Omer Nacar

[omer-nacar]

Rafael.

He couldn’t tell which was worse - knowing that Ikki would be painted as the traitor, or allowing it to happen. The series of events happen quickly, and the even-keeled voice of his father keeps Rafael steady in his stand. A distant eye as Ikki’s phone is put in his possession, and the person himself escorted to the room of the guilty and damned. An uncomfortable pit gnaws at his stomach, with no comfort to be found in either Kitty or Marcus. Their opinions ring too loudly, and for all of Jessica’s generosity, it’s not her bright optimism that he needs. Rafael is settled by a desk chair, shredded paper piled on the mahogany. The rapping at the door, second only to that unmistakable scent. “Go fuck yourself, Omer.” Rafael says, out of quick instinct. An anger that’s as true, as the melancholy on that night. He glances sideways, catching the perfect hue of golden brown. A four-cheese melt, with a hint of apricot jam and a light drizzling of truffle oil. No matter how often his personal chefs have tried, none could create it quite like Omer.

A long, brief pause and a roll of his eyes later - “Give it here. But don’t even think this squares us off.”

.

He knew that a piece of grilled cheese was not enough to heal the betrayal he had created within Rafael, but maybe, just maybe, it could be enough to slowly help the wound create a scab to give them a slight possibility of healing. It was a start maybe, an olive branch of sorts? “I didn’t think it would,” he responds, closing the door behind him as he walks further into the room towards Rafael. “I wasn’t sure if you had eaten anything and I know how much you love this. It’s funny because you’ve eaten at the world's best restaurants but I have it on record that this is your favourite meal.” he chuckles lightly, attempting to ease the tension, despite knowing it was a wasted attempt. “The Dominions are in charge of cooking and well, honestly, I don’t think you should eat anything cooked by any of them...” his voice trails as he places the plate on the desk, small talk between the two was unfamiliar territory for him and navigating it seemed like an impossible task. A soft sigh leaves him as he takes a seat, his eyes focused on Rafael, a blanket of silence wrapping around them for a minute.“Is it as good as you remember?” he asks. “They didn’t have my butter of choice but the cheese was selected well so kudos to whoever did the shopping, they have good taste.”

[omer-nacar]

OMER AND JACKIE

“Your body is away from me but there is a window open from my heart to yours.  From this window, like the moon  I keep sending news secretly.”

- Rumi

On 26th June, Omer sits at Highgate Cemetery, alone, with two flat whites and a large chocolate cake. His body was heavy with carrying the constant ache in his soul. His pain is invisible to the naked eye, there are no scars or marks on his body as proof, and yet, there is an arrow stabbed deep into his chest making him bleed out every time he takes a breath.

“I’m turning thirty-three tomorrow.” he starts, pulling out a single candle from his pocket and placing it carefully in the middle of the cake. “If you were here, you’d probably be planning some party that I would call stupid but secretly love. You were always good at that...you know...doing things that you knew I would love even if I insisted I didn’t want them. How did you even put up with me? I was always so grumpy.” he chuckles, followed quickly by a slow, shaky sigh as he remembers everything that they were supposed to share together. They were supposed to live a full life. They were supposed to share all their birthdays. They were supposed to have children. They were supposed to argue over who picked a movie that night. They were supposed to grow old together. They were supposed to be together. Now, this was all they had. Omer alone on a bench, talking to the marble stone of her grave. 

Lighting the candle, he closes his eyes, picturing Jackie’s face before blowing it out. This was stupid. He knew it was stupid. Yet the smallest chance that Jackie was looking over him, that she could hear him made him do this every year in the hopes that it would bring that smile he loved so much to her face. 

“I miss you, Jackie.”

[omer-nacar]

WHEN: 17th July, post vote WHERE: Rafael’s and Jack’s room in the Manor  WITH: Rafael @rfjofficial​​

It’s quiet in the hallway, an unnerving quiet after the accusations that filled the air only a few hours ago, maybe it’s just the calm before the storm, or maybe everyone under this roof is all too familiar with the idea that that fingers could be pointed at you at any given moment. Who was he to question anything when he had been an unsuspected traitor to Famine only a few months ago? Climbing up the stairs to the third floor slowly, there is a hesitation in his step as he gets closer towards Room 11. Omer was no longer the brother that Rafael would seek refuge in at the times he needed most, and yet, despite everything that happened between the two, a part of Omer knew that this was where he was supposed to be tonight. A perfectly made grilled cheese in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, Omer pushed the already ajar door slightly, tapping on the wooden frame with his foot to grab Rafael’s attention.

“Can I come in?”

[elektranatchios]

No, no, no. No, she’s dying.

[turkishdizis]

Uraz Kaygılaroğlu in Üç Kuruş

[turkishdizis]

*＊✿❀ Just Kartal Çaka Things ❀✿＊*

[composedofnows]

[turkishdreams]

uraz kaygılaroğlu as kartal üç kuruş | 1.11

[romancelesbian]

love really is cooking. cooking for and with your friends is an act of love. cooking for and with your partner is an act of love. cooking for YOURSELF is especially an act of love. the care, the tenderness, and affection??? to nourish not only yourself but the ones you love??? those moments you spend??? god its just love thats all i can say

[omer-nacar]

Gigi.

Her avoidance had been deliberate before now (as much as Gigi would like to pretend otherwise) but it hadn’t started like that. The actress had dived into her work following the death of her best friend, an occasional text sent to check in with Omer which had eventually dwindled into nothing. Molehill turned mountain, it became more and more difficult to consider the idea of facing him as time passed, fearing she would be confronted with her own failure; failure to keep her the promise to Jackie she never thought she’d need to follow through on.

She grapples with her surprise when he opens the door, unsure what she had been expecting. Mouth twitches into a brief smile in response to his greeting, “Hi,” she returns, huffing her amusement at the comment that had followed. The pair weren’t strangers by any means, having known each other for years now, but it felt like seeing a ghost. Like a shadow of someone, shaped by loss and grief, existing in a void where shared love once bloomed, and she wondered if she looked the same to him. Gigi had learned how to pretend, smiling through the times when something reminded her of Jackie, or swallowing down the lump that would form in her throat when old memories resurfaced.

She wondered if he had too.

“Water would be fine,” blinking herself from her thoughts and back to the present, she steps over the threshold, “If you don’t mind.” Gigi ignores the water bottle currently in her bag, the request a sliver of normality amid what she imagined was a strange encounter for them both. Her smile turns empathetic, nodding her agreement while appreciating his bare truth. “No need to be sorry,” shaking her head then, the last thing she believed was warranted from Omer was an apology, “I wasn’t sure you’d let me past the door honestly.” Her own way of agreeing that she, too, didn’t know what to say, as her stare moves around the entryway, “It’s been a while.”

“I was doing some cleaning, sorting through things,” one shoulder shrugs, as though it was unimportant when that couldn’t have been further than the truth, “I found an old photo book… thought you’d like to see it.” Jackie had been what tied them together, though Gigi never had an issue spending time with Omer it was rare they had without the common denominator of her. The brunette had an inkling toward what the other had been through, but not knowing the full extent of what the man had endured the last few months, “I get it, if you don’t.” After all, why pick at a wound that seemed partially scabbed over?

.

“Water. Just water?” he asks, wanting to make sure that that was what Gigi wanted. He had lost sense of his usual cool which he carried, feeling nervous as his gaze focused on the ghost of his past life. “Water. Yep okay. Alright, I’ll go and get you water.” he nods. “Water,” he repeats once more, feeling guilty that he was about to give someone who was once a big part of his life the most simple drink in the world. Jackie would never serve just water to her nor would she allow Gigi to leave their home without handing her boxes of Tupperware if she was here, she would be ordering him to start making a three-course meal for their guest. “Are you sure you just want that? I can make you tea...coffee, we have herbal tea, soft drinks, alcohol?” He lists, stopping himself as he realises how silly he probably sounded out loud. “Sorry, I’m pushing. I’ll go get you the water.”

Filling up a glass, he walks back into the living room, taking a seat on the couch, placing her drink on the coaster on the table as he looks at her. She hadn't changed and for a second Omer wondered if they could slip back into time and act relaxed around each other as they once did, but in reality, everything had changed the both of them would never be the same again.  “Really?” he asks, surprised that Gigi would have thought that. They might not have been in touch for years and sure, a part of him might have felt let down by the other, but Omer was not the type to hold a grudge, let alone leave someone standing at his door. “You’re always welcome here Gigi, no matter what, you’ll always be welcome.” His voice is sincere as he speaks, a solemn smile on his lips. “Yeah, it has been a while. How have you been?”

The photo was still in his hands, his gaze falling to it once more, as a shaky sigh leaves his lips. “Thank you for showing me this picture...I don’t think I’ve seen it before.” he muses, looking back up at Gigi and holding the photo back towards her. The two of them had developed a friendship through Jackie and now that she was gone there was nothing left to hold them together, besides, Omer would not have been a good friend to Gigi anymore, he was not the same Omer she knew whilst Jackie was alive. He didn't want her to know the new Omer he had become. Shaking his head, he shuts down the suggestion that he might not want to see the photobook. "Fuck this is awkward between us right?” he chuckles, the uncomfortable air between the two about to swallow him up. “Did you actually think I'd say no to seeing that? Of course, I want to see it. Thank you for bringing it.”

[resimlerdekaldik-deactivated202]

[omer-nacar]

WHEN: 29th June WHERE: Omer’s Home in Hampstead  WITH: Wren Lightfoot @oflightfeet “Omer, wake up, Omer...wake up,” Jackie whispers against his ear, her voice soft and sweet, her breath against his cheek, her touch against his skin. His eyes open right away, looking up at her, blinking twice to make sure that she was real before reaching up and hugging her. “You’re here? You’re alive?” He can’t hide the shock in his voice as his arms tighten around her body, wanting to keep her as close as possible to himself as he takes in her scent and feels her heartbeat against his chest. “You’re here. It’s you. You’re really here.” the excitement in his tone is frantic, his lips peppering kisses from her cheeks to her forehead. “You’re alive. You’re alive. I knew it. I knew it was all a dream. Jackie, I saw a stupid a horrible horrible dream. A nightmare. You were go -” he’s unable to finish his sentence, as Jackie interrupts him by pressing a kiss against her lips. “I think the soon to be birthday boy had a bit too much to drink with Rafael last night hmm? I told him to not get you too drunk we have a full day planned!” she giggles and Omer can feel the burst of joy within his soul. Jackie was alive. Jackie was here. The last three years were just a nightmare. They weren't real. “Canım canım canım.” My life my life my life. he repeats, holding her in his arms, a grin plastered on his face until he suddenly sees blood on his hands, his body starting to shake as the blood starts to grow, taking over his palms and dripping from his hands. And then Jackie’s body becomes limp in his arms once again. “Jackie!” he sprints up, eyes scanning around the room before falling to look at his clean hands, a whimper leaving him at the realisation that it was all a dream. Jackie was dead. Nothing had changed. She was dead. The last three years were very much real. “It’s real Omer...she’s dead....dead.” he whimpers to himself, choking as the pain of the words get caught in his breath. “She’s gone.” His lower lip trembles. “It's not a dream...it’s not a dream,” he repeats to himself like he had done many times over the three years, but acceptance was a hard pill to swallow despite the time that had gone by. There were days when Omer would wake up and the grief wouldn’t feel as strong, he would accept the realities and move on, but grief was like a bird, it could fly away and e you think that it wouldn’t come back, that you were okay, but sooner or later it always returned, making a nest right in your heart and the suffering would taking over once again. Omer often thought about why this had happened to him. What was he paying for? What had he done to deserve this? Then he would remember his sins. His father's sins. His families sins. Did the universe take Jackie away from him to balance the sins he had committed? Was it the universe's way to balance the blood the Nacar family had spilt? These were the thoughts that took him down to a bottomless pit where there was no way to get out, keeping him a prisoner in the dark and cold walls. These were the thoughts that he had to battle to keep himself from going insane. His hand moves up towards his throat, scratching against his skin, desperately trying to release the air that was trapped in there. “Back to the real world.” he whispers to himself, “Back to the real world,” he concludes. Finally turning on his phone after three days of having it switched off, Omer let out a sigh as he watched the mass of notifications flood through the bright screen. There was a variety of messages, birthday wishes and condolences for Jackie’s death anniversary, it was all combined into one and Omer wasn’t interested in reading anything. He wasn’t prepared to face anything or anyone, yet, the name of one person flashes across the screen and Omer knows immediately that he can’t let them down. Replying to Wren’s text to let them know they could come over, he decides to have a shower and get changed before his company joins him. “Hello.” he greets Wren with a small smile, allowing them into the house and closing the door once they had entered. They had been here enough times to know that they could make themselves comfortable in his home. “Are you okay?” he asks as they walk into the living room, gesturing for them to take a seat on the couch. “Are you hungry?” Shall I make us some dinner?” It was a habit of his, cooking for those he loved and cared for, maybe cooking for Wren would make him feel better and remind him that he can breathe. As his gaze remains on Wren, he feels the need to explain his quick disappearance from the ball and radio silence since that night. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner - it’s uh.” Omer pauses, his brows furrowing for a moment before a defeated sigh escapes his lips. There was no point in trying to pretend he was okay, Wren knew better than others and Wren understood more than others ever could.“Jackie’s death anniversary was on the twenty-sixth so I’ve just been...uh...I’ve just been thinking about her,” he admits. “You know, I always think what if...what if she left the store later or earlier, what if I arrived earlier...what if - what if...” Omer shrugs his shoulders, the words getting tangled against his mouth. “There’s nothing that’s as haunting as saying what if over and over again. She’s gone and I have to live with that. I couldn’t save her and I have to live with that.”  Rubbing the tears away from the corner of his eyes he lets out another sigh, a sad smile forming on his features. “You know, if she was here you would be eating a lot of leftover cake and other forms of pastries. She would go all out on my birthday. She just loved any event where she could make a cake.” he chuckles softly. “So, of course, I bought myself a cake from one of our favourite bakeries just for her sake. I just know she would have been angry otherwise. It’s two days old but you should take it home.” Unable to sit still, he stands up, stretching his arms out as he looks down at Wren. “Right. Enough of that. You didn’t come here to watch a thirty-three-year-old man cry. Shall we cook something together? Keep ourselves busy and you can tell me how you’ve been? Please tell me how you’ve been. What have you been up to?”

[turkishdizis]

Uraz Kaygılaroğlu ✗ 🌈

[omer-nacar]

Photos of Rafael Femenias Jr. and Omer Nacar over the many years of their friendship  ( @rfjofficial )

[omer-nacar]

WHEN: 17th June WHERE: HIDE Restaurant  WITH: Belladona Romero @labellemadone​

After studying the menu and finally making their orders, Omer smiles as his gaze focuses on his company. “So Bella, how are you?” Over time, the two had made it a tradition to scope out the new restaurants in London, Omer with Bella’s assistance would see what the competition was up to and as a result allowing their friendship to grow from being crew members to a mutual love of fine dining. Yet it would be a lie if Omer said that he’d invited Bella to dinner tonight just so they could see what HIDE’s food was like. His motives for tonight were completely selfish and he was relying on pure luck and Belladona’s kindness. “Thank you for joining me tonight. You look beautiful as always. It’s been a while since we’ve done this. What do you think so far of this place?”

Within the last twenty-four hours, Omer had found out through Ravi that Rafael was getting married, that there was an engagement party being thrown (tomorrow) and that Omer wasn’t invited (this was not a surprise). And within those twenty-four hours Omer had gone down memory lane, searching through his house for three very specific items to send to Rafael in hopes that it would be an olive branch - not that it would ever be enough, he could gift a whole olive tree and that would still not be enough to heal the pain he had caused the other, but he had to start somewhere. In the box, he places three items, the first one a picture of the two of them from his own bachelor party that Rafael had organised (it’s bittersweet knowing that Omer would never be able to do the same gesture). The second item is an old sports jersey that Rafael had once lost to Omer on a bet. Finally the third is a vintage toy car that the two had stolen from Omer’s dad’s collection when they were children, their names still scratched to the bottom. “I’m sorry this is not for you.” he starts, finally addressing the elephant in the room that was the perfectly wrapped present Omer had placed on the table when they had arrived. “I need a favour from you Bella and I know it puts you in a difficult position but it would mean the world to me if you could do this for me. Could you give this to Rafael tomorrow? It’s an engagement present for him. I can’t make it to the party tomorrow but I would really appreciate it if you could give it to him on my behalf.” He tilts his head to the side, a grin forming on his lips as he tries to persuade her. “Please? Please could you do this for me, Bella?”

[manny-jacinto]

FOOD IN MOVIES

Chef (2014) dir. Jon Favreau

[omer-nacar]

Saint​.

It’s not the first time Saint had fired a gun, squeezed a trigger and watched as another human feLl to the floor in the answer of his own destruction. It’s happened many times before, perhaps too many to count, his death count pilling up so high it were no longer worth keeping a tally of the lives he claims in the name of War, of Gabrielle Warden, and now he supposes Juno too. But with May he’s attentive to keep a new count, in the answer for retribution and vengeance, he vows himself to his sister’s final request. If it were revenge she wanted, that’s what she would get. Her final wish would be kept, nurtured close to Saint’s heart as the final thing he’d be able to hold of hers, the last part of her spirit burning as a fragile embers in the will to keep even the slightest part of her memory alive. May makes one, the second would be Sacha, Jack third, Charlotte fourth, and any other member of Death to follow until their existence is wiped. Uriel saved for last, their leader forced to watch and endure the same pain as Saint had, to witness the death of a loved one ripped from his hands in the name of repentance. Well if it were repentance they desired, they would have it, but it would not be War answering to the scythe. 

He’d allow another moment to pass before answering to Omer’s call, his vision caught on May, on her frame collapsed to the floor and burgundy pooling around her corpse. And he can’t help but feel a little disappointed, that he’d thought this would bring him some peace, but it doesn’t. Her death doesn’t satisfy him at all, it doesn’t do anything, nothing changes and he’s still stood there mourning the loss of his sister. Attention breaks, and he glances back to Omer, offering a small nod as the Seraphim follows the Famine Angel down the corridors of the boat, fast paced footsteps battering against metallic floors, loud enough to rattle between the sound of explosives and fortitude of gunfire ricocheting throughout the vessel. With the exit in sight, he may not escape with what he came for, a taste of justice or balance, but he does have his life, and perhaps he can convince himself that satisfaction lingers beneath the weight of his mourning heart. 

The bank of the Thames is uneven beneath his boots, wet stones grating as the two leave and Saint’s looks back to the ship, his vision focusing for any signs of his own gang in need of help or an escape. With no such movement he’d takes a step back, “fucking fantastic,” he lies, though if he says it enough he’ll convince himself it’s true, the art of being a skilled liar meaning he’d been able to morph his own perception long with those around him. “Thank you, Omer. I’ll tell Rafael about what you did tonight. Your actions were above your station and you deserve the recognition, you did a good job.” It’s odd, admittedly, to pay praise towards the enemy. Where instincts lay to wreak havoc upon a member of Famine, the unfamiliarity of new camaraderie is almost humorous, causing a scoff to escape his lungs. “That’s the only compliment you’re getting from me,” Saint follows up, sarcastically, pointing his finger in the others direction as a faint smile forms on his lips. 

.

“Good. Yeah. Good. Good. Good, that’s fucking great.” he nods, breathing heavily as his eyes fixate on Saint, mapping out the features of the War seraphim, desperate to see whether tasting revenge was as sweet as it sounded. That was what Omer wanted desperately too right? To taste the same revenge Saint was devouring now by putting a bullet into Alicia Sanchez. It was the thought of revenge that kept him motivated and fulled the intense feeling within him. There was no question on whether he would be able to pull the trigger the day he held a gun against Alicia, he would do it instantly without hesitation. The blood that ran through his veins would always ensure a life of violence, once a Nacar, always a Nacar no matter how desperately he tried to escape it. He was a child born into violence, completely aware that death was always his doorsteps as if it were a guard dog ready to attack with one wrong move. He had seen a man die before he’d had his first kiss, he had held a gun before he’d learned to drive a car and he had ended a life before he’d turned twenty. This was just his life, and although there was an aftertaste of guilt in his mouth because of May, Omer knew that if the roles were reversed, a member of Death would have put a bullet in either himself or Saint just as easily.

A chuckle left him at Saint’s comment, it caught Omer off guard but he nodded, accepting it and giving the other an appreciative look. “I think that’s a pretty good compliment. Thank you. I’m glad I was of help to you tonight. I hope you don’t miss me too much once we stop working together.” It was a light tease to ease the tension of the events slightly, but as the sound of the explosions started to get louder, and the smell of the smoke started filling up his lungs, he knew it was time to get the fuck out of there. Tongue licks into the corner of his mouth, rubbing the nape of his neck, the gun heavy in his grasp. “I’ll go in that direction.” he points his finger towards the left. “I’ll check out if there’s anyone else left or injured before getting off - unless you have a different plan?” After receiving the seal of approval from Saint, he smiles at the other. "Stay safe Saint."

End.