#black out Eid

[violentdevotion]

decided i need to budget better but first i must see where all my money goes so this month im going crazyyyyyy and next month the budgeting begins 😔

[sandsucks]

eid mubarak!! i hope everyone who celebrated today had a wonderful lovely time! 🌸✨

[astraystayyh]

this is a brainrot induced by the lovely @lino-nyangi saying that hyunjin would draw your henna for you ;-;-; this is also for all my homesick people because hyunjin would SO make efforts to understand ur culture and love u better. enjoy reading and happy eid again hehe <3

homesickness is a ruthless guest.

it comes at announced times, suddenly barging into your house and tearing away the warmth you’ve painstakingly guarded, worn hands and battered palms— bleeding wounds that can only be healed at home.

it leaves you dazed in its wake, surrounded by barren walls and a bed that doesn’t feel like your own, adrift in an endless sea, with no shore in sight.

its presence looms heavier during holidays, when visions of what could have been dance tantalizingly before your eyes—you amidst laughter and chatter that speaks to your inner child. but instead, you are consumed by a terrible ache, bones longing for an unattainable home and its traditions.

these are the thoughts hyunjin finds you drowning in, head buried deep into your pillow in a futile attempt to disappear completely— you hope the universe would mistake you for an inanimate object and pass your sadness to an unsuspecting soul.

your boyfriend just got out of his shower, late into the night, droplets of water running down his neck, tracing the contours of his bluish veins. a cloud of vanilla and wood follows him around as he walks over to your bed, clad in a plain white shirt and a pair of black shorts. your favorite.

“hi,” he grins and the weight in your heart dissolves a bit before the sun.

“hey baby—” your words are cut off as he slides his arms underneath your legs, effortlessly picking you up bridal style.

“what are you doing?” you giggle, entwining your hands behind his neck, a gesture as natural as a waterfall current.

“carrying my princess.”

“and where to?”

“you’ll see,” he smiles secretly as he pushes open the door to his art studio. his body shields your view of the inside, not that you dare look anywhere but his angelic face— you are but a captive to the softening of his eyes, filled with unspoken adoration, for you.

he brushes the faintest kiss against your forehead, before lowering you to the ground, stepping aside quietly.

“what’s this?” you ask bewildered, as your eyes take in the new addition to his studio— a small white table with two tiny chairs on opposite sides of it, and on its surface, cinnamon candles and rose petals. but your eyes remain elsewhere, drawn to the sight of a syringe and near it, a very familiar henna paste.

“i knew you were bummed because you wouldn’t be able to put on henna,” he inches closer to you, placing his chin on the small of your shoulder. “so, i practiced.”

the breath refuses to escape your lungs, your response materializing into ropes wrapping around your throat. your next question is tinted with a child-like curiosity, but you must hear the answer stumbling from his lips.

“for me?” you say. you made time, for me? he hears.

“of course, i’d do anything for you,” he says earnestly, simply, placing a small kiss on your erratic pulse, the one that’s right beneath your jaw. your heart stops then resumes its course— it does not wish to part from your body and leave hyunjin behind.

“so,” he clears his throat, pulling you gently to your seat. “i had to do extensive research. i kept looking up designs but everything looked so cute so i asked your mom which one you’d love best.”

he lights up the candles one by one. their warmth finds a singular home within your cold soul.

“and i couldn’t let you know i was doing this, so i kept going to chan’s dorm to practice,” he fills up the syringe naturally, squeezing a bit of henna into a napkin to test it out.

“but then i needed a real life model,” he grabs your hand gently, placing it atop his warm, large palm. “so, i convinced changbin to model for me. and i had to give up terrible terrible things to get him to agree,” he whispers in horror, and you giggle, your laughter winning before your tears.

“he actually really liked it,” he smiles softly, his eyes never parting from your hand, “so i kept trying other designs on all the boys. they just wiped them quickly after so it wouldn’t stain,” he explains and you feel the knot in your throat tighten even more— it twists and twists and with it so does your heart.

it’s quiet after that, as hyunjin’s eyebrows knit together in utter concentration, as though tasked with protecting a fragile vase amidst a terrible earthquake.

he’s a vision of love as he draws delicate flower patterns on the canvas of your hand. as his tongue peeks out to press against his cheek in concentration, making sure every petal is perfectly crafted.

he’s a vision of home as his brows furrow into that distinctive expression of disdain he reserves for everything that falls short of his standards. his eyes are apologetic as they flee to yours before he quickly wipes away the design, starting over yet again.

hyunjin did not intuitively fit into your culture. he wasn’t a pair of gloves perfectly stitched after your fingers and everything they carried from back home.

but he has always tried to understand— when he scoured the city to find the best restaurant serving your native cuisine, when he spoke sentences in your language that he learned in secret. and although his tongue breaks, he tries, again and again, to understand, to get closer to you, to bridge gaps created by a past he did not exist in, so he’d know you better in a future he chose to love.

“do you like it?” he asks, and it is the nervous look on his face that breaks you— the way he fiddles with his lower lip, cheeks coated in pink, head tilting slightly to press against his shoulder blade.

your tears fall like a torrent as your free hand cradles his face, the kiss is salty as you move your lips against his own. “thank you, my angel. you are my home.”

he’d ask you again if you liked it, when he’s done drying your tears, skillfully mending the fractures in your heart. you’d say yes as your eyes take in the intricate flowers, the sheer artistry that can only spill from a soul as talented as his own.

you’ll like it more the next morning when you’ll wake up to a disheveled hyunjin, eyes puffy chasing away a clinging sleep to inspect your henna and see if it remained intact. you’ll love it when his lips will brush delicately against your palm, imprinting kisses across every inch of your tatted skin.

you’ll love it even more when he’ll draw your henna the night of your wedding, skillfully hiding his initials within the scattered petals, the very way you carry his name eternally within the chambers of your heart.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A greyish brown stew presented alongside flatbread, red pepper paste, green peppers, and carrot sticks. End ID]

سماقية / Summagiyya (Gazan stew with chard, chickpea, sumac, and 'lamb')

Summagiyya (سُمَّاقِيَّة; also translitered "sumagiyya", "sumaghiyyeh" or "sumaqiyya") is one of the signature dishes of the Gaza strip, in particular Gaza City. It consists of lamb, chard, and chickpeas in a sumac-infused broth; savor and zest is added by a dagga of dill seeds, garlic, and peppers, and nutty depth by a generous drizzle of red tahina. The resulting stew is thick, earthy, and slodgily grey (due to the green chard and red sumac)—it also has the characteristic sourness of much Gazan cuisine.

Summagiyya is most often prepared during holidays, especially Eid al-Fitr; it's an excellent make-ahead dish for these occasions, since it's even better once its flavors have had time to meld and mellow overnight. It is served cold alongside fresh vegetables, and eaten by using flatbread to scoop up each bite. This recipe provides a spiced seitan recipe to replace the lamb, but you may also use any lamb or beef substitute of your choice.

Today, summagiyya is often prepared with Israeli white tahina, as decades of punitive import laws, taxes, and restrictions have enforced Palestine's status as a consumer, rather than an producer, of food products. Israeli tariffs on, and confiscations of, Palestinian goods have forced those tahina factories that survived to import sesame seeds rather than using locally grown crops, even as they export the best of their product to Israel. The dubbing of foods such as tahina and hummus as culturally "Israeli" cuisine works to hide this exploitative relationship, and cement an Israeli national identity through the subsuming and erasure of Palestinian existence. It is for this reason that Emad Moussa writes that Palestinian cuisine has a role in "protecting against a people's very extinction."

Medical Aid for Palestinians (MAP) has put out an urgent call for donations to provide medical supplies to Palestinian hospitals when supply lines reopen. Also contact your representatives in the USA, UK, and Canada.

Ingredients:

For the soup:

500g (2 large bunches) chard (شلق), diced

80g Levantine sumac berries (Rhus coriaria)

1/2 cup soaked and boiled chickpeas, mostly cooked (40g dry / scant 1/4 cup)

1/4 cup red tahina

1/2 cup (60g) all-purpose flour

1 large yellow onion

1/4 cup olive oil

1 tsp kosher salt

2 cardamom pods (optional)

2 allspice berries (optional)

More olive oil, to fry

Sumac berries can be found in the spice section of a halal grocery store. If you're unable to locate whole berries, pre-ground will do.

For the dagga:

1 1/2 Tbsp dill seeds

5 cloves garlic

1/2 green cubanelle pepper

2-3 dried red chilis (optional)

1/2 tsp black pepper

1/4 tsp cumin

Dill seeds may be found at a halal, south Asian, or speciality European grocery store. They are commonly used in Indian food and as a pickling spice. At a south Asian grocery store they may be labelled soyo, suva, shepu, or savaa.

For the lamb:

1 cup (120g) vital wheat gluten, aka gluten flour

1/2 Tbsp ground sumac

1/2 tsp ground caraway

1 tsp onion powder

1 tsp Palestinian 7-spice

1/2 tsp garlic powder

1/2 tsp sea salt

1/2 tsp ground black pepper

1/2 tsp ground cumin

1/2 tsp ground aniseed

1/2 tsp turnermic

1 tbsp olive oil

1/2 tsp soy sauce

1 tsp miso paste

2 cloves garlic, grated

2 tsp pomegranate molasses

1 Tbsp white or red tahina

About 1/2 cup vegetarian 'beef' stock from concentrate, or vegetable stock

Pomegranate molasses is simply pomegranate juice that has been reduced to a thick consistency. It may be found in the sauces section of a halal grocery store.

Instructions:

For the soup:

1. Soak dried chickpeas in cool water overnight, or in just-boiled water for an hour. Drain and re-cover with water, and boil for 30-45 minutes, until almost fully cooked. Drain and set aside.

2. Simmer sumac seeds in enough water to cover by a couple inches for about an hour, until the water is dark red. Blend the seeds and water together, then strain the mixture through a cheesecloth.

If you're using ground sumac, skip the blending step. Use a cheesecloth or very fine metal sieve (such as one intended for brewing tea) to remove the ground spice from the water.

3. Whisk the flour into the sumac-infused water.

For the lamb:

1. Combine all dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Add wet ingredients other than stock and stir briefly. Add enough stock to produce a soft, smooth dough.

2. Knead by hand on a clean surface, or put in a stand mixer with paddle attachment on medium-low, for about 5 minutes. You should see stringy strands begin to form in the dough.

3. Allow to rest, covered, for 5-10 minutes to encourage gluten formation. Knead for another 3 minutes. Do not over-knead.

4. Tear the dough into bite-sized pieces.

Stringy seitan being pulled apart into pieces.

You may also shape the dough into a slab and cube it with a sharp knife—the lamb or beef used in summagiyya is usually cubed—but I prefer the texture of torn seitan to sliced.

5. Steam the seitan pieces for 10 minutes in a bamboo steamer or using a metal steamer basket. Place the bamboo steamer in the bottom of a wok and cover its base by about 1/2" (1 cm), then raise the heat to boil the water; lower the heat to keep the water at a simmer. If using a steamer basket, place it over the opening of a pot containing a couple inches of water and bring it to a simmer. Start the timer when the water begins simmering.

6. Heat olive oil on medium-high and sear the steamed seitan pieces, turning as necessary, until deeply browned on all sides. Set aside.

Fried seitan pieces.

You can save a step here by searing the raw seitan, then returning it to the pot after you've fried the onions to simmer it rather than steaming. I found that this produced a mushier texture.

For the dagga (دقة):

1. Grind cumin and black pepper thoroughly in a mortar and pestle, then add dried red pepper and dill seed and crush coarsely. Add green sweet pepper and garlic and pound until a coarse mixture forms.

Dill seeds, green sweet pepper, garlic, and dried red chili on a cutting board, alongside dagga in a large granite mortar.

You may also use a spice mill or food processor.

To assemble:

1. Chop the onion. Wash the chard and slice it thinly in one direction; turn it ninety degrees and slice thinly again.

Diced chard, fried seitan, dagga, and sumac-infused water with flour.

2. In a large pot, heat a couple tablespoons of olive oil on medium. Fry chopped onion, cardamom pods, and allspice berries for a minute until fragrant. Add half of the dagga and fry until fragrant.

3. Add chard and fry, mixing often, until wilted.

Wilted chard in a wok.

4. Add sumac mixture, chickpeas, and water to cover. Bring to a boil, then lower heat to a simmer. If you didn't steam your seitan earlier, add it now.

5. Continue to stir and simmer until the stew is thick, homogenous, and greyish-brown, about 15 minutes.

Simmered stew.

6. Add the remainder of the garlic mixture, the red tahina, a pinch of ground cumin, the 1/4 cup olive oil, and salt to taste. Return the steamed and seared seitan to the pot and mix.

Serve cool with flatbread, sweet green peppers, bitter green and black olives, carrots, leafy greens, and/or pickles.

[ang3lwritez]

Desi Kaveh and Alhatiam gen give me life || 🪞🪷🪔

Hear me out...

Kaveh and Alhatiam watching all the married couples on Karva Chauth and proceeding to awkwardly look at the seeve on thier kitchen table and blushing

Hand feeding eahcother cake on birthdays, only for the moment to be (happily) ruined by one of them swiping frosting on thier nose

Alhatiam dragging Kaveh away from his work on Eid or Diwali to watch the lights in the Bazaar

Kaveh wearing Jumkahs and Chudiyan ♥️

Alhatiam wearing a black kurta (GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY)

Kaveh wearing wine red/burgundy kurtas (GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY PT.2)

kaveh absolutely downing seven cups of chai in the morning and arguing it's "healthier than Fontanian coffee!" (It's not)

Indiri is kavehs favorite alcohol brand tell me I'm wrong

Alhatiam reading Ram and Leela as a child with his grandmother, and always being reminded of her while going to festivals during Dussehra

I see Alhatiam being strict with no shoes in the house and using his right hand rules

Watching Bollywood movies together for date nights <3

AN : IK THIS WAS MOSTLY INDIAN/PAKISTANI STUFF , but if you guys have other headcanons you want me to write for, please send me an ask!!!

[s-4pphics]

mourn. intro. (e.w.)

INTRO. 

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

WARNINGS: streetracer!ellie, dealer!oc, backstory lemme cook, parental death, mentions of overdoses, funeral, baby ellie :), oc intro… cackles evilly

A/N: last post til eid lol 

pay zakat. feed a family this ramadan. k!ll zios.

SEPTEMBER, 2009

ANGUISH floods Ellie’s chest as she witnesses decorative rosewood being lowered into the sopping dirt. It’s cinematic; watching herself from a bird’s eye view, floating above her own body. Her brain cranks at an alarming rate. Churning in attempts to convince her that she’s not actually here, staring dead at her mother’s casket. The grass sludges beneath her shoes with every unsteady shuffle of her feet. 

There aren't many people around. Three of her mother’s former work friends, a service dog, and the officiant. They’re hardly acknowledging Ellie; no one would be able to stop her from leaping head-first into the ground due to the lowering clouds. Buried and suffocated by grass and mud, a feast for the maggots, but loved eternally. Every cell in Ellie’s body thrums with anxiety. Just when she trusted that her mother’s health was improving, she woke up, shrouded in ice next to a limp body and an empty pill bottle on the nightstand. The same ones her mother took to sleep throughout the night. 

That was three weeks ago. She doesn’t remember calling 911. 

Her best friend — her only friend is gone. And it’s permanent. This isn’t like how her mother used to scavenge the streets until dawn searching for another job before Ellie woke up. She’s not coming back to crawl into their shared, warm bed, sleep for half an hour, then help her get ready for school. No more oatmeal in the mornings. No laughter. No joy. No symmetry. Ellie’s life is forever scattered. Beaten to death until she’s leaking venomous, black blood.

There’s a man that keeps staring at her with pity: familiarity crushes her every time they lock eyes. She kind of remembers him. Somewhat. She almost forgot her shoes before coming here. He seems more upset than her. At least externally; Ellie’s rotting from the inside. 

Her mother’s chamber is completely submerged underneath dirt within the next few hours. The man from earlier is much closer now. 

She jumps when he whispers, 

I owed your mom a favor. 

OCTOBER, 2009

Ellie hates Joel. Hates her mother for leaving her with him. Hates herself for not being able to save her from the claws of addiction. 

Joel’s home is always silent during the day. He gave Ellie the grace of letting her stay home until the Spring, but it’s too quiet. Music never plays and they never talk, and it’s driving her to madness. The silence makes her itch. 

Until the sun sets. 

She already has trouble sleeping. Her insomnia combined with the thunderous clanking that blares from the garage every night is enough to get her sobbing into her pillow until the sun rises the next morning. One night, the noise had gotten so uncontrollably loud that Ellie barged into the garage to shout every curse she recalled her mom screaming into the phone before bedtime.

She didn't expect, however, to see Joel’s legs extended out from underneath her mom’s wrecked ‘57 Chevrolet. Ellie could hear him grunting as cranking and banging of metal took over the space. 

… What are you doing? 

Joel rolls out from beneath the car on a creeper, face confused and smeared with dark sludge. 

Why’re you up? 

It’s loud. She snaps. Why is her car here. 

Joel sighs. Just trying to fix it up. 

For what. Ellie eyes the cracked windshield. She somehow remembers how a rock hit it on the freeway when she was six. Her mom was livid. She can’t drive it anymore. 

Joel’s face twists uncomfortably. It’s almost comical; the seemingly boiling child stands at a whopping four-foot-three with her fists clenched, burning holes through her bright yellow Spongebob pjs. Her glare sharpens when he mumbles, 

Kid… 

So you stole her freaking car? Her eyes swelter, brows hauled downward and hands in fists. He sits up straight, palms up in surrender, wrench in hand. How’d he even get back into their old house?

No, I — He rushes, She asked me to try n’ get it started again. That’s all. I… I shoulda asked you —

Ellie’s not sure why she’s so enraged, but she’s hollering with a pointed index in his direction, berating him, degrading him with sobbed vulgarities. Pushes him hard when he rises to comfort her. Eyes him with so much disdain that he flinches. 

She hates him. She misses her mom. 

The guest room door slammed shut with the click of a lock. She screamed for her mother for hours. Voice shrieking so loud that the neighbors came knocking after the first fifteen minutes. Cops pounded on Joel’s door and proceeded to conduct a wellness check on the household after an hour. 

Their presence made Ellie swallow her scorn. Ellie’s already received a small taste of what it’s like to be in the system. She vowed to never reenter as if her life depended on it. 

NOVEMBER, 2009

Joel made Ellie chocolate chip pancakes for her birthday. 

Breakfast is silent, per usual. Light clinks of utensils on silverware and breathing are the only proof of life in the room. Ellie refuses to touch the squared slices of pineapple. It was her mother’s favorite, despite her complaints of an itchy mouth after every juicy piece. 

Your mom and I… 

Ellie pauses, skeptic eyes connecting with Joel’s. He’s treading light, she can tell. The nerves in his fingers are evident; The sorrow in his eyes suffocates her. Joel’s gaze drops onto his plate at the scrutiny he receives from across the table. 

She’s a good friend of mine, He mutters before his lips turn downward. Was. 

Ellie snorts humorlessly, Way to rub it in. 

Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he sighs, I’m… Sorr—

Were you the one she told? Her tone is sharp. Unforgiving. I heard her on the phone a few days before she did it. 

A storm flurries in the man’s gaze. A familiar one; It’s identical to when she would catch her mother in the middle of night talking to herself with a bottle in her hand. The winds in his pupils take her back to one of the darkest times of Ellie’s life. Maybe they were closer than she assumed. They look identical when they’re guilty. 

I didn’t—

But he did. He’ll never forget being on the other line with Ellie’s mother as she attempted to keep her cries to a minimum. Her croaked wails terrified him. Left wounds in his chest as his heart raced. I can’t do this to her, She’d said, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! … Please… You owe me…

Joel did what he could over the phone. Made promises to her that he couldn’t keep, reaffirmed how much Ellie loved her. How badly she needed her mother, and eventually eased her sobs into pained whimpers. He believed the calmness she exuded prior to ending the call was a sign of understanding of her importance, but it wasn’t. Her mind and body merely accepted her fate. She was dead two mornings after. 

And Ellie was a witness to it all. 

Ellie’s eyes roll and sickness floods her, so she stands, You’re a liar. When you’re ready to tell the truth… You know where I am. She doesn’t bother to push her chair in, clean her dishes, pause at his calls of her name. Her feet stomp through the hallway, marrow searing beneath her skin. The guest room door slams shut and she breaks, guarded by the plainness of the beige walls while tears flow. 

She knows he knew. Why else would her mother leave her with him? 

-

-

- 

When Ellie got up to use the restroom hours later, she nearly tripped over a teddy bear holding a birthday cake. With candles. She’s never received a gift before. 

She doesn’t tell him that she slept for an hour with it hugged to her chest. 

The noises in the garage halt for a week. Ellie still can’t fall asleep. Joel has the same problem, she’s discovered. She finds him sprawled out on the couch one night, burning holes through the roof with a picture frame in his arms. She watches him silently for some time, perched behind the main wall of the hallway. 

Hey. 

Joel’s acknowledgement earns a gasp followed by scuffling, and he snorts. He sits up and sets the dusty frame on the cushion in front of him, noting how awful Ellie is at hiding; It makes him smile. Barely, but he’s endeared; Her entire arm was exposed. He can even see her duck-shaped slippers from where she’s tucked behind the wall. 

Ellie. 

She doesn’t come out, and he sighs. His heart twists painfully when he hears a wet sniffle. He’s up and moving when a guttural sob echoes from the hallway, crouching down in front of Ellie with her knees squeezed into her heaving chest. Joel’s heart cracks at her flushed cheeks drenched in salt. Talking won’t calm her, he knows it, but he’s unsure of what else to do. Ellie… isn’t an emotional kid, but he hushes her, attempts to cradle, apologizes softly. 

But when her wet eyes pinch open, she unravels and falls into him completely. Her arms squeeze around his neck in a deadly grip and she cries and coughs and whines for her mother. Joel holds her just as tightly as she hangs off him. 

We're gonna be fine, sweetheart. He mumbles, and he feels her head shake in denial, tucked in the crook of his neck. His knees wobble, and a soothing hand rises to caress the back of her head; He's never seen a kid this hopeless. It makes him wonder. 

What the hell did she witness in that house? 

Ellie’s always struggled to fall asleep alone. 

Her need to be coddled to dreamland was always a mystery to her mother. Skin-to-skin was a normal trait for infants, toddlers, maybe even a little over, but at age ten? Eleven, and unable to fall asleep without the feeling or knowledge of a loved one present? There was only one time where she recalled her mother carrying her to her own room to rest, but the second the door clicked shut, she was up. Awake. Alert and exposed to harm. Or, at least that’s what she convinced herself. 

She crawled into her mother’s bed minutes later and snoozed throughout the entire night. She didn’t hear the end of it when the sun rose. 

Joel doesn’t berate her, though. 

I can’t sleep by myself, she’d said to him after she calmed from her breakdown in the living room. They’d sat on the couch as he rubbed a comforting palm down her back, her small ones coming up to wipe her wet cheeks. 

How come? 

She scoffed, Scared of the dark, I guess? I dunno. I just can’t. 

Joel hummed in understanding. 

I’m like that, too. Sometimes. 

Ellie snickered wetly, You’re old, though. It’s not the same. 

Joel scoffed and snatched his hand away in mocked hurt. I’m not old! 

The gray hairs say otherwise! 

That night was the first time they ever laughed together. The first time Ellie laughed since her mother’s death, and it carried on until she knocked out beside him on the couch. 

For Joel, though, he couldn’t rest. Not when Ellie favored his daughter that much. Whenever he feels as though he’s progressing, letting go of grief, something life changing — disastrous — forces him right back to square one. Meeting Ellie was one of those moments. He tried to keep his weeping to a minimum as he held her sleeping form, eyes glued to the picture of him hugging his baby after her first soccer win. 

DECEMBER, 2009

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Ellie’s trapped inside the garage with Joel. 

Watching him tweak her mother’s vehicle has aided her raging boredom… To a certain degree. When he starts getting nerdy and raving about car parts, she tunes him out, despite the slight interest she’s taken with underneath the hood. 

The connecting wires, the bolts, the valves and cranks and this manual makes absolutely zero sense—

Can you stop dillydallyin’ around n’ hand me that? 

Ellie’s gobsmacked reading is paused when she passes Joel the manual, dark sludge-covered hands staining the fading paper. She cringes. 

Ellie watches silently as Joel inspects the contents, nodding to himself as his eyes flicker from the vehicle to the booklet, mapping out his next moves of attack. His eyes sparkle and curiosity sparks in her. 

Did you fix it? 

Joel only murmurs to himself, and Ellie’s eyes roll. She inches closer to him and waves a hand in front of his eyes. Hellooo? Is it gonna start? 

… I think so, kid. His head shakes in disbelief, If I can get that transmission replaced, it might be alright. 

Ellie’s brows furrow… What on earth is a transmission? 

I’ve been workin’ on cars for a while. I can tell you now that finding such an essential part for a model this old is gonna be tough. Might cost me an arm n’ leg. 

Ellie shrugs, You’ll figure it out, old man. 

He stares down at her blankly, Gee, thanks. Hand me that wrench, assistant. 

Ellie mocks glee on her skip to the rolling cart, Gosh golly dang, does this mean I’m hired? 

He jokingly snatches the tool from her extended hand. Little bugger. And just like that, you’re not gettin’ paid. How’s it feel to be outta funds? 

WAAAAAAA—

Ellie’s fake wails earn her a deep holler. 

Ellie oversees Joel until the clock strikes twelve, following his line of vision on every rusted compartment of the vehicle. Stood attentively at his side as he pointed out the carefully crafted machinery, listing their parts despite Ellie’s protest of forgetfulness. There are so many names for everything; Building cars seems so complicated, but curiosity sparks in her. She starts to think: maybe cars aren’t so boring. 

Another sleepless night for the both of them; Might as well commit to movie night. Fireworks are still going off in the small neighborhood hours later. The booming colors in the sky makes Joel's teeth grind. Reminds him of the time he took Sarah to Santa Monica Pier. 

Joel? 

Mhm? 

… What favor did you owe my mom? 

Thickness builds in his throat the second Ellie mentions her. He sets the large bowl of chocolate-doused popcorn onto the coffee table, reaching for the remote to turn the movie down. Not off, down. Ellie hates feeling like she’s being scolded. 

Joel doesn’t look at her, but her eyes are glued on the side of his face. 

Umm… He scratches his face, Did your mom ever mention me to you? Ellie denies with a hum. 

Joel’s mind whirs back to the first time he met Anna: sophomore year. He was exhausted, drained, barely making it, but despite being miserable, he still cared deeply for his education. He studied until his eyes burned, jotted down notes until his hand cramped and the librarian was gently urging him to head home. 

She… We were friends in college. He fonds, We met at an ice cream truck. 

Weird. Ellie notes causally, She hates dairy. 

… Yeah. She does. Joel coughs to mask the brokenness in his voice. 

Anna was… a genius, to put it lightly. Academically gifted to an intimidating degree. Her mind was a camera; She’d scan one excerpt from the thickest novel once and still manage to repeat it word for word years later. They had comms together; Her voice sounded like tweeting birds whenever she recited her prepared speech like it was nothing. She was an emotional speaker, entranced everyone in the room, and always ended with a question that forced students and professors to self-reflect. Joel wouldn’t call it a crush… Merely admiration. Envy. He was motivated whenever he left comms. 

He’ll never forget the image of her, sweating and worn, carrying what seemed like a twenty-pound backpack — all stuffed with calculus books — while ordering a can of Sprite from the humming, beaten down truck. Anna didn’t leave after the vendor handed her the soft drink. She simply turned to Joel, inspected him from head to toe, and turned back to the vendor. 

I’ll cover whatever he gets, too. With a thumb aimed at him. He nearly choked. 

A free snow cone couldn’t halt the racing in his chest. 

I know what you are. 

What, He questioned without a stutter. 

You fix cars? Anna quirked a brow at him. Joel’s brows pull downward. How did she know that? He’s fixed one car since he’s been enrolled. His buddy pulled up in front of his dorm asking for a windshield repair. But he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. I dunno. 

The green-eyed girl scoffs and sips from her nearly emptied can. 

You down to replace a tire? Some jackass thought it would be funny to leave a rusty nail in our parking lot. 

Our. She must have roommates… or lives where he does, he thinks. For how much? Not a beat missed. 

Her shoulders lift, I dunno. How much does a tire cost? 

Depends on the model. What d’you drive?

A chevy. Don’t ask the year, I’m not sure. It was a hand-me-down. 

A slight pause between them before Anna suggests with a sigh,

Come see ‘er. 

-

-

-

Thar she blows. 

Joel can’t help but snicker at the woman in front of him, posing right next to her teetered vehicle. It’s quite charismatic; the bright pink bumper stickers, the crisp turquoise paint job, the slight scratch on the trunk. It’s nice. Classically vintage; it suits her. 

A beauty, he notes with his eyes locked onto Anna’s. She gives a hum in agreement. 

Revive her, if ya don’t mind. I’m desperate and can’t sue, so. Joel nods and inspects the damage on her tire. The air is nearly fully gone, and it’s making her drive slump. 

Tire shouldn’t be more than thirty-five… Gonna have to head home for some stuff. Willing to wait an hour? When he turns to her, they’re shoulder to shoulder. 

Anna smirks, Whatever you need, mechanic. 

My dad, Joel corrects, He taught me the basics when I was like… twelve. 

Her voice lowers, Good on him… Earned me a discount, eh? A hand claps down on his shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze, and he revs to life. 

He swears the tips of his ears are red hot, Sure… minus that deposit. I needa twenty for emotional damages. 

Fuck off. Her eyes are soft, Might never go to the shop again. You’re officially my car fixer-upper. Fuck these grease-balls n’ their price spikes. 

Joel snorts, You get into that many goddamn accidents? 

She leans in closer, and his throat closes. Slams shut. Turns to dust. 

You’ll find out, mechanic.

That’s why you’re spending so much time on it, Ellie notes at Joel’s retelling before a harsh gasp escapes her. Dude, were you in love with my mom or somethin’?

The man stutters and coughs, No — what? I told you she was a frien—

Ellie snickers with a judgmental point, Yeaaah, yeaaah, I know how these things go. You sucker! 

What the hell — I’m not a sucker… And what things—

Anna and Joeeel sitting in a tree! — 

A pillow smacks Ellie dead in the face, and she topples over in cackles. Joel rubs deep in his temples. Ellie would’ve loved Sarah. Two little bullies who feast on his suffering. 

No more storytelling. I’m going to bed. 

You can’t! Remember? Ellie hollers as tears fall from her eyes. She coos at Joel when he lifts himself off the couch and down the hall, trying to mask his small smile. 

Aww! C’mon, old man, it was a joke! 

I can’t wait for you to go back to school, ya vermin! 

-

-

-

An exhausted Ellie creeps into Joel’s room half an hour later. She sighs in relief when she doesn’t hear snoring. Her mom was the worst when she was tired. She tiptoes across the carpeted floors until she’s in front of the unoccupied side of the mattress, stealthily adjusting the blankets and pulling back the sheets. 

She slowly manages to tuck herself in, fixing the pillows so her head rests on the cold side of the case, exhaling happily at the warmth defrosting her limbs. 

The second she dozed off, she yanked to consciousness by raspy sarcasm. Her eyes roll underneath her lids.

You can’t, either. Joel croaks, Remember?

JANUARY, 2010

Five days until school. Five days until misery. Five days until… strangers. Ellie’s skin crawls whenever she thinks about being an enclosed space with snot-nosed boys and soggy lunches. 

And math… Gross. 

Joel has been more than willing to postpone Ellie’s enrollment whenever she becomes anxious, but she always denies his requests. She’s grown to like Joel, but… he’s not the best teacher, especially social studies. Reviewing one of her old packets nearly gave him an aneurysm. She can’t afford to be homeschooled by him. 

What's been the best distraction from her impending doom? 

Binge watching Cars for the billionth time… And helping Joel patch up that blue Chevy. 

They celebrated their first victory last night for repairs, at least: Joel stuck and twisted the key to start up the engine, and it managed to stutter to life. For less than five seconds. The headlights barely came on and an old Foreigner record broke through the crackly speaker. They rejoiced with the brightest smiles as their hands slapped the dashboard before the vehicle crashed out once more. 

A glimmer of hope. A chance for reconnection. Anna’s sending them messages. The joy in that car shifted to grievance; Joel had to cradle Ellie in his lap as she wept into his shoulder. 

But there’s hope. Ellie wanted nothing more than to get this car working after that. Duty calls, though, and the alarm’s coming from a backpack. 

You got this, kid. Stop stressin’. 

Ellie, without a doubt in her mind, does not got this. 

Screaming children, muddy slides, bloody band aids; they’re all on the other side of that office door. Her worst nightmare has come to life, and she desires nothing more than to hide out in her mom’s car forever. The bag strapped around her shoulders matches the weight of a body. She refuses to let go of Joel’s hand as he speaks with the giggly receptionist who’s too happy to see him (what the hell), but it's okay; he’s holding hers just as tightly. Just as paranoid, apparently. 

She’ll be with Mrs. Lawson for the remainder of the year. Ellie hears the receptionist say over her pounding heart, She’s incredible! I’m sure they'll develop an amazing bond. 

Ellie’s palms are sweltering. Joel must feel it because his thumb nuzzles into her wrist. She’s not built for this. Maybe returning so soon wasn’t a great idea. She can’t do this without her mom. 

Cool backpack, Spidey, is said from behind her, and she stiffens instantly. 

She has a Spider-man backpack. 

Hush. An older man’s voice replies. Sounds strained. Stressed, but he only receives a light snicker from her in return. 

Ellie watches with squinted eyes as a young girl gets escorted towards the front of the office by… the principal, she assumes? He seems fancy in his suit slacks. 

You stay right here until I get your uncle on the phone, The suited man is stern towards the girl, who plops down on one of the waiting chairs. Backpack and all, You can explain to him how you swore at a teacher. I’m not dealing with this from you today. 

M’kay, Mr. Harris. 

Ellie observes the entire scene indiscreetly. Her stares are obvious, glued to the clearly agitated dean who stomps into his office. 

Where’d you get your backpack? 

Ellie’s stunned at your sudden whisper. She shocks herself when she quietly stutters,

Um… Walmart? 

You smile, I like it. I want one. 

Ellie simply nods, but gets paused before she can redirect her attention to Joel. 

Are you new? Your voice grows quieter when you look over your shoulder. Right at the principal’s door. I am, too. I just moved schools. 

This shocks the brunette. The new year just started, and you're already locked in the office with evidently angry staff. 

Yeah… I’m new. 

Something in your grin shifts. Ellie’s nails lock into Joel’s hand. … Interesting— 

Young lady! Did Mr. Harris give you permission to speak? 

You audibly ponder like the attendance clerk asked you to solve a riddle. 

No, ma’am. I apologize. 

Then hush. Not another word. 

Ellie watches you fold your hands politely, twiddling your thumbs. Your eyes don’t leave her backpack. 

Ready, kiddo? 

Her eyes finally reconnect with Joel’s, encouraging and chocolate, and she nods. He guides her to the office exit where her new life resides. Before their departure, she can’t help but take one last respectful glance over her shoulder. She finds you staring with a quirked lip and your wrist outstretched like your shooting spider webs at her. Ellie jerks her head forward and releases the breath she’s been holding. 

What a weirdo. 

tagggiiiiessss :3: @inf3ct3dd @fleshunger @sawaagyapong @elliesbitchh @aouiaa @elliesatchel @williamellieslilho @elliewilliamgfooc @bready101 @myluvforstarz

[toychest321]

While I was looking into Fulla dolls, I found out another Muslim fashion doll was released around the same time!

Meet Razanne! (And be prepared for a loooooong deep dive under the Keep Reading lol)

From what I've been able to piece together from various sources, she was created by Palestinian-American Ammar Saadeh and his wife Noor in 1996, being initially launched through the internet before more publicly advertised to Middle-Eastern and American audiences in 2004. Their goal was to show Muslim girls that "what matters is what's inside you, not how you look" (quoted from an interview with Greensoboro News and Record). They wanted to give them a role model with an emphasis on education and religion, while also having a career! To reflect the diversity of the global Muslim ummah, each of her dolls came in three variants: Pakistani-Indian (olive skin w/ dark hair), Black (dark skin w/ dark hair), and Caucasian (fair skin w/ fair hair).

While unfortunately she's no longer in production, the WayBack machine has a record of all her dolls released through the Noorart website! Each doll listing also includes additional information to educate on Islamic culture!

First there's Schoolgirl Razanne, whose listing reads:

"Razanne loves school and is all ready with her bright red book bag to join her friends in class. For your information…Traditional uniforms are worn by schoolgirls in Islamic schools. In addition to the usual subjects, students also study the Arabic language and the Qur'an - the Muslim Holy Book."

Next we have Teacher Razanne, whose listing reads:

"What is a more honorable and specialized career than education? Our teacher Razanne comes full equipped with lap top computer, briefcase and all the necessary items for school. For your information... Many Muslim girls study to become educators. Two-piece suits with jacket and skirt are popular styles for Muslim women who work outside the home as teachers or other professionals."

There's Playday Razanne, who unlike the prior two came with no accessories, her listing reads:

"Dressing modestly doesn't keep Razanne from having fun! On the playground, Razanne plays in her scarf and a loose fitting jumper that gives her lots of room to run and jump. For your information... Dressing modestly doesn't prevent Muslim girls from having fun outdoors! Whether biking, skating, on the playground or at the park children manage to have fun no matter where they are!"

We also have a Muslim Scout Razanne, who came with a free audiotape of Muslim Scout Cheers and a preview of We Love Muhammad! Her listing reads:

"'I'm honest, kind and trustworthy.' Muslim Scouts' organizations all over the world help build character and skills for success in this life and the next. Razanne wears her merit badges and awards earned for community service, Islamic behavior and Qur'an memorization. Respect for Allah, parents and all members of the community are a top priority with Razanne. For your information…like all Scout troops, Muslim Scouts are encouraged to excel in personal attributes such as honesty, cooperation and leadership as well as taking an active part in community service and environmental protection."

Next up there's Eid Mubarak Razanne, which came two different color variants for her outfit, her listing reading:

"Razanne is all ready to celebrate the Muslim holiday. Dressed in her new floral fashions of pink or blue, Razanne has Eid cards addressed to all her friends and is ready to deocorate the party with balloons. The perfect Eid gift for any girl! For your information… Muslims celebrate two major festivals each year. One is the Eid Al Fitr following the month-long fast of Ramadan. A second holiday occurs during the annual Pilgrimage to Makkah. Children and adults look forward to these two special days with great anticipation. Before the Eid the entire family goes out shopping for new clothes to wear for Eid Day. Early Eid morning the family meets with other members of the community for an Eid Prayer then disperse to family gatherings and other celebrations. Children are often given gifts of toys or money and families exchange delectable sweets that differ according to the region in which they live. Muslims exchange greetings of Eid Mubarak,"Eid Congratulations", Eid Saeed, "Happy Eid" and wish each other a coming year full of God's blessings. Kul 'am wa anta bi khair!"

I wasn't able to find any other images for Prayer Razanne like the others unfortunately, and apparently she came with accessories too! Her listing reads:

"Allahu Akbar! God is the Greatest! It's time to pray and Razanne is ready! When it's time for prayer, many Muslim girls cover their everyday clothes with these traditional two-piece garments and stand to pray on colorful prayer rugs. We receive so many letters from customers that tell us that Razanne usually joins the family for salah! For your information… when it's time for prayer, many Muslim girls cover their everyday clothes with these traditional two-piece garments and stand to pray on colorful prayer rugs. Muslim women may pray in congregation at the Mosque but it is often more convenient to pray the five daily prayers at home."

And finally we have In And Out Razanne, whose listing reads:

"In and Out Razanne comes with a two-piece fashion set for wear inside and outside the home. At home Razanne loves to dress in all the latest fashions. In a minute she can be ready to go out with this traditional jilbaab coat. Razanne helps Muslim girls understand that in the home they can be the ultimate fashion statement yet still have attractive attire while dressing modestly outside the home. For your information…Razanne helps Muslim girls understand that in the home they can be the ultimate fashion statement yet still have attractive attire while dressing modestly outside the home."

I'm honestly so glad I found this, because doing research into this doll has been a blast! I love the vintage vibes of her outfits with the patterns and color choices, and it makes me really happy seeing this doll being used as an educational tool for Islamic culture and practices!

Thank you to limbedolls.blogspot.com, emel.com, Greensboro News and Record, and "Framing Muslims" by Peter Morey and Amina Yaqin for the information that went into this long-ass post!

Ramadan Kareem!

[sissa-arrows]

This tweet says it all… translation below.

(Repost because I wanted to make it into it’s own post instead of a reblog)

Banning the abaya is not a back-to-school "diversion". It is part of a plan.

Islamophobia is not an epiphenomenon. It is at the heart of a political project.

Racism is not an accident. It's a system.

There are absolutely no surprises in France.

The only "surprise" is that leftists and observers are still surprised by the repeated attacks against Black people, Arabs and Muslims in France.

No "red line has been crossed".

It's been going on like this for decades. It's just that depending on the mood or the privileges it touches, an opportunity arises where you "find out" what your fellow citizens are going through every day. It's there, too obvious for you to ignore, so you give it a tweet, an indignation, a passing concern. Then it goes back in the back of your mind filled with stuff that you don't live, while waiting for the next buzz that will occupy you.

The racist, sequenced, destructive and methodical harassment that targets Muslims in France varies only in its seasonality and its modalities of expression, but it is constant in its objectives as in its structures:

Muslim women are targeted in summer for the burkini, at the start of the school year for long dresses, on sports grounds because they want to play, all the rest of the year for their headscarves or their simple existence in public spaces. .

Muslim children are targeted at school for their beliefs, in the playground for their children's games (1), in the canteen for their "bismiLlah" and their diet.

Muslim men are targeted in their expression, treated as a security risk, criminalized in the public space.

Muslim associations and executives are targeted in their organizational methods, subject to political and ideological control by the prefectures.

And it just gets annoying to have to remind you of this with every controversy targeting Muslims, about twice a month.

The truth is simple:

France is filled by endemic Islamophobia. Racism is structural here. Antisemitism is structural here. Antiblack racism is structural here. The criminalization of migrants is structural here. Police violence is structural here.

And only racists deny racism.

Only those who don't experience it think it's a subject up to debate.

The "attacks on secularism" are as much shame on the French flag as the abusive reports that compose them, from the simple innocuous religious expression to the clothes police that are set up against young Muslim girls, as they are targeted with racial profiling to distinguish, by "use/purpose (2)" (the level of creative hypocrisy of racists) between the proselytizing use of a Zara dress (for Arabs and Blacks) and the admissible Republican use (for the others), while the handful of truly believable incidents are resolved with a simple warning and explanation.

The only attack on secularism is the establishment of a system of registration, denunciation and surveillance of Muslim students on a large scale. This is the count of students absent for Eid (3). It is the progressive decline of an educational institution which, since 2004, has gone from one moral panic to the next, with the same targets and the same results: the deterioration of teaching conditions and the systemic, slow and methodical stigmatization of some of the students. It is the silence that has become the choice of the majority of teachers and unions when their mission of inclusion and benevolent education of all children is ridiculed, that’s when they do not add their voice to the chorus of calls for the exclusion of students, calling for "clear rules" that invariably result in penalties and bans. It is the constant civilizing and post-colonial injunction to be free only according to modalities chosen by others than ourselves.

To people who still care about the fundamental freedoms of everyone (and in particular the young women targeted here for their clothing choices), I say: you are losing more than a battle, not to fight with all your might a fight which is already engaged, is tipping France into an authoritarian, racist and totally assumed oppressive posture.

To those Muslim men and women who minimize what is happening or blame young girls for their treatment, I say: you deserve what is happening to you. If you are humiliated in this way, it is because you allow it. To them their honor and to you your shame. They only wanted to study, without asking for the slightest preferential treatment or exceptional regime, while you found all the reasons in the world to defend their oppressors, out of unconsciousness if not out of cowardice. Those who already accepted the exclusion of young girls in 2004, those who looked elsewhere when imams were criminalized, those who believed in the promise of a state sanctioned Islam that would leave them safe if they remained docile to the exclusion of their brothers, those who allowed the associations which defended them to be dissolved and the mosques which welcomed them to be closed. If not out of modesty, at least for your own salvation, be silent and do not add your voice to those who make our children enemies of a republic which, rather than respecting them for what they do, chose to exclude them for who they are.

To my sisters, in skirts, dresses, jeans, sweatshirts or abayas, I want to (re)tell how proud we are of you. I don't know how to express the hope and sincere admiration I have for you when, in a toxic period like the one we are going through, I see the good you are doing, the projects you are planning, the enthusiasm and commitment that you display, in class, at home, on the soccer field or in associations, to respond to offenses with dignified words and smiles, to hold firm when we give up, to give us comfort in a world upside down, to pay the price for what is going wrong in our society and which should nevertheless concern us all. Rock in everything you do. Do not let yourself be locked into the image that some want to give of you, because you are not defined by any other voice than yours and by any other choice than yours. Please hold on tight. Be happy, make your plans and let others talk.

Maybe what angers them so much is to see you shine...

Notes:

1: Children love to see lay pretend and imitate adults. Some Muslim children (all below 10) pretended to pray at school. Some white kids eventually joined and instead of explaining to the kids to not play that way the teachers made a report. It ended on national news, they started acting as if it was super common and as if kids were forcing their non Muslim classmate to convert to Islam. It was a mess. To the point where the parents of the Muslim kids were so scared they pulled out their kids of all activities outside of schools… Some of the white parents actually had to get involved to ask people to calm the fuck down that it was just kids playing pretend. The end of the year school party was even canceled so no child would get attacked…

2: Teachers and schools were reporting and expelling Black and Arab girls for wearing long skirt or headbands. Those are obviously not religious clothes. People rightfully complained and said that it was racial profiling. Instead of telling schools and teachers to calm down the government changed the 2004 in 2022. Now clothes can become religious “par destination” so by purpose or use. Basically it means that depending on who (white or people of color) wears them clothes can become religious. If a white girl wears headbands very often that’s okay if a Black or North African girl does it then her headband is a symbolic hijab and she must remove it.

3: In the south west of France and in other regions the police asked schools to provide a list of all the children who did not come at school on Eid. For the record children are ALLOWED to miss school for religious holidays.

[gryficowa]

Boycott!

Tara Strong, Keanu Reeves and Jack Black, on boycott lists

Also the actors from Strange Thing (And the writer/producer, I don't remember)… Tia… I wonder how many people turned out to be pro-genocide or neutral

Now that I have your attention:

----------------------------------------------

I often regret that I don't earn money (Because, unfortunately, I have a second degree of disability), because I could donate to fundraisers (Even though I know that my currency is weak compared to the euro or dollar) or anything else… Unfortunately, the only thing I can do is try to ensure that the collections reach people :/

It's just a strange vacuum, your intelligence is normal, you have mobility and such, but still you can't have a job (Or rather, no one will employ you and will defend themselves by saying that they don't have the right conditions… You just want to become independent, but you can't because the judgment makes it difficult for you…)

[siriusblack-the-third]

Hey I absolutely adore your Indian James headcanons can you do some for Harry too please <33

Okay this got too long so it's only Harry's first year at Hogwarts. At some point I might do the rest of his years but yeah. Here you go, i hope you like it :)

The first time Harry noticed his skin was darker than the people on Privet Drive was when he was four. The first time he noticed people sneered at him for it was when he was five and a half. He didn't understand it; why did they think the colour of his skin meant that he was inferior to them? He heard the words chee-chee and brownie thrown around like Dudley threw his food, and quietly pulled his shirt tighter around himself.

When Harry is eight, Dudley and his gang throw him in a ditch and throw dirt and soil on him till he's coughing and tears are running down his face. "You blend right into the mud," Piers laughs at him. The next day, the boy turns up to school with black skin. Harry sits in the corner and turns his face away, a secret grin playing on his lips.

He comes to Hogwarts, and there are so many colours. He is approached by Parvati on the second night, and she asks him if he's excited for Ganpati Chaturthi. He stares at her, and then says, "I'm sorry, but I don't know what that is." She gets offended, but they haltingly talk it out, awkward and stilted like most eleven year olds. When she realises that he's been kept from his heritage and his magic, she flies off the rails with anger. "That's it," she says, "we're friends now. No arguments."

Harry loves talking to Parvati. She's the one that tells him his father was from India. She's the one that tells him the names of his grandparents, that tells him of the importance of heritage in the magical world. They talk about religion and food and all sorts of things, and within two weeks Harry is asking her to teach him Marathi. It's hard at first; the grammar structure is more like French than English, the alphabet sequence is weird and complicated and has too many letters, but he keeps practising his svar and vyanjana and kana and matra. He will do this, he tells himself. (He doesn't tell Ron. He wants this for himself, he thinks. His family, his heritage. He wants to learn before he shares, and so he doesn't tell Ron. For now. He will, when he knows enough.)

Slowly, he starts talking to other Indian kids at Hogwarts. Padma, a seventh year Slytherin named Aarzoo who's Muslim and always has the prettiest hijabs, Gryffindor Kalyani from fourth year and Hufflepuff Rushabh from the third. Kalyani is from Maharashtra just like the Patil twins and Harry, Rushabh is from Gujarat and Aarzoo from Punjab. Harry finds it fascinating that India has so many different cultures and religions, and demands knowledge from them. Aarzoo laughs, and tells him he should have been with the 'Claws.

Harry disagrees. He was supposed to be in Slytherin, he knows, but he is in Gryffindor, where his family had been. His family had been Indian. He wants to know everything about it. If he couldn't have his parents, he would have that which had been a major part of his father's life. And so he reads and observes and studies and asks questions— hesitating at first in case they yell at him (Aunt Petunia hated questions and he feared these people would be the same), but slowly he asks more and more. He talks for hours with Kalyani and Rushabh, and they tell him about Garba and Dhol Tasha, Ganpati Chaturthi and Diwali, Eid and Gudi Padwa. They talk about the languages of India, and Harry immediately asks Aarzoo to teach him Urdu and Hindi. She laughs, and says he should focus on Marathi first. He pouts, but nods.

The Mirror of Erised shows him his father, and he can't take his eyes off. James Potter is a tall man, bulky frame covered in muscles and warm brown skin that seems to glow with happiness. His eyes are light brown, and the bold black lines drawn under them make the green specks stand out. He's dressed in what Harry knows is called a kurta, white and gold threads woven to form images of peacocks and elephants and other intricate designs. The next day, Harry asks Padma what she lines her eyes with, and she promptly hands him a little round metal box and a tiny wooden stick. "It's called kajal." She tells him the differences in pronunciation between Hindi and Marathi, and shows him how to apply it. Harry wears it everyday. It makes his eyes look bright, brighter than they already are, and he falls in love with it. Kalyani presses a kajal covered finger behind his ear every morning. "For good luck," she tells him, a grin playing on her pretty lips. Harry flushes, and smiles back shyly.

For Christmas, Aarzoo gives him perfume. It's chandan and mogra with hints of rose, she says, "and your grandfather made it. His name was Fleamont Henry Potter, and he was an exceptionally talented potioneer." Harry wears it religiously. Padma and Parvati band together and get him books on the Potter family and their historical importance, and he almost cries. Rushabh promises to teach him how to play Garba, and Kalyani gives him a cookbook for everyday Indian foods— breakfast and lunch and a few fancy stuff. Harry hugs it to his chest and thanks her with shining eyes. (he may have a bit of a crush on her. He can't help it— she's really smart, and she's pretty.)

Throughout the year, all of them work to introduce him to Indian food. At first, he thinks it will be easy. It is not. There is no such cuisine named Indian, Parvati tells him sternly. There is Punjabi, South Indian, Mughlai, Maharashtrian, North Indian, Bihari, Bengali and so many more. "The food in India changes with every twenty kilometres of travel," Aarzoo says when he mock complains about it. "It's never the same, and that's what makes it so special." He agrees.

The end of the year arrives, and Harry is still weak from his tryst down the trapdoor. When Ron and Hermione aren't present, his friends from home (because that's what India is, isn't it? His home. The home he never got to see, but is no less a part of him.) crowd around his hospital bed and have long talks with him, filled with banter and laughter. His Marathi is so much better now than it was in September, and he blushes when Kalyani compliments him on it. Rushabh winks at him, and Harry throws a pillow at him, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks at being caught out.

On the last day of school, he hugs Aarzoo around the waist and cries into her stomach. It's the first time he calls her "Aarzoo Tai", and she smiles widely, her own eyes dripping tears. "You will write," she says sternly, "okay? This might be the end of my Hogwarts years, but you are my little brother." He cries harder and nods, refuses to let go until the very last minute.

Harry goes back to Privet Drive with a heavy heart and a proud smile. He isn't inferior to the people there, he knows. He's special. He's Indian. He's James Potter's son, and he's going to live up to it.

[eisukevint]

eisuke ichinomiya x desi!reader headcanons !!

im so bored so here are some headcanons bec i love being desi

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

• he hates it when he has to wait and initially when you started dating you tried your best to be on time whenever he paged you but as your relationship progressed, its game over. whenever u have to go out, you ALWAYS leave at the the desi time and he slowly got so used to it, the one and only time punctual eisuke was late to events.

• eisuke has a massive sweet tooth so when you first made him kheer, he absolutely loved it although his only words were ‘not bad’. He definitely asks you to make it again so you feed him other ‘mithai’ (sweets in urdu/hindi) like gulab jamun, rasgullay, JALEBI etc and he loves it so much.

• you make him desi food from time to time and actually requests it like you him ask ‘eisuke what do you want for dinner today?’ and he just says ‘you made nihari last time, it was good. make it again’ he finds it very flavourful.

• he’s very familiar with other cultures since he’s a businessman and often interacts with foreign businessmen. he knows about the clothes and customs of your country. imagine eisuke in kurta or sherwani EISUKE IN A KURTA A BLACK KURTA AT THAT (i would actually die). Whenever you go to family events, you always wear traditional clothes and once eisuke is invited to them, he initially just wears his suit but after some time he starts to indulge you and actually wears your traditional clothes.

• he finds it very sexy when you talk and swear in your mother language.

• eisuke is multilingual (as its mentioned in the story) so if he doesnt know your mother langauge he would DEFINITELY learn and boy his pronunciation would be so good (thats a perfectionist for you)

• he says he hates bollywood movies because theyre so extra but thats a lie. whenever u play something like ‘kabhi khushi kabhi gham’ or ‘kal ho na ho’ he always watches it with you because he’s intrigued but ALWAYS says ‘this movie is so bad i wonder why you waste time watching this stuff’

• you go around singing bollywood songs or songs in your mother tongue around the penthouse and he just enjoys it so much but he definitely wont say it out loud

• eisuke was FLABBERGASTED when you told him or rather showed him a desi wedding like why is everyone wearing such fancy clothes ??? and he’s even more surprised when he finds out there’s actually three days to a wedding and even more pre wedding events.

• he loves it when you wear mehndi on your hands, he sees mehndi as something that adorns your hand and whenever u apply it, he brings your hand up to his face and smells it because he loves thr scent.

• when you told him about all your family and by that i mean family on your mother’s and father’s side, he has to do a double take because why the fuck do you have SO many cousins? he’s trying to keep up but there’s just so many.

• your parents love him more than you. they literally said it to your face ‘oh my, such a handsome boy, how did you ever end up with our incompetent daughter’ you cannot convince me that this wont happen.

• baba asks you to teach him bhangra and other desi dance steps and you, ota and baba have the time of your life dancing to chammak challo and nach punjaban in the penthouse lounge and eisuke just looks at you like youre comitting a crime

a little something for myself bec im a self indulgent bitch (not exactly a desi headcanon but i wanted to add this)

• every eid you spend with him, he makes sure to spoil you thoroughly. he gives you so much eidi (literally) like he straight up handed you car keys once and went ‘eid mubarak ___, i know you’ve been waiting for your eidi’ and then he just smirks while you think what did you do to deserve so much. he enjoys eid festivities with you and eid ul fitr is his favourite eid.

[rebirthgarments]

Hi friends! We have a couple of updates to share. 

Firstly, Seraj needs more than $3,300 to pull off his final Ramadan project before Eid. He wants to distribute it on the last day of Ramadan, which is in 3 days, so we need to get to $20k ASAP! 

contribute at bit.ly/serajfund

The financial situation in Rah Fah continues to decline, with intermediaries taking a 15-17% cut when people get cash out. He is so hopeful that this project will work out! Helping others and bringing smiles to faces–especially those of children–is clearly one of Seraj’s passions. 

Here are the project details, all thought up by Seraj himself. He has amazing ideas! 125-130 cash envelopes containing either 50 or 100 shekels each. Seraj will distribute them based on how large each family is. Seraj will also make 40 envelopes for kids, each containing 20 shekels. 

Currently, Seraj’s plan is to distribute his envelopes on the last day of Ramadan, before Eid al-Fitr. Last time he tried to print something, the printer had no electricity. He has a plan this time for checking in early to make sure he has a chance to print. 

Working with Seraj on his mutual aid projects has been such a tangible reminder that we reject the notion of charity (which is very rooted in the white savior complex and pity of Black and Brown folx), and even allyship (not enough action)  instead are partners and collaborators with Seraj self directing, leading us, and constantly motivating us to to get to the next goal so he can achieve his vision! 

 Because Seraj and his family have managed to survive, he’s been able to give back. No NGOs or governments, just a 21-year-old young man helping as many of his neighbors as he can. In his words, “This is my duty, sisters, as long as I can help! Why don't I do that!”

Seraj is genuinely a superstar to everyone on our team. His generosity is humbling to us. We have so much to learn from Pale-eh -steinians. 

Secondly, we have a date for our upcoming virtual dance party! Mark your calendars for Monday, April 29th in the evening (Pacific time). Sky is hosting this event to hype up our virtual auction for Seraj. Follow Sky on Instagram for more details @rebirthgarments or @radicalvisibilitycollective

If you’d still like to contribute items to the auction, go to bit.ly/fundraiserforseraj ! Seraj’s Support Soirée would like to offer an item or service for every budget. And we encourage a wide variety of dough-nation types! While many of them will be creative objects, they do not have to be.

Some examples:

a book you love or wrote

a framed photograph

a massage (local area bidders only)

a meditation session

a piñata

a tarot reading

a t-shirt you love or designed

stickers

a virtual lesson on social media marketing

visual art

a virtual dance lesson

Your items will be listed this week on Give Butter! (stay tuned for details!) 

Our support soiree dance party will hype up the auction featuring selections from the archives of Rebirth Garments fashion performances while you can dance with Sky!

Thank you so much for being here for Seraj. He and his family are so deeply grateful for all of the ways folks have supported them and partnered with them to help others. And our team is so thankful for how you all have stepped up. Please share and contribute! 

-Written by my team member Bex with additions by me!

[image Description: a flyer featuring a photo by Seraj of a small little kid with a blue plastic bag full of fresh fruits and vegetables. The kiddo has a heart emoji over their face and is smiling really big. They are wearing a red shirt that says “sleep time” with a sleeping bear on it. They are standing on a sandy ground in front of a tent. Text to the right of the photo on a red background reads: Gaza Sky Seraj’s mutual aid project for Ramadan in Rah-fah For part 2 of Seraj’s Ramadan project, he gave out 32 food parcels for 32 families around him in the displacement camps. Send support to his family + others! bit.ly/serajfund “ Underneath is a QR code with the link. ]

[richincolor]

Title: Four Eids and a Funeral Author: Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé & Adiba Jaigirdar Genres: Contemporary, Romance Pages: 321 Publisher: Feiwel & Friends Review Copy: Purchased Availability: Available now

Summary: Let’s get one thing straight: this is a love story.

These days, Said Hossain spends most of his time away at boarding school. But when his favorite hometown librarian Ms. Barnes dies, he must return home to New Crosshaven for her funeral and for the summer. Too bad being home makes it a lot harder to avoid facing his ex-best friend, Tiwa Olatunji, or facing the daunting task of telling his Bangladeshi parents that he would rather be an artist than a doctor.

Tiwa doesn’t understand what made Said start ignoring her, but it’s probably that fancy boarding school of his. Though he’s unexpectedly staying through the summer, she’s determined to take a page from him and pretend he doesn’t exist. Besides, she has more than enough going on, between grieving her broken family and helping her mother throw the upcoming Eid celebration at the Islamic Center—a place that means so much to Tiwa.

But when the Islamic Center accidentally catches fire, it turns out the mayor plans to demolish the center entirely. Things are still tense between the ex-friends but Tiwa needs Said’s help if there’s any hope of changing the mayor’s mind, and Said needs a project to submit to art school (unbeknownst to anyone). Will all their efforts be enough to save the Islamic Center, save Eid, and maybe save their relationship?

Review: [There are two deaths that impact this book, both off page: the recent death of an adult from cancer, which puts the plot in motion, and the past death of a child due to a hit-and-run accident. Additionally, Tiwa, who is Black, faces on page racism from within the Muslim community in a few scenes.]

Even though a funeral is what puts the plot in motion, Four Eids and a Funeral is on the lighthearted side of the contemporary romance spectrum. Authors Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé and Adiba Jaigirdar crafted a cute, fast-paced story about childhood friends rebuilding their relationship despite various problems popping up in their community and personal lives. Tiwa and Said have distinct narrative voices, and I appreciated seeing life in New Crosshaven from both their eyes. I especially enjoyed the contrast between Tiwa, who stayed and maintained close ties to the community, and Said, who left and started drifting away.

One of the strengths of Four Eids and a Funeral is the breadth and diversity of the cast. The Muslim community in New Crosshaven is varied; Said is Bangladeshi American, and Tiwa is Nigerian American. Said and Tiwa relate to their community and their religion differently, and Said’s sister, Safiya, has a cute lesbian romance subplot. Tiwa faces some anti-Black racism within the Muslim community, too, and the small-town politics plots highlighted divisions within larger town. New Crosshaven felt like it had life to it, which was no small feat when you’ve got just two POV characters.

On the other hand, I think there were actually a few too many plot threads in this book for its length. There were some things I felt should have gotten far more page time than they did, like Tiwa’s younger brother’s death and what happened to her family afterward. I wanted those events to have more emotional impact on me. The truth behind why Tiwa and Said drifted apart and how they reacted when they uncovered that information was a little disappointing to me as well.

That said, the authors did say right at the start that Four Eids and a Funeral was a love story. I got distracted by my desire for additional drama and tragedy and forgot that the epigraph quoted Much Ado About Nothing. This book is solid craftsmanship with a pair of engaging protagonists, and the bits I was dissatisfied with were largely an expectations mismatch on my part.

Recommendation: If you’re looking for a contemporary romance this summer, you should consider adding Four Eids and a Funeral to your list. Authors Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé and Adiba Jaigirdar created a cute romance about childhood friends reconnecting against the backdrop of vibrant Muslim community.

Extras: Q&A: Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé & Adiba Jaigirdar, Co-Authors of ‘Four Eids and a Funeral’

[indilaras]

"I've been told that it's tradition in Aaru to give children some money for today, so here you go. No need to be too frugal with it -- I'm sure the others will give you plenty as well."

(Belated) Eid Mubarak everyone!

ID: a drawing of Alhaitham and Isak from Genshin Impact, with Dehya, Candace, and Cyno in the background looking at them. They're in Aaru Village during the day, and they're all wearing different outfits from their canon appearances.

Alhaitham is wearing a dark shirt with rolled up sleeves and a green scarf, his back facing the viewer; he is giving Isak a bag of Mora, smiling. Isak is wearing a long-sleeved yellow-brown shirt and longer version of his usual pants; he has stars in his eyes.

Dehya is wearing a black and red chaoui traditional dress; she's grinning and has a hand on her hip. Candace is wearing a long-sleeved white and blue dress with a violet-blue veil; she has one hand up to her mouth, and she's laughing, eyes closed. Cyno is wearing a dark long-sleeved shirt, white pants, and brown shoes; he's looking over his shoulder, smiling. End ID.

Also if you love Desert Gang and miss them dearly (like me!), keep an eye out for Desert Gang Week on May 5 - 11. They'll be most active on twt but they also have a blog here! @desertgangweek

[littlemoondarling]

I was tagged by the lovely @bogbutteronmycroissant thank you so much! I'm making it in a separate post bc that one was too long!

• Name: Vinnian or Moony

• Pronouns: They/Him

• Star Sign: Aries

• # of siblings and fun facts about them (if you have any): none, I do have too many step sibling and the fun fact is that we all hate our whore of a father

• # of pets and their names: 1 and he is called Custard

• Fandom(s): Fnaf, undertale, deltarune, black survival: immortal soul, sims4, trolls, the hunger games, ddadds, my little pony, the amazing world of gumball, total drama island, black butler, death note, my friends' ocs, too many others...

• Favourite color: the icon, the queen, the goddess herself: Purple

• Favourite song: (just one??)(ok fine) Hard drive

• Favourite author (of anything readable-- books, fanfics, zines, webtoon, whatever): my friend @just-a-wholesome-writer I love his style of writing so much it's insane, he writes these sweet short stories that are easy for me to get into

• Hobbies: drawing, painting, sculpting, writing, cooking, sewing and anything artistic really

• Favourite fic type: Darkfics and angst and comfort

• Favourite holiday: Eid, I like seeing kids out wearing their new clothes and being all smiles and energy, it's sweet.

• Do you have any partners? (Romantic, qpr, anything!): None sadly

• Fun fact about you/ anything fun you wanna share: nothing currently on mind, I just love y'all

(No pressure to anyone I tag!)

@unreadpoppy @inkats @anawkwardlady @vero-vetka13 @venusski @thislittlekumquat @mymissalicorne

[toychest321]

(I wanted to apologize for my lack of activity on this page. I had so many plans for posts I wanted to make for Ramadan, but this past month has been so horribly stressful. Whenever I have time free from schoolwork I'm so incredibly burnt out I lack the motivation to post. Now there's barely any time left before Ramadan is over, even though there were other posts I wanted to make. I'll probably still make them in the future, though, and highlight Islamic culture through dolls however and whenever I can!)

With that said, I'd like to introduce you to the most recently-released Muslim doll, Umm Amirah!

As far as I can tell, Umm Amirah was released in February of 2023 by the company Allova, a family-owned company based in the UK.

While the name "Umm" literally translates to "Mother" or "Mother of", it can also be used as an additive prefix for whatever trait follows. "Amirah", meanwhile, means "Princess", so (as far as I can tell) her name roughly means "she who is like a princess".

And that name certainly fits! While her outfit is relatively simple (which makes sense, since her primary demographic is those aged 3-7), the sparkling tulle outer skirt shows that subtle princess-y influence!

The doll comes in pink and purple outfit variants, and comes with a prayer mat, a pink bag to carry it, and a pink hairbrush. She has fair skin, blue eyes, dark or blonde hair beneath her hijab, and 11 points of articulation! Umm Amirah's is meant to be a cultural education tool, and introduce the practice of Salah to children.

As I mentioned in a previous post regarding the Morning (Fajr) and Evening Prayers (Isha), Salah is the daily process of giving prayer to Allah. It is the second pillar of Islam, and must be done facing Mecca.

A couple of months ago in February 2024, Allova also released this Princess Fashion Set. While it's not an official Umm Amirah fashion pack, I still feel like it could somewhat be classified as such with its name and their doll used for modelling.

The pack comes with 6 dresses: pale pink with dotted skirt; pink with puffed sleeves and ruffle skirt; blue with silver detailing, top, and belt; a blue summer dress with white and yellow pattern; purple; and black and white with white flower buttons and a polka-dot skirt. It also comes with four headscarves in blue, lilac, black, and gold, 3 handbags (tan, white, and pink) , and 3 pairs of shoes (black, silver, and fuschia(?))

I obviously cant post for each outfit combination, but I would definitely say that the blue summer dress is my least favorite of those available. The material looks the cheapest out of those in the pack, its design is comparatively simple, and the pattern is sorta tacky. I feel like the central concept could've been executed better.

My favorite looks, though, would have to be:

The full black and white look sorta gives me girlboss vibes, like something she could wear at her desk writing articles or modeling for the cover of a magazine! The blue dress, meanwhile, is sooooo elegant, like she's going to a fancy party in the evening! My absolute favorite though would have to be the gold hijab with the pink frilly dress, which takes the "princess" part of Umm Amirah to a whole new level!

In spite of my thoughts on the summer dress of the pack, I'm in love with this doll and its outfits as a whole! It's been fun putting out this post I'd been meaning to make for a while. A lot of the Muslim dolls I've found, while impressive, unfortunately don't seem to be in production much in the current year, so it's nice to see there's still options available! If you're still looking for a potential Eid gift, I'd highly recommend getting her from Allova's website!

Ramadan Kareem!