didn’t leave any lights on when she went to sleep, and she sure as hell didn’t put in any alarms to remind her how many hours she wanted to sleep for. She stretches and snuggles closer to a pillow, knowing she doesn’t really care how many hours she slept, only that she is able to sleep at all.

Speaking of alarms, Hilal doesn’t remember where she placed her phone. It wasn’t on the coffee table across the couch, nor was it lodged in between the cushions; squeezed behind her as she’s wont to do on her own bed (in this case, she just throws the device behind her. She’s a small person, so a single offers her a lot more space than the average person). But because she’s a human being living in a digital age, the anxiety of not knowing where her phone is (which she suspects is dead given its faulty battery life) is more concerning than getting more hours of Z’s.

She sits up and looks around for the device, but she jumps when she realizes she’s not alone as she had expected to be. There’s clanking coming from the kitchen and she can smell a faint whiff of something garlicky and fragrant being made in there. She relaxes when she remembers Ali Kemal telling her he’d be bringing food when he comes back. If she had to be honest about it though, she’d thought the man was bringing take-out instead of actual groceries to be cooked here; not to mention, she’d feel even more embarrassed if he actually does cook for her.

She makes a mental note to thank Ali Hemal for keeping the lights off in the living room.

If Ali Kemal is back, then he's back early. That, or Hilal just slept longer than she thinks.

Which brings her back to her dilemma: her phone.

She didn’t have to look too far because once she sets her feet on the floor, she feels her toe hit something solid and small. Pulling up the rest of the blanket that fell on the floor, she finds her phone face down on the ground. She immediately checks the time. (Pleasantly surprised the thing wasn't completely dead when she tapped on the screen. It still has 3 percent left, but it is impressive all the same.)

It’s nearly 7 pm. She came by at Ali Kemal’s after lunch time, so that makes a good amount of hours spent sleeping. Not enough, but it is a good amount given her already erratic sleeping schedule. If she is honest, she knows she’ll fall back to sleep after some food.

(There aren’t a lot of messages and notifications, besides the one where her sister asking if she’s settled and the head nurse basically asking the same.)

She’s vaguely aware of how hungry she is and the teasing scent of sauteed garlic and mushrooms is enough for her to decide that she food is in order before going back to sleep. Hilal walks into the kitchen only to be completely taken aback when it’s not Ali Kemal inside the kitchen.

She can only see the man’s back but she knows it’s not Ali Kemal. Ali Kemal is broader, his hair darker, and he certainly doesn’t seem the type to be humming to himself as he prepares some food. But the man in the kitchen is just as tall as Ali Kemal, his shoulders are considered broad but it’s accentuated by the slim waist (even more accentuated by the fact the man was wearing a fancy shirt tucked into his pants AND the apron tied around his waist). Hilal stops herself from ogling the stranger and looks for potential weapons.

She has no idea who this man is, and she’s a little wary of the fact that Ali Kemal has never told her about having a roommate nor did he warn her of anyone coming to visit. Ali Kemal is someone who likes his privacy and wouldn’t easily invite people over (hence why Hilal is a little surprised at Ali Kemal’s easy acquiesce to playing the host).

He doesn’t seem to notice her creeping behind him either, and she’s thankful she’s not wearing any slippers; the sound of her steps silence by the thick fabric of her socks.

The man looks too familiar with the place: he’s flipping the pan confidently, humming what sounds like a number from a musical she can’t remember the name to, and he takes a spoon out of a drawer. Clearly he knows his way around the kitchen.

He couldn’t have broken in because she would’ve heard something, and she would’ve woken up to half of Ali Kemal’s things missing from where they’re supposed to be. He doesn’t look like someone who breaks in either, not with the crisp baby blue shirt and the well-fitting trousers (and boy do they fit *well*). That would mean he has a key.

But who would Ali Kemal give a key to his apartment to?

Hilal decides to do something about it. The man’s starting to actually sing and the mushrooms smell amazing, it’s all very distracting.

She clears her throat as loudly as she can. “Excuse me,” she says, interrupting the man who jumps slightly when he hears her. “Who are you?”

The man turns. And honestly? He was hot, and he had a mustache. Who in their youth would want to sport a moustache? But he makes it work. There’s a bit of stubble along his chin and jawline and it should not be attractive as it should. (She doesn’t have an issue with hairy men; she does in fact have fond memories of pulling at her father’s beard when she was a little girl). But facial hair wasn’t something she usually found attractive on a man.

His face is all angles: smooth jawline and a subtle aquiline nose. Hilal mentally shakes herself out of it and glares him down.

He blinks a few times before smiling sheepishly. “Uh, just give me a sec,” he says before clearing his throat and puts a li over the pan. He wipes his hands on the apron and turns towards her, leaning against the counter.

“Hi,” he greets. “You’re awake. Please have a seat.” He gestures to the chair closest to her. “Let me just finish this up really quickly,” he nods towards the pan on the stove. “Please don’t hit me. I promise, I’m a friend. Uh, friendly, at the very least.”

She doesn’t find that hard to believe, but she isn’t any less wary. She doesn’t take a seat, instead crosses her arms across her chest and continues to glare him down. “Excuse me if I don’t believe you.”

The man nods with an understanding smile. He straightens. “Right, I apologize. I’m Leon. Ali Kemal told me you’d be here and I figured you haven’t eaten anything yet.” He looks over his shoulder. “Sorry, I really need to see this,” he says and turns back around to attend to whatever he’s cooking up.

She just lets him finish the food. She watches him grab things from the cupboard and cabinets, further strengthening her initial theory that he is very familiar with the place. He generally moves around the kitchen like he’s made many meals in there many times before. Despite this, Hilal remains wary. This doesn't negate possibility that this man might be a potential serial killer.

In the back of her mind, she’s trying to remember if Ali Kemal did mention a roommate or a significant other that comes and goes in his place. Hilal feels bad if he had and she managed to forget. She actually prides herself for remembering random facts about people, like their birthdays or what their usual orders at cafés are.

There are three possibilities regarding this situation. The first is that she has forgotten if Ali Kemal mentioned anyone living with him (Hilal will definitely feel like the worst person if this is true). The second is that Ali Kemal deliberately didn’t tell her and that the reason why he hasn’t told her earlier is because he isn’t expecting company (she doesn’t know what to feel about this one). Finally, the third is that this man is actually a stranger and he’s getting ready to get Hilal into a false sense of security and kill her at the most opportune moment (now this one is probably the most unlikely, but Hilal *does* like her true crime podcasts and documentaries. Plus, she works at a hospital where she’s heard a lot of stories and handled a lot of cases that involved police investigations—can you blame an imaginative mind?).

Leo(?) is turning off the stove and Hilal watches him drain some pasta in a colander. He takes out two plates from the cupboard and expertly divides the pasta into two before pouring some white sauce onto the top. It smells really good and although Hilal knows pasta is one of the least difficult dishes to do, she has to admit that she’s impressed.

She's further impressed when the man bends over to take something out of the oven—a particular appliance that she just *knows* Ali Kemal never uses (not even for reheating pizza. She bets he uses his microwave for that.)

The smell of butter and the tell-tale scent of freshly baked bread hits her before the man places the tray on the kitchen island and Hilal sees that it is bread (bread!).

Who makes homemade garlic bread? Who has the time and the patience? But then again, the man looks like he could cook anyway, which again, somehow doesn’t surprise her. He looks like the type.

She watches him expertly arrange the food into the plates. The smile he does when he's satisfied with the look definitely doesn't (does) make Hilal’s glare falter. She fixes it back again when the man looks at her with a another smile.

Without missing a beat, he begins to put away the pans and utensils he used. He grabs two forks from a drawer and slides one of the plates towards Hilal. The smile on his face is relentless and she willfully ignores the wayward (but insistent) thought of how attractive he is.

“Pasta aglio e olio,” he says. “I didn’t know what you preferred, but I hope this is okay.”

She eyes the food for a short while before sighing and walking to the kitchen table. She is hungry after all, and the pasta looks *really* good. But she doesn’t sit down yet. “What’s your name again? And how do you know Ali Kemal?”

“I'm Leon,” he says and extends a hand for a handshake. She shakes it hesitantly, and she doesn't want to think about how big his hand looks in comparison to hers. “He’s my older brother,” he adds with another smile. He’s reaching for something behind him and takes a phone out. “I have proof.”

For a second, she thinks he’ll pull up their birth certificates to show her. An absurd thought, but he taps on the screen a few times and hands her the phone. He has to walk around the table just to do it, and Hilal can’t stop herself from noting he smells like garlic and a little bit woody (probably what’s left of his cologne). She hates it that the man smells nice despite just sauteing garlic. She hates it even more that she's picking up all these little things about him as if they were going to matter in the long run.

She mentally shakes her off of the thought (again) and looks at the screen. The first thing she is is Ali Kemal and Leon wearing hideous Christmas sweaters. Ali Kemal is wearing a green one with crocheted patterns of Christmas lights. Leon’s sweater is red with tiny dancing snowmen. Ali Kemal has the other man in a chokehold but both men have smiles on their faces.

“That was take last Christmas. My mom took it and sent me a copy just because,” he says for context. “Saved it because it's the first Christmas he came back home to in years.”

She just nods and swipes to sees a picture of them in tuxedos. They have pink roses pinned to their jackets and they were standing in front of a flower archway. There are chairs behind them with people in soft colors mingling about.

“Cousin's wedding. We both thought that the bride was too good for Alexei, but she keeps him civil at least. Again, my mother took the picture.” There’s a smile in his voice that prevents Hilal from commenting about the fact he’s sharing too much to a total stranger. He looks like he’s enjoying it and Hilal thinks it’s nice that their mother takes photos of them.

“I bet your mother's phone is just filled with pictures of the two of you,” Hilal finds herself saying.

Leon laughs. “Yeah, it is. Don't be surprised when she whips up a few baby photos when you meet her.”

She raises a brow at him and he clears his throat. “Well, she does that to people she's just met. That's just how she is.” He changes the subject by swiping the screen.

The next picture is of them as children. This picture manages to make her smile, as she recognizes a younger, baby-faced Ali Kemal. For all the time she's known him, Ali Kemal always maintained a thick beard. Even when Yildiz showed her pictures of the man during their college days, Ali Kemal already had a forming patch of hair lining his jaw and upper lip. But he never let it grow too big and keeps it as close to his skin as possible. (It is a little unhygienic for a paramedic to sport such a long beard anyway.)

She can also recognize Leon in the picture, although she has to look up and compare the faces she sees on the photo and under the kitchen light.

Ali Kemal and Leon don't seem to have striking similar features. Ali Kemal has a darker shade of brown that it’s almost black, while Leon had a lighter shade. It almost looks chestnut when he’s under direct light. Leon's nose is a little sharper, and Ali Kemal's eyes a little more hooded. Despite that, both share the same shade of brown eyes.

The differences in their appearance may not help the claim that they're brothers, but Hilal doesn't question it too much. After all, she had more differences than similarities with her own sister in terms of physical appearances.

Yildiz has the beautiful dark hair, the olive green eyes, the slim and tall physique which she got from their mother. Hilal has the chestnut brown hair, the blue eyes she got from their father and a slightly curvier and smaller physique.

What they lack in similarity of physical features, they make up for in attitude and virtues. They are both stubborn and passionate like their mother, but brave and unrelenting like their father. Maybe this is the case for Ali Kemal and Leon as well.

There's no way of finding out just yet, though. Yet, she still looks up at Leon expectedly, waiting for a little anecdote about why or who took the picture (she can guess it’s their mother again).

Leon chuckles at the picture. “Oh that,” he smiles even wider, showing off a subtle indent on his cheeks. *Dimples.* Of course he has dimples. Ali Kemal has them too. But damn.

“That picture has a funny story actually.”

It should. The picture of the brothers had them strewn on the floor. Ali Kemal lying on the floor with a chicken leg in hand, and Leon was lying on top of his brother with a chicken wing and an empty bucket of KFC worn like a hat. They were both staring at the photo as if the flash took them by surprise.

“Our dad came home with a bucket of chicken. He’d been away at the time and Ali Kemal and I just pounded on the bucket, completely ignored the parent we hadn’t seen in days.”

“How’d you to end up on the floor?” Hilal asks.

“I wanted the chicken leg but my brother wouldn’t let me have it. Naturally, we wrestled for it. Mom just decided to take a picture.”

Hilal doesn’t allow herself to laugh too hard, but she does laugh. The mental image of two boys fighting over a chicken leg is hilarious and it’s hard to picture someone as posh as Leon wrestling on the floor.

Before she can get carried away, Hilal hands the phone back to Leon who accepts with a satisfied smile. Hilal ignores it but is relieved the man is most likely who he says he is.

"Alright then," she says and crosses her arms against her chest. She's suddenly aware of the fact that she's not wearing a bra. "I hope you don't mind me asking about what you're doing here?"

Leon walks back to his place across from her. “I’m staying over for a while. I do that when I have to be in town.” He sits down and pauses as if mulling a thought over. “You don’t mind me digging into this? It’s going to get cold.”

She shakes her head and thinks about sitting down. No, she still has questions.

“You’re not from here?”

“No, I’m based elsewhere but I do have to drive down here sometimes.” He bites into the bread. “I don’t blame you for being suspicious though. I do have a habit of not foretelling my brother about coming over. He doesn’t check his phone a lot either—you know, being a paramedic and all. That’s why he gave me a spare key. I did message him when I got into town. He’s probably still on duty.”

Hilal hums. "When did you get here anyway?"

He checks his watch. "I drove into town roughly three hours ago. But I’ve been at this apartment for two. I had to go grocery shopping knowing my brother probably hadn’t stacked up again.”

Leon looks at her for a while. “Won’t you sit down? You might as well sit if you’re going to continue interrogating me. I can reheat the food later."

He gestures towards the seat again and this time Hilal takes it. The pasta does smell good and she still feels how sore her knees are from being on her feet for most of the past two days. She takes the fork by the plate and prods at the pasta.

Leon chuckles. "Relax, I didn't poison it or anything. I'm actually a pretty good cook." His smile falters. "Or you don't like pasta?"

"Pasta is fine," she says and twirls some pasta with her fork. "And saying you're a pretty good cook does not negate the possibility that you might have poisoned it."

"Oh come on, what do I have to gain from poisoning you? I barely know you."

"I barely know you either, yet here I am, risking my life to eat a meal you prepared."

"Yes, but I didn't think you were a hobo the first time I saw you on the couch. Can't you just eat? I’m hardly the first stranger to cook you a meal."

Hilal sighs and takes a bite. She doesn't mean to be difficult, really. There's something about this man that makes her wary. It's funny because she had this exact same feeling when she first met Ali Kemal. He was expressionless: his eyes deep and didn't betray any emotion. His mouth was firm and unsmiling. He just nodded and offered his hand when Yildiz introduced them, and he didn't talk to her the rest of the evening besides bid her good night when they left.

Meeting Leon is the exact opposite though. While Ali Kemal is more reserved, Leon is all smiles and accommodation. The man has shared more about his past than Ali Kemal ever has. She has to find out the man has a brother only when the said-brother makes himself known. She hasn’t even had a proper meal with Ali Kemal either.

The pasta is really good.

She doesn't want to give Leon that satisfaction however and just eats.

Leon seems to see right through her and he smiles triumphantly before turning to his plate. Again, she shouldn’t be finding this attractive. The man is only eating, for crying out loud.

"So, Ali Kemal tells me you're in medicine too?" Leon asks at some point. They haven't talked since Hilal started eating, and all noise was the clacking of their forks against the plate.

She nods. "Yes, I'm a nurse."

He hums and nods. "That's nice. Thank you for everything you've done so far."

Hilal just nods in acknowledgment. Her face heats a bit since she's not really used to that. (She's wrong. She receives thanks and expressions of gratitude very often, but imposter syndrome can be a bitch sometimes and won't let her bask in her genuine awesomeness.) She's aware of how underappreciated people in the medical field are and are often paid inappropriately for their services. It's good to know that some people, Leon included, can see their importance despite how much people would unconsciously rank professions and careers into some weird success hierarchy.

"I made you uncomfortable," Leon smiles sheepishly as if he actually did something to upset her.

"Oh no," she amends, and realizes she's been poking at her food. She sets her fork aside."On the contrary, thank you."

He clears his throat. "I actually dropped a pan by accident," he says. "I took a peek to see if I woke you, but you were out like a light. That must have been one hell of a shift."

She shrugs. “There was an accident on 5th Avenue and there were a lot of casualties. Our hospital had been the closest.”

He nods. “Yeah, I heard about that on the radio on my way here. I heard a few people died and almost everyone had serious injuries.”

“Yeah, the ER was completely full and the patients kept coming, it was all-hands on deck. My head nurse still forced me to go home today.”

“Well, the accident happened yesterday morning. That would mean you’ve been working since then?”

“Longer than that actually. I was just on my way out of my shift when the emergency was called in, and like I said, it was all-hands on deck. Every nurse and doctor on a day off was being called in to help.”

He clicks his tongue. "I'm surprised you've slept for how long you did. You should still be in bed."

She chuckles. "You get used to it. I'm actually lucky to have slept so long as I have."

He whistles. “As depressing as that sounds, it’s also kind of impressive,” he remarks.

“Thank you, it took me years to perfect.”

He chuckles at that and they both continue eating.

“So what do you do?” Hilal asks. “Besides doing the groceries for your older brother?”

He rolls his eyes. “Funny,” he says sardonically. “But no, I do not buy groceries for my older brother. I buy groceries for myself to eat when I’m here. But to answer your question, I’m a lawyer.”

“Hm,” she hums. “Your parents must be really proud to have their sons work in the medical field and law. You two are every parents’ dream sons.”

He scoffs. “Not exactly. Remember, Ali Kemal is the oldest and he’s a paramedic.”

She frowns. “What do you mean? Paramedics may not be doctors, but they help just as much.”

Leon makes a choking sound. “Sorry, I misspoke. I didn’t mean it that way. Of course, paramedics are first person responders and they do a lot to save people. Just a little context, my father is a lawyer. Naturally he wanted both his sons to get into law, but Ali Kemal didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. He said he wanted to do medicine instead and Dad was okay with it, even if did try to persuade my brother a few times at first. Only, Ali Kemal chose a community college and decided to become a paramedic instead of a doctor which he’d let Dad believe. Imagine how furious our dad was when he found out. He’s still holding onto the hope he’d get into med school eventually.”

Hilal hums. “And that’s what you meant by Ali Kemal being a paramedic.”

“Yes, in the context of him being the oldest son and therefore having certain expectations career-wise.“

She smiles, “And what about you? You wanted to get into law or did your father make sure you did after Ali Kemal?”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to get into law, which was a huge relief to our father. Only I didn’t want to follow my dad’s footsteps into corporate law.”

“Of course you didn't. What did you take then?”

"Civil rights," he says and Hilal laughs. "My father should have expected it though."

"What did he feel about that?"

Leon shrugs. "He was disappointed and he still feels like I'm wasting my talents when I get more pro bono cases than actual paid ones, but he can't deny it's what makes me happy. I like my job and I like that I get to give people a decent shot at justice in this shitty system."

She smiles. “Impressive. Though, you’re not just saying that because you’re trying to cover up that you’re actually a serial killer?”

Leon laughs heartily. “I’m starting to think you’re wishing I was.”

Hilal chuckles through her nose. “Until Ali Kemal physically acknowledges you as his brother, I’m on high alert.”

He just shrugs and continues to eat.

Hilal is quite impressed with the man—barring the possibility that he may not be who he says he is, because honestly, Hilal believes him to be Ali Kemal’s brother. She’s unwittingly playing a game, and Leon is letting her.

Besides that, she is right about the brothers being similar in different ways. There are gaping differences between Leon and his brother, and she didn't really expect much, but now it is evident that they are indeed similar in the fact that they cared. They care a lot about helping other people. It’s something that tickles her into knowing more.

"Allow me to thank you as well,” she says. “For fighting the good fight," she says and she receives a small smile in return. Hilal means it.

///

She sees the news, and she sees injustice playing out everyday at work when people come in with heavy bruises caused by hands that thought their skin is a little too dark. She sees it when kids are being rolled into the ER because their parents sees it entertaining to beat the shit out of them; or when women have to come in with blood gushing from between their legs in a botched self-attempted abortion; or even kids who are reluctantly brought in with slit wrists just because they can’t dress the way they want to.

///

A lot has to be done, yet people like Leon exist. It has to say something.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” she asks, when she sees a bit of red shading the man’s ears.

Leon gives her a look. It’s a look that knows what she means, that acknowledges the things that she sees and knows. It’s a look that recognizes a kindred soul. It’s a look that makes Hilal warm all over.

“Not at all.”

[punkchestnuts]

one door closes and another one opens

part 1, crossposted at ao3

The door to the apartment is locked and the key that she has, the one she’s been using for the majority of their lease, isn’t working. Hilal has half the mind to break the door down in sheer frustration and impatience. But there's a number of things that stops her from actually doing it. She's listing them all in her mind to quell the building anger at her door.

Reason number one: she’s dead tired from working an almost two-day shift at the hospital and that she’s seconds away from collapsing, which leads to…

Reason number two: she doesn't actually have the strength to break the door down even if she wanted to.

Reason number three: the landlord would be furious about his door being broken down, and

Reason number four: breaking down a door would only mean extra expense. There’s only so much she can spare in terms of money with her meager salary, and she barely has any savings for other stuff she wants to buy (like a new phone since her current one is old and its battery barely lives past half a day even at full charge). And…

Reason number five: She doesn’t want to have Yildiz, her sister, chip in by replacing the door when she earns almost as much as Hilal does. She’s aware of how stressed Yildiz is with the expenses at home, especially since they’ve been planning on moving to a better place. (They’re trying, really. But working as nurses in a country where healthcare workers are being paid shit wages complicates things. It’s also their sheer stubbornness and principles that keep them from going abroad despite how many people encourage them to do so. The idea is tempting, that’s for sure. But here is where their home is, where their family is, and where they know they can make the biggest difference.)

It's the fifth reason which stops her really. Yildiz is her older sister and although they bicker and fight like any other pair of siblings, Hilal doesn't want to be a burden than she already feels.

See, Hilal isn’t as inclined as Yildiz in maintaining a cozy and clean home. Hilal always has her things strewn about the apartment, always reasoning that she has many things that needed her focus and attention more (which is always effective in making her older sister look at her disbelief--they had the same job after all, and Yildiz was able to do her part of the chores).

But if you were to cite the differences between the sisters, you’d have to include the fact that Hilal has a laser-sharp focus and Yildiz had a better grip on multitasking. While Yildiz is able to clean the kitchen and answer work calls, Hilal is only able to accomplish one of those things in the belief that it’s better to do something with all your attention to the task rather than have it divided.

That kind of mentality often results in Hilal’s things cluttering about the apartment and on the furniture, unfinished coffee on possibly every surface, and her books abandoned in unlikely places. (Yildiz once found a copy of A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in their washer. When asked how it got there, Hilal was just as confused as her older sister was.)

It’s not that Yildiz has never tried to instill the habit of cleaning into Hilal, there were efforts and there were improvements. Still, Hilal manages to forget. She’s a lot more understanding than before though, (it caused a lot of arguments and fighting when they started living together), and a lot more inclined to do what Yildiz asks her to do. (She doesn’t question or complain when her sister reminds her to do the dishes or fold their laundry.)

In summary, Yildiz has unending tolerance and patience for Hilal and it only seems fair to make things easier for the both of them by not breaking someone else's property.

So no. She’s not breaking down the door despite the overwhelming urge to. Instead, she tries the key again. Their front door does this sometimes. But it takes a few tries of the key to get it open. Sometimes it also takes a heavy push against the door to get the lock unhinge.

The building is old, and so are the rooms and doors inside. Everything is being maintained and repaired by the landlord who is probably just as old as the building is–which just means to say, very old. The landlord has shown a propensity to disfavor newer tools and technology. The light fixtures are outdated, the window panes are barely hanging on for dear life, the floors creak, and the wooden doors are actually peeling (there are only a few doors left that has some of the original paint).

The only things that seem to be up to date were the elevator and the heating system, which is something that became the deciding factor when Yildiz and Hilal were first looking for an apartment years ago. It had either been this apartment or the other one that required them to climb four flights of stairs. The decision was easy.

Hilal has been trying to open the door for more than 20 minutes and she’s too tired to try any further. With a sigh, she relents and goes to the landlord’s apartment on the first floor. Sometimes the door is stubborn and the lock remains unperturbed. When this happens, they get the landlord to open it since he has a magical way of making things work despite how broken they seem. This is the main reason why the landlord doesn’t really change things. He holds the principle of not replacing things when they’re still fully (relatively) functional.

There had been a time when Yildiz and Hilal got fed up and offered to pay for a new replacement for the door, but the landlord refused, saying that it wasn’t right and that replacing the door would alter the building's overall atmosphere. A few more rejections to have it replaced moved the sisters to actually start looking at other apartments.

She knocks on the landlord’s door and is opened by his daughter. She's a beautiful petite woman with short dark hair and cat-like eyes. Hilal remembers meeting her the first time when she and Yildiz were moving in. Hilal immediately admired the woman and her patience for her father, which the sisters quickly learned to have his own unique eccentricities.

Eftalya sighs when she sees it’s Hilal. Unfortunately, because of the near impossible structure of their schedules, they don’t usually come knocking Eftalya’s door for social calls. Hilal can only smile at the older woman.

There's flour on Eftalya’s forehead and even more on her arms and clothes. “Is it your door again?” she asks instead of a greeting and Hilal nods, feeling a little bad for interrupting what looks like a baking session.

“I got home over 20 minutes ago,” Hilal explains.

The older woman dusts the flour on her hands. “Wait here and I’ll call for Dad.” She leaves the door open when she steps away from the doorway. Hilal can hear a muffled argument inside and she doesn’t try to make out the words being exchanged.

Her and Yildiz have witnessed enough arguments between father and daughter throughout the years that they’ve learned to just drown it out when it happens. It’s those moments that Hilal is grateful for Eftalya’s eerie ability to convince her father to do anything. (And Hristos, the landlord, has always been stubborn. He always finds ways to justify his decisions, and to find fault in whatever argument coming his way. With Eftalya though, he seems to relent and agree with the faults in his argument that his daughter points out. Never mind that Hilal and Yildiz would point it out first.)

She was even the reason there was an elevator and a heating system in the building in the first place.

The one thing that Eftalya wasn’t able to accomplish was to have Hilal and Yildiz’s request to replace their front door. Hristos has put his foot down on that one and not even Eftalya can change his mind. They can’t exactly go behind his back either, even if Eftalya almost convinced the sisters to do just that.

The woman is persuasive if she wants to be, and it’s probably a good thing to have when you work as a singer at a bar. You have to charm your way into your audience if you wanted a heavy tip.

The muffled arguments dies down and Hristos walks towards the door with his old toolbox.

"Thank you, Papa," Eftalya calls out from inside. She’s probably back at the kitchen. "Although, you know you wouldn't have to keep going up if you just replace the door knobs!"

Mr. Hristos huffs and steps out of the apartment. “Those door knobs are a piece of history, you know?”

“That’s exactly why you need to replace them!”

Mr. Hristos doesn’t reply and closes the door instead. “Hello, Hilal,” he greets her. “Did you just get home from work?”

“Yes, I did,” she says and forces herself not to say that she hasn’t slept in two days and that she’s this close to collapsing to heap of pure exhaustion. After all, despite how eccentric and stubborn the old man is, he’s been nothing but very kind to Hilal and Yildiz.

Mr. Hristos smiles in understanding and walks up to the elevator. Hilal follows and answers appropriately when the old man asks about her day. She doesn’t say that she just came from a graveyard shift and had to stay when an accident involving a full bus occurred early in the morning yesterday.

She would have stayed for another day if not for the head nurse noticing her lagging behind and drinking cups upon cups of the disgusting coffee they had in the lounge. Hilal couldn’t say no and couldn’t force herself to stay even if she wanted to. The patients were stable, the other casualties from the accident were brought to other hospitals, and everyone knows she’s been there for more than 48 hours with no sleep and proper food.

(It’s a good thing that Yildiz doesn’t work at the same hospital as she does. Her older sister would surely get angry and would have dragged her to a cab home herself. Yildiz was always better at self-care than Hilal ever was.)

They get to their door and Mr. Hristos doesn’t waste time asking her if she’s done all she could to try and get the door to open. The old man knows that Hilal is headstrong and would ask for help as a last resort.

She watches Mr. Hristos bend down to open the door with his own key and tutting when it wouldn’t budge. He opens his box and begins tinkering with the faulty knob.

Hilal doesn’t bother watching what he’s doing since she’s long accepted the fact that even if she were to replicate whatever troubleshooting method the old man has done, it won’t matter because the doors have spirits of their own and only bow down to one man.

Instead, she leans heavily on the wall by the door to let Hristos work. Without the frustration fueling her, she can feel the past two days catching up to her body. Her bag feels heavier than it is, her skin feels sticky (and she tried cleaning herself with a pack of wipes back at the hospital once), her head aches from how tight she’s tied her hair up, and her eyes burn.

She can feel herself falling asleep then and there when she hears a the old man curse loudly. Mr. Hristos is in the middle of taking the entire knob out of the door.

“Do you need help, Mr. Hristos?” she asks, preparing to yank the knob out of the door and go directly bed.

“No,” he says and tries one last tug before sighing. He looks up at her from where he’s kneeling. “I’m afraid the knobs rusted itself glued to the door. I can’t take it out.”

“What can we do?” she asks, a mental image of both of them breaking the door down making itself welcome in her mind. “Can’t we oil it out?”

“We can, but that would mean taking the door out of the frame.”

“Can’t we take unscrew the hinges out?” she suggests.

“We can,” he says again, “but that would mean having to screw it back up again just to lock it, and I don’t want to do that every time you girls have to go out.”

“Well, I can’t exactly stay out of the apartment. I’m tired and I need to sleep,” she says, not at all caring anymore if she’s being rude. “I’ll just put up a curtain.”

Mr. Hristos tuts and bends down to firmly attach the door knob back. “No, I’m afraid the entire door has to be replaced. The knob won’t budge.”

Hilal doesn’t feel relieved that the old man is finally seeing sense to replace the door. “Then what are we going to do? I have to get into the apartment, Mr. Hristos.”

“I can take the door out of the hinges and while I can put it back, you’ll be shut inside. I don’t even want to let you leave your apartment open to the entire floor if I do take it out. It’s a security issue, dear. It’s safer to keep it locked until I get a replacement.”

“You’re basically locking me out of my home, Mr. Hristos.”

The old man smiles in apology. “I know, but it’s all for the good of the building and everyone in it.”

“I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go.”

“Well, you can stay with us for a while, if you’d like. But Eftalya has another shift at the bar and tonight’s BINGO night. If not, the motel a few blocks down is a good place too.”

Hilal can feel something weighing her down even more. “How long will it take until you find a replacement? I have to tell Yildiz in case she comes home early.”

Hristos hums. “It will take a while. Not a lot of companies still make this kind of knobs. Not to mention, I’d have to look for someone who can replicate the door design…”

“Is it really necessary to get a door that’s exactly the same when we can get a temporary one just for the security?”

Hristos tuts at her. “It’s not exactly economical if we buy a door and a knob just for them to get replaced, Hilal.”

“Is there no other way?” she asks. She can try to convince him, but she’s honestly too tired to do argue any further.

“Look, Hilal,” Mr. Hristos rubs at his temple as if he’s the one being inconvenienced. “I understand your frustration, but this is the best way to secure your safety and to continue the integrity of the building. Now, will you be staying with us or will you be staying elsewhere?”

Now the most practical choice here is to actually take up the old man’s offer and stay at their place. Eftalya and Mr. Hristos won’t be there so it won’t be awkward than it needs to be. But Hilal doesn’t want to be practical at the moment, especially when her frustration at the old man is growing exponentially by the second.

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Hristos. I don’t want to impose on you and Eftalya.”

“Alright, then,” Mr. Hristos nods. “I’m sorry for this, but I promise I’ll work on it as fast as I can.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hristos.”

She watches the old man disappear into the elevator and Hilal takes this moment to sag against the wall. Defeat and exhaustion weighing her down even more. She lets herself feel tired for a while before taking her phone out to shoot a text to her sister about their situation. Hilal knows that Yildiz has a shift until the next morning but her older sister is fond of overtiming and offsetting her hours. At the very least, Yildiz can crash at one of the bunk beds at work. She only hopes that her sisters sees the text soon.

Although sleeping on the hallways and say fuck it, is very tempting at the moment, Hilal stands up and leaves the building. She decides to stay at a nearby cafe just to gather her energy reserves. The motel Mr. Hristos had been talking about was a walkable distance but even a couple of blocks seems too much an effort in Hilal’s state.

She’s sipping on a fruit-berry black tea after eating an almond croissant, when she gets a reply from her sister.

Yildiz: You’re not staying at the motel.

You can crash at Ali Kemal’s place.

I just texted him and he’s not on duty now.

Also, as bad as this situation is, I’m glad the door’s finally getting fixed.

Hilal: And where else am I going to stay?

Her sister doesn’t reply until Hilal has finished her tea.

Yildiz: You can crash at Ali Kemal’s place.

I just called him and he’s okay with you staying while the door’s getting fixed.

Hilal: Isn’t he on duty now?

Yildiz: No, I wouldn’t call him if I knew he was.

Her phone suddently vibrates at a new text message.

Ali Kemal: it’s OK, ur not inconveniencing me. just come over.

n yes, ur sister told me 2 tell u

but it doesn’t make it less tru

Hilal sometimes hate how her sister knows her too well. Yildiz knows that Hilal will always try not to impose on other people, especially when it comes to her own issues. She would’ve argued with Yildiz about staying at the motel instead, but if she is honest with herself, staying with Ali Kemal (who was a close friend) sounds more appealing than staying alone at a motel. She texts her sister.

Hilal: Okay. Thanks for making the call.

Yildiz: No problem. Rest well, and let’s hope Hristos finishes the freaking door before my shift.

She takes that as a finality and begins to gather her things. She’s doesn’t have the energy to argue with her sister and Ali Kemal even if she didn’t want to.

She tells Ali Kemal she’s on her way and hails a cab to his place. His place is a lot further than the motel, but she just doesn’t feel like commuting (she feels like collapsing in the middle of the road, really).

Ali Kemal is a very good friend of Yildiz. They met in the same community college where Yildiz was taking her nursing degree and Ali Kemal was taking a course program to train as a paramedic. Hilal has met him a few times at parties and other events she attended with Yildiz, and she’s come to know Ali Kemal as serious and having a dark sense of humor.

He looks too serious (see: unapproachable) to be a paramedic, but at the same time does look like someone who won’t mind a little mess when he’s busy applying gauze and stopping wounds from bleeding too much.

He looks like someone who can kill as much as he can save people, and Hilal found the irony daunting. Yildiz only thought it was a reason to tease the man even more.

But with the amount of time Hilal’s got to know him, she’s come to realize that Ali Kemal is a sweet and kind person.(She also had the suspicion that he had (has?) a crush on Yildiz for a while, but she never got to ask him if it was (or is) true.)

The ride to his place was short. The building is slightly better than the one the sisters were staying in: it wasn’t as old and rickety. Besides that, there aren’t big differences. The neighbors were nice, the neighborhood had a convenience store, a laundromat, and a nearby bus stop, and the rent was reasonable — all things that can be found in the sisters’ current building. The only edge that Ali Kemal’s place had over theirs was the fact that his front door doesn’t fail at being a door as often as the sisters’ do.

Ali Kemal buzzes her in before she could ring his doorbell, and Hilal appreciates that he’d been looking out for her arrival. She gets to his apartment and he greets her with a smile and his uniform on.

“Did you just step out of your shift?” she asks as he welcomes her inside.

“No,” Ali Kemal says. “I’m not supposed to be on duty today. Day off, supposedly. But a coworker called in a favor I can’t back down from.” He gestures her to sit on the couch and disappears into the kitchen. There is a small pile of blankets and a fluffy pillow there.

“I can look for a different place to stay,” Hilal offers but the older man comes out of the kitchen with a look of disapproval and a glass of water.

“You’re more than welcome to stay, Hilal.” She’s forced to accept the glass of water and finally sit down on the couch. “I’m only covering them for the rest of their shift anyway.”

“Oh okay.”

“I’m serious. I’m not turning you away when you literally look like you’re about to keel over, and especially when Yildiz already told me about what happened.” Ali Kemal looks at her right in the eye when he says this, arms akimbo. “Now, I hadn’t been able to clean out the guest room but the couch is yours. I also don’t have much in terms of food but I figured you’d be doing more sleeping than eating.”

Hilal snorts. “Yeah, you’d be right.”

Ali Kemal smiles in sympathy. “You’re also free to use the bathroom too if you want to wash up before sleeping. I put some extra clothes and and toothbrush in there.”

She almost cries at this. “Thank you so much for doing this, Ali Kemal. I totally owe you one.”

The man ruffles her hair as he’s wont to do ever since they bonded over their mutual hate for this one instructor they had the (dis)pleasure of having a class in. (She remembers the conversation vividly since it was over bad coffee in the same apartment. The coffee was from the vending machine at the hospital Ali Kemal and Yildiz worked at. It was another thing they agreed on.) Hilal swats his hand away when a lively guitar riff starts playing. Ali Kemal curses as he checks the watch on his wrist. “Oh shit, lemme take this.”

He fishes his phone out of his pocket before he walks to the kitchen to answer the call. Hilal takes this time to send another text to Yildiz that she’s at Ali Kemal’s. Her sister doesn’t reply but Hilal only thinks her sister has gone back to work.

Ali Kemal walks back to the living room. “Yeah, sorry, that was the friend I’m covering for. I have to go.”

“Okay, have fun at work.”

“Sure,” he says as he picks up a jacket on the coffee table. “I’ll try to come back early and with some food, hopefully.”

“And if you do come back early, don’t wake me up.”

Ali Kemal laughs. “Sure thing. Make yourself at home and all that, and if anything happens then just shoot me a text.” He checks his watch again. “And now I really have to go.”

“I can handle myself just fine. Just go and thank you again.”

He shoots her a finger gun before grabbing a bag from the hallway and leaving the apartment.

Hilal is alone now and although she never recalls the couch being so comfortable before (and she doesn’t want anything more than to just sleep there and then). But she did just come out of a two-day (one can argue a near three-day) shift and she has the urge to wash off the two-day sweat out of every surface inch of her. So with a lot of willpower, she drags herself away from the couch and heads to the bathroom.

True enough, there is a set of clothes on the counter along with a white fluffy towel and a toothbrush that’s still in the packet. She doesn’t really mind the strong-scented products Ali Kemal uses, but she does scrunch her nose when she sees he uses 2-in-1 shampoo. Somehow, she’s not really surprised.

She changes into the clothes he’s prepared for her and makes a beeline for the couch. She usually lets her hair air dry, but this is one of those instances where she doesn’t care what her hair may look like after. She makes a small nest of blankets and pillows (she grabs some of the throw pillows from the other chairs) and falls asleep instantly once she lies down.

[punkchestnuts]

*holds face tenderly*

[punkchestnuts]

132 free underground comix on JSTOR!

RISD's Adler Archive of Underground Comix collection on JSTOR includes items from the 1960s to the 2000s by artists such as Robert Crumb, Justin Green, Bill Griffith, Aline Kominsky Crumb, Harvey Pekar, Dori Seda, Art Spiegelman, and many others, as well as anthology titles such as Arcade Comics Revue, RAW, Weirdo, Young Lust, and Zap. Free to download for everyone, no login required!

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Really into them in a divorced way

[Black and white sketch of Calliope with an arm around Dream’s shoulder and a hand on his cheek]

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Sandman vs Satan in Extreme Rock, Paper, Scissors

Script by @beastalchemistva

Check out the dub here!

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Sandman trash sketches

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Desire: they call me coffee cause i grind so fine;)

Corinthian: they call me coffee cause i keep you awake past 2 a.m. ;)

Dream: they call me coffee-

Hob: please....don't

Dream: - because i am dark and really bitter and most people do not like me without changing some aspect of who i am

Hob:...........

Lucienne, Matthew & Death nodding in the background

[punkchestnuts]

A post about the Calliope episode of The Sandman made me think of something.   When Madoc tears up Calliope’s “Letter” with Morpheus’s name on it and throws it in the fire place and then we see the smoke rising out of the chimney it’s virtually identical to the scene in …Mary Poppins. I do not think the fire was actually required to call to Morpheus.  At that point in the invocation all Calliope had to do was call his name when she was sure she was alone (which she likely also did) or Madoc already invoked him by reading it out loud

. However, if Morpheus did react to the smoke one thing can be assumed…  He listened to his sister, Death.  He got around to watching Mary Poppins. :-P

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so I watched the sandman…

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I have seen much speculation on the high quality of Dream of the Endless as a romantic partner, and I have seen many refute such speculations, mainly citing Nada as proof that Dream is a terrible, capricious lover doomed to failure.

Personally, I think it would fall somewhere in the middle. Dream is, by most accounts, a passionate and considerate lover.

Consider Calliope’s words from the comics: “He was the most gallant of lovers… He delighted in sharing his knowledge. He had a castle filled with treasures, and took such pleasure in showing them, giving them to me. He was so gentle, and his skin felt like white silk against my skin… when we made love, it was like a flame: I felt utterly engulfed, utterly loved. Treasured.”

Or words from another former lover: “…we began a conversation, which stretched over many weeks. And, at the end, he invited me to remain in the Dreaming, as a guest… He began, rather nervously, to court me. And I began, also rather nervously, to be courted. And we were both, initially, extremely happy. He loved me. I do not doubt that.”

In summary, as a lover, Dream is, in essence, a dream :)

And like a dream, it fades.

His first and foremost priority is, and always has been, his duty. Once he’s settled into a relationship, once the shine has worn off, he goes back to work, and his lover is left for when he feels like stopping by.

Both mentioned relationships end this way. A slow drifting away…

And once the drift begins, well. Nada was an extreme example, but reject him, insult him, even if it’s just a loss of temper, and a lover will find themselves shown the door and banned from returning. His anger, his hurt, is cold and sharp and cutting, like the nightmares he rules, and he holds grudges for millennia.

Dating Dream would be a dream, but the breakup is a nightmare.

Enjoy!

[punkchestnuts]

the best part of the calliope bonus episode of the sandman was the absolute care and attention to detail that went into depicting the scary subtleties of men who abuse, exploit, and manipulate women. 

the brilliant casting choice of arthur darvill as richard madoc, a likeable actor who has played likeable characters, someone we would probably never think as a bad guy, to be calliope’s captor. richard madoc’s claims of being a feminist, citing famous female authors as his source of inspiration, using feminism and anti-racism as a marketing ploy to make himself look “woke”, dehumanizing calliope because she’s a muse, because she’s immortal, because he was told not to view her as human. 

the single scratch as a symbol of an unforgivable violence, dream’s acknowledgement that his over a century imprisonment is nothing compared to the decades she spent having men forcefully take from her, calliope’s gentle reminder not to compare their traumas because they are different but both valid, dream asserting that richard madoc still must be punished, calliope’s decision to forgive him in the end not for him but for herself, her setting off to rewrite the laws which imprisoned her in the first place and dream vowing to do the same in his realm. 

every aspect of this episode is so so relevant and it’s handled well at every turn, beautifully adapting its source material, giving its antagonist a punishment from his own mind, giving him an abundance of what he unjustly took from someone else and plaguing him with it until he has nothing left because that is what his actions deserved. 

also just the fact that calliope is played by a greek actress. a small detail that i love. there’s just so many good things and it’s driving me up the walls in the best way possible because i’m so glad we got these bonus episodes, i’m so glad we get to see this. 

[punkchestnuts]

𝙋𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙙 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙨 🌷

 Song: This Love by Taylor Swift 

 Shows listed: 

Reign | Anne With An E | Persuasion | The Irregulars | Vatanim Sensin | Pride and Prejudice | Emma | Enola Holmes | Sanditon | Bridgerton 🎬✨❤️

My fondness. My merriment.

PERIOD SHOWS IS MY LIFEBLOOD ♡

(made a new edit for some of my favorite period shows ships~)

[punkchestnuts]

Ladies and gentleman’s and non-binary pals,

Introducing our beloved Eda Clawthrone,

Stealing you’re man,

Definitely stealing you’re girl,

Stea-

gayly panics

(All art goes to the rightful owners, I own none above.)

[punkchestnuts]

Thinking about a duct tape wizard