Kuzguncuk, where the mosque, church and synagogue are on the same street
Fahrettin Uzunoğlu, who has been a tradesman in Kuzguncuk since 1947, said, “I was born in 1932. I came to Kuzguncuk in 1947. I am friends with all of them. It is there with its priest, also with its mosque teacher. I served in the mosque for 40 years. The administrative committees of the churches were my friends, they would always come, sit with me, chat. We worked with all of them,” he said. Noting that the Muslim population is the majority in Kuzguncuk nowadays, Uzunoğlu said, “Now there are very few non-Muslims here. For example, the Armenian Church is open on Wednesdays. They come and pray for about an hour at noon.
They come from the outside, from the right, from the left, they go, that's all. Jews come and go all the time. It is the same with the Greeks, they have once a month or weekly days. In the past, there were more non-Muslims. When I came here, 20 percent were Muslims and 80 percent were non-Muslims. These places, the lower ones, belonged to the Greeks. The middle places belonged to the Jews. The highest ones belonged to the Armenians. There was a very good neighbourhood, everything was fine. For example, one day I was sitting on the pier, we had collected money at the mosque. The boss of the Greek church would come to me while I was sitting on the ferry port, we would sit and drink tea. He saw that we were collecting money and said, 'Fahri, take it, I'll give you a thousand liras'. He gave me a thousand lira for the mosque. I bought it, put it in, went, what should I do? I said, may God accept it, what should I say? It is not given back. He gives for merit."
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Mutt
Summary: After an ambush, Soap learns to trust the newest member of the 141
Pairing: Johnny Soap Mactavish x Fem!Werewolf!MC (call sign is Mutt)
warnings: vague description of violence and injuries.
word count: 800
thank you to: @captainsamwlsn @thesadvampire @humanransome-note @joel-mlller and @luxuryberzatto @madhyanas @littleferal and @djarin-junk for helping me with this story and rattle off in your ears about Mutt! I love you all so very very much <3
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“What are you?”
It was a valid question given the circumstances.
Soap could hardly count himself as conscious at that moment. It was a wave, pulling him back and forth until he was able to force his head to the surface, gasping for air and able to just barely look at his surroundings before he was pulled under again.
“Does it matter?”
It was dark out. He remembered it being dusk when they set out on their mission, the sun slowly setting in the horizon as Price told them to radio in at any issue and meet at their rendezvous point as soon at possible.
Fuck.
He broke the surface once more to notice that he wasn’t moving, but swaying side to side. Each step that crunches the ground is not his, but the blood drip, drip, dripping down, leaving a foreboding trail of their journey, is.
Your shoulder digs into the crevice of his chest with each movement.
“Yer carryin’ me, Mutt.”
“I am.”
You never spoke much. Johnny had equated you to Simon in that way, quiet and foreboding. Your actions spoke where your voice rasped in the shadows. Tucked in the corner booth of a pub when the others went to celebrate a job well done. The loyal guard dog, waiting on its haunches for an order.
He was the one who would move to you first. Setting a beer in front of you before sliding into the seat across from you with a tap of his knuckles on the polished table. His knee would bump yours every time. You’d never complain.
“Big scary bastards, the both of you.”
But then you’d give him a grin, a flash of your crooked canines so fast it was gone when he blinked.
“Well it’s a damn good thing you talk enough for all of us then.”
Jonathan Mactavish was only a stone’s throw from 215 pounds but you carried him without complaint. The swaying with each step made his head spin and looking up was too much work for him to trust himself not to vomit. He let his eyes drop and stare at the ground, watching you take one step after another in a steady rhythm like an infant listening to their mother’s heartbeat. Through the darkness, he’s able to make out the shadowed shape of your feet in the night.
“You’ve got no shoes on, Mutt.”
“Feels better this way.”
He can’t see much. Even if it weren’t for the blood loss and what he’s going to safely assume is a grade two concussion, it’s far too dark out for his surroundings to be seen as anything more than vague shapes and textures he can almost make heads or tails of.
Your eyes are focused on the trail ahead, already accustomed to the darkness in a way he’d never seen anybody else without night vision goggles or a Mag-light.
“Tried to reach Price but the comms are busted. You got your bell rung pretty bad back there but-” You shifted your grip on his body and he felt something sharp press against his ankle, a gentle warning that mouthed at the skin of his Achilles's tendon. “We're only a few miles away from the rendezvous point. Think you can keep it together until we get there?”
Claws. You had claws.
Through the nausea rolling through his body and the lights dancing behind his eyes, Soap could feel the fog begin to clear from his head. A flash of orders rising from his memory like the vision returning after a flash grenade.
He remembered seeing you charge through the muzzle flash and smoke like a vision. Uniform stained with the viscera of your enemies so dark he didn’t recognize you at first. The moment you came toward him he was raising his gun until he heard you speak.
“You know me, Johnny.”
But he didn’t. Not really.
When he looked at you there was no familiarity or trust. He knew the color of your eyes and the curl of your lips in a snarl but nothing else. Not your name or family nor the reason you joined.
In the darkness, moonlight glinted against your eyes and he found himself thinking of the coyotes in Las Almas that watched him and his team from the shadows, pacing with a choir of chattering yips and howls in the darkness, waiting for the proper time to pounce.
He’d never admit it but there was a pause, when his hand held the barrel of his gun steady at your head. Just as long as the width of the shallow breath trapped in his lungs, a split second where his pointer finger twitches, where the voice in his head urges him on.
“You never answered my question.”
He knows nothing of you except that the blood in your mouth was spilled for him.
“I’m your teammate. That ought to be enough for you.”
It would have to be.
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i think the worst part about being single after a breakup is just the nothing at times.
like, I'm so used to knowing what I'd want to do, and who with, but now that's different.
Like, you're telling me i need to find a new person?? I have to find someone i have chemistry with?? and I have to wait months or years or decades or i might never even find it again.
Horrid, Absolutely horrid god awful hate it.
Anyways time to more or less hate every single date I go on because the person i'm seeing doesn't have an immediate connection with me and we're not already married for 5 years and I can't say "i love you" and lay on their lap and a whole bunch of other gay little thoughts in my head
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gotta sleep soon but before i do: currently the jean grey ship naming scheme that my brain won't stop suggesting is just... "fire and [blank]"
logan? fire and steel
ororo? fire and lightning
emma? fire and diamond
(my brain really wants that last one to be "fire and ice", actually, but idk i feel like bobby's existence complicates that one)
and see i was GOING to come up with one in that format for scott but then i think it started going off the rails cause now i've got... rubyflame? phoenixbeam? eyesablaze? i'm not sure yet, but i think i'm one step closer
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