Aug 3, 2024
"...Ve bir erkeğe en çok merhamet yakışır."
seen from Israel
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
"...Ve bir erkeğe en çok merhamet yakışır."
give it up for sedges
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halbuki korkulacak hiçbir şey yoktu ortalıkta
herşey naylondandı o kadar
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evet kimsesizdik ama umudumuz vardı
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eskiden güzel kadınlar ve aşklar olmuş
şimdi de var biliyorum
bir seviniyorum düşündükçe bilseniz
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hiçbir şey umurumda değil diyorum
aşktan ve umuttan başka
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biliyorum gemiler götüremez
neonlar teoriler ışıtamaz yanını yöresini
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aldatıldığımız önemli değildi yoksa
herkesin unuttuğunu biz hatırlamasak
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durumumuz başta ve sonda ayrı ayrıysa
başta ve sonda ayrı olduğumuzdandı
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hüznümüzü büyük şeylerden sanırsanız yanılırsınız
örneğin üç bardak şarap içsek kurtulurduk
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ama siz zavallısınız ben de zavallıyım
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sevinsek de sonunu biliyoruz
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Bir bardak şarabı kendim için içiyorum.
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Uzanıp kendi yanaklarımdan öpüyorum.
🚬
ok fic snippet under cut
Foster’s face cycles through disbelief and fury, and Isabel is thrown back to when she first realized the ghost lied to her. It’s like watching the reflection of her own face on water, breaking over and over and shivering back together, reaching the same conclusion every time.
Worryingly, Foster is silent. Then she flies at the ghost with the most vicious left hook Isabel has ever seen and does not stop.
The ghost takes it. Foster pummels him like the worst storms in the Waste, neither of them making a noise, and the ghost takes it. It’s only after ripping her eyes away from them that Isabel realizes she’s not leaving a single mark on him. Of course they’re not really hurting each other. She doubts they even could, after all they’ve been through.
Foster takes a noisy breath, and Isabel looks up. “How could—” Fury overtakes her again, and she aims a kick at his head that the ghost narrowly dodges. “How dare you. How could you stay.”
The next punch lands. This time the ghost doesn’t bother moving away. “I stayed after, too.” His voice doesn’t shake, steady as the rock they stand on. “Do you know why?”
Foster’s face does something funny. It’s like she’s trying not to cry, except there’s no sign of tears, and her face twists and twists until she spits out a word. “Why?”
“Because I took them down with me.” He barrels through as if stopping will cost him the last of his composure. “I didn’t stop until every last one of those—those bastards was in the ground with—“
“So they got you too.”
He smiles bitterly. “I didn’t let them.”
For a moment she tenses, like she’s about to strike again. Then the horror on her face turns back to pure rage. “So you wasted the last chance I gave you?”
The ghost blinks. “What?”
“I have to—I have to believe—“ She’s a blur of light again, moving so fast she seems formless, mindless. “There was something left of me even then. I was giving you something. I was offering you a way out.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters! I gave you the one thing I had left and you just threw it away!”
The ghost flinches. “You don’t understand. It wouldn’t—I wouldn’t have meant anything.” Another punch. The ghost catches her fist. “Even after we were done fighting. Even if I could walk out into the world without a target on my back.”
“You could have,” Foster says quietly.
“Not without you.”
She’s getting slower, Isabel realizes. Slower and unsteadier, as if the burden of all those unspent millennia has become too much to bear. Soon she’s just standing there shaking, and the ghost places both hands on her shoulders and waits, as if he could hold her steady in this place, in this time, with only that.
And then she says one word.
A name.
The ghost closes his eyes. “Foster.”
yeah ok thats what i expected
its bitch hours
I think mine is the case, where when they ask an egg, they get a scorpion, for I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come…And what I mean is this—that I thought of you all last week, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.
Emily Dickinson, in a letter to Dr. and Mrs. J. G. Holland