#label halal

[son-of-avraham]

muslim and jewish solidarity is when snacks/candy have both a halal seal and a kosher certification

[amethyinst]

for all that psycho christians get up in arms about sharia law there's really no difference between it and like. basing abortion law on thou shalt not kill or refusing gay marriage based on thou shalt not lie with a man as with a woman for that is an abomination. both are religious laws based on historical interpretations of the text

[nakibistan]

Queer Muslim Babes !

🥳🤩

[ghouljams]

ok like yes delicious. [the hollering and seal clapping anon] im eating muslim gaz right tf up. !!! [side note THAT PEN THING. ohhh thats soo cute :"o!!!] but like! ough so like yes yes in following the self inserting. im like. i dont wear hijab/live in a. fairly christian area. so when i interact w someone and find out that they're muslim too it always gives me this happy little yaaay yippee!! hiii!! oh helloo!!! moment. something kinda. idk. soothing. safe ab it. so like. tee hee. this happening w reader and gaz and the sillay funsie bonding....ouugh me heart.....where is my gaz....where is he!!!! OH MY HEART. WIAT THE MORE I THINK AB THIS THE MORE I WANT TO MARRY HIM. I NEED THIS MAN LEANING AGAINST MY KITCHEN COUNTER IN THE MORNINGS. I ROCK W HIM BEING A SEX FIEND [this man's mouth WILL unpack my religious sex shame. !] I FEEL SAFE W HIM. OHHH FICTIONAL MAN!!!!![<-voice of a girl who has just finally taken the leap to make a cod fic sideblog. perhaps. perhaps this will be my jumping off point.] ok teehee sorry for yammering away in ur asks thank youuuu <3333!!!

-💍

Full disclosure that I am not Muslim so I am not well versed in things and I am absolutely not the first person to pitch Gaz as Muslim, but I absolutely adore that headcanon. Mostly because I think it makes him so much more interesting (which feels impossible because that man is so well rounded as a character) and sets up a fun dynamic with him and Catholic Soap.

ANYWAY: Gaz is a sex fiend and he does NOT feel bad about it, not one bit. He knows that he shouldn't be looking at you with lustful eyes but it's fine because you're going to be his wife eventually which means anything he does now can be forgiven. Maybe he "accidentally" trips you and has to catch you when you fall, oh nooo. He is willing to break rules because he wants you so bad, and London is so overwhelmingly Christian even when people aren't really religious, so finding you wandering around is just a dream come true.

Catch him checking labels in the tesco to figure out what's halal because he wants a snack but the scran hall ran out of his favorites. Catch him squinting at the ground because he always forgets which direction this section of the training ground faces. Catch that man talking about the nice muslim girl he met to his mum and having her warn him over the phone that he better be on his best behavior, and of course he promises he is, but we all know he's a liar.

[dp-cookbook-project]

The (un)Official Danny Phantom Cookbook is in development!

Have you ever wanted to bake delicious treats that remind you of a sorta-okay Nickelodeon cartoon from the 2000s? Are you stuck eating take out and frozen food and need to mix it up a bit? Do you just want a cook book that's Danny Phantom themed, specifically?

This is the project for you!

This project is currently being developed by @/ghoulishautism and in collaboration with trusted friends/mutuals.

However! I have recently made a google form for recipe submissions (since that will be the centerpiece of the entire project). The guidelines will be provided within the first page of the form.

this form will be closed in the event that 1) We have collected more than enough recipes for the project (aiming for at least 1 per character), or 2) The form is abused in any way.

Multiple submissions are more than fine, just be sure to use the same name so you can be properly credited.

LIST OF CHARACTERS NEEDED

Inbox is open for any questions regarding the project, its rules, etc.

QNA (will be updated).

Q: When will the cookbook be released? A: A due date has yet to be announced. However, I am hoping it will take about 3 months to complete. This is not a hard number and there is a chance there will be delays.

Q: Where will it be available? A: It will be hosted FOR FREE to download on platforms such as my ko-fi and others. Again, this section will be clarified once the project moves further into development.

Q: What is the target audience for this cookbook? A: Aside from fans of Danny Phantom (duh), I want to include a range of recipes for various skill levels- Which will theoretically be perfect for families...or broke college students.

Q: How will the book be formatted? A: The book itself will be sectioned into categories (snacks, breakfast/lunch/dinner, etc) and include important labels (spicy, kosher/halal, vegan/vegetarian, etc)

My goal is to make it as easy to navigate as possible. There will be a table of contents at the start so its easier to jump to specific recipes.

[astriiformes]

Thinking about how Molly, with her very traditional English cooking, still makes sure to prepare and appropriately label halal sandwiches for Guleed to include in the team's stakeout bag in The Hanging Tree.

[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.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

It's Who We Have | Part Five

Summary: Billy realises the consequences of his actions, and a force pulling him and his estranged friend together | Word Count: 3.2k~ | Warnings: angst, family trauma, mentions of terrorism

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Billy struggled under the oppressive weight of the sweltering heatwave, his every step burdened by leaden feet as he trudged towards the white UPVC door adorned with a stern sticker proclaiming, 'no jehovah’s witnesses.' His fingers, still tender and marred by scabs from the Halal Butcher's incident, faltered beneath the weighty box pressing against his chest.

Beads of sweat trickled down the inside of his arm and along his hairline, not solely due to the stifling heat, but also from the weight of stress bearing down upon him.

As he stood before the door, the box precariously perched on the doorstep, he waited briefly before the door creaked open, revealing Becky's figure, tinged with a hint of disappointment. Her hair, swept back into a wavy ponytail, attempted to combat the humidity, yet her judgmental stance, hand resting firmly on her hip, and the critical scrutiny in her eyes marred any semblance of relief.

Billy couldn't recall ever seeing warmth or solace in her brown eyes; instead, they always held a tinge of reproach. With a pang of self-awareness, he questioned why he subjected himself to such treatment from her.

“You look well,” she stated flatly. Billy’s brows knitted together in annoyance at her attempt to once again beat him while he was down, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Becky didn’t seem to respond to his indifference. 

“This for me then?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at the box perched on her doorstep, taped and labelled ‘Becky’s stuff - bedroom’. 

He almost wanted to roll his eyes. But instead, he sighed and nodded, “Yep, should be the rest of it.”

He watched, not offering to help when she shoved the hefty box somewhere behind the door, “want to come in?”

Billy's heart lurched in his chest, glancing up at her as if to figure out why she'd even offered. She was the one who'd called things off, claiming he was ‘fucking impossible to be around’. 

For a therapist, she was hardly patient with him. A skill he would have thought she'd bought home with her.

And he hated himself that there was a tiny slither of something inside him that wanted to say yes, wanted to have an awkward cup of tea, have break up sex, and leave without ever having to see her again.

And he would have said yes and done just that, if Becky's mum wasn’t twitching the bedroom curtains, trying to make it look as if she wasn't watching him at the front door, staring at him down her nose.

Her parents had never liked him. Claimed their daughter deserved better.

Becky sighed when she got no reply, tapping her manicured fingernails on the door, in a way that made Billy's brain tick.

“Hear she's back.”

He felt his jaw tense and spine straighten, body wound so tight that he couldn't even reply with his voice and simply nodded.

“It was always her over me,” Becky sighed bitterly, shaking her head, without a semblance of emotion in her eyes or her voice, “always has been.”

Billy thought that was the most selfish thing Becky might have said, out of all the things she could have.

In his view, he gave everything to her. His pride alongside it, simply smiling and nodding his head to whatever below the belt comment her parents decided to make at the dinner table.

Turns out he wasn't just a fuck up to his own.

How was he supposed to articulate how he really felt about their relationship? A bond formed in the destruction of another. Where every time Billy really really thought about it, all he saw were the haunting, sad eyes of his friend when hers had abandoned her, the expression she passed him when something he'd said came off cruel and the fallen disappointment he hadn't missed the day she arrived at college, to see Becky in his arms.

It felt like every waking moment of his and Becky's relationship was a reminder of how much he'd given away.

And that even that was crumbling into pieces in his hands.

“Are we done,” he replied, fed up, and in need of a pint.

Becky simply watched him for a moment, shaking her head with a judgemental glare, and replied with a sense of finality.

“Yeah, we're done.”

She had been talking to a therapist of her own, albeit hers was actually helpful.

As she sat in her small, sparsely furnished studio apartment, the murmurs of passing thoughts faded into background noise. With her iPad propped up on the simple IKEA table, she leaned forward, lost in contemplation. The starkness of her surroundings only amplified her despondency. She longed to inject life into the barren space—hang up pictures, lay down a new rug, and finally unpack her boxes to make it feel like home.

Yet, despite her longing, weeks had passed, and the boxes remained stubbornly sealed shut.

“You there?”

She shook her head, “sorry. Miles away.”

Her therapist was a short, stout lady with a grey bob haircut, wearing clunky jewellery and bright, garish colours, and everytime she wrote something down, her bangles clicked annoyingly and her thick, vermilion glasses slipped further down her face.

“You're preoccupied today. Something on your mind?”

Every word that spilled from the therapist's mouth grated on her nerves, each phrase feeling like a patronising pat on the head. It wasn't just the clinical terms or the probing questions, it was the underlying assumption that she needed to be guided through her own emotions like a lost child.

But as she sat there, simmering with resentment, a deeper realisation crept in. Perhaps her aversion to this kind of therapy wasn't just about the therapist's approach. Maybe it was rooted in the void left by her own mother's absence. The woman who was supposed to nurture her through life's trials had been conspicuously absent when she needed guidance the most.

As she contemplated this, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. Anger at her mother's neglect, sadness for the support she never received, and a gnawing ache for the maternal care she craved but never experienced. It was a tangled mess of feelings she had long buried beneath layers of self-reliance and stoicism.

“A lot, actually.”

“Talk to me, start wherever feels most natural.”

The memory of Billy's piercing blue eyes flashed vividly in her mind, like a bolt of lightning in a stormy sky. She could still see him sitting on the worn sofa, his gaze locked onto hers with unwavering intensity as she recounted the events of that fateful day, so many years ago.

Initially, he had staunchly denied the truth, rejecting it with every fibre of his being. But she, perhaps more than anyone else, understood the harsh reality of the situation. She could see it in his eyes, the struggle between disbelief and acceptance. 

He clung to denial like a lifeline, shielding himself from the harshness of the truth. It wasn't that he didn't understand; it was that he couldn't bear to accept it.

She swallowed before answering, “I'm having issues with a friend.”

“Is this the friend you haven't seen in years?”

“Yes, but now I've moved back I…see him a lot more often.”

“And how has that been?”

Fucking awful. She wants to say.

She wants to break down and cry. Wants to shout and scream at Billy, for what he had done and what he was doing to her now.

She picked at the broken nail on her index finger, thinking that if she drove far, far away, would anyone really give a shit?

Would he?

“It's been hard,” is her reply, looking down at her hands, feeling very much in this moment that she shouldn't have said anything.

“Can we change the subject,” she insisted, rubbing her clammy hands on her jeans, catching the sight of her therapist’s expression before the woman looked back down at her notes.

“What about your mother?”

Fuck me, really?

She did resist the urge to roll her eyes.

“Got her a place in rehab,” she says quietly, as if telling some great secret, “I can't find it in myself to go to the house often anymore…”

“I assume there is no alternative?” the woman asks, pushing her glasses up her nose.

An alternative would be a fine thing.

“No,” she replies, tiredly, “because of the…seriousness of her addiction, there's no other option I can explore, on my own anyway.”

“I see,” the woman replied, the scratch of her biro somewhat irritating, “going back to your earlier point, I think you should take Mr and Mrs Washington up on their offer for dinner. Reconnect. Find some sense of self that you've said yourself, you feel has been lacking for some time.”

Okay, ouch.

“If they have been there for you as a mum and dad otherwise would, I don't see why not.”

Because it feels like I am intruding on Billy's family.

The therapist's words settled like a weight on her chest, stirring a tempest of conflicting emotions within her. To accept their invitation meant delving deeper into a world where she wasn't sure she belonged. It meant acknowledging her own vulnerability, her own need for familial warmth that she had so often denied herself. But it also meant risking the fragile equilibrium of her friendship with Billy, a bond she cherished above all else.

The prospect of imposing herself upon his family, of burdening them with her troubles, filled her with a profound sense of unease. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was an outsider, an interloper in their tight-knit circle. And yet, the warmth in their eyes, the genuine concern they showed for her well-being, beckoned her like a beacon in the darkness.

"I'm afraid," she admitted, her voice trembling with emotion, "afraid of needing them, of becoming too dependent, of losing myself in their kindness."

The therapist nodded understandingly, her eyes reflecting compassion and empathy.

"It's okay to be afraid," she reassured softly, “it’s what makes us human.”

Billy couldn’t shake the foul mood enveloping him in the days after he’d dropped off the last of Becky’s stuff. The absence of her things in his flat echoed the void in his heart, amplifying his sense of isolation even further from his once-close circle of friends. 

Lana, as she would have done eventually, soon discovered Billy’s vile acts towards the Halal butchers in his alcohol-addled state. And reacted predictably, unleashing a barrage of criticism, labelling him once again as the family fuck up and urging him to recognise that he really knew nothing about what he thought he was protecting.

Despite the newfound camaraderie with a much different group, sparked by the shared grief over Nut’s death, Billy felt the weight of his involvement with them. And while Nut’s death struck Lana the hardest, it also threatened to unravel Billy’s carefully constructed facade of resilience.

His immersion in this movement provided a twisted sense of purpose, one that was consuming him from within like a relentless black hole, leaving behind a hollow shell of his former self.

A day and night spent in the police station only exacerbated his inner turmoil and confusion, providing ample time for his thoughts to fester and mutate into something hateful and blindly judgemental. Yet, even in the face of overwhelming doubt and vulnerability, Billy remained steadfast in his resolve to appear sure, and strong. 

Refusing to let anyone perceive his inner struggles as weakness. 

He stared at his phone, waiting in the queue at the local corner shop to put some money on his gas meter, this thumb idly hovering over her name and the last text she sent him a few days ago.

Her address.

Alarmingly close and yet still felt so far away.

He thought of that day, when he could scarcely believe it was really her in his flat and not some horrific nightmare. When she told him, that it wasn't just a nasty breakup, and that this boy had betrayed her trust so eagerly, and sent around pictures of her to anyone who could receive pictures on their phones at school.

He didn't know what he would have done back then, but has thought about it a lot since.

Billy would like to think he'd beat the ever living shit out of him, expose him and perhaps even push him into submission, so much so he'd have to leave her alone. To be the same hero she had seen in him on that rainy day in Year 4.

The guilt still festers in him, that he had been so tied up in his own thoughts, that he hadn't even noticed the now clear signs, the beginning of a process of behaviours that had been festering for years.

It only served to make him feel more distant from her.

It was by pure chance he ran into Harry and Paddy on the way home down Cally Road (whom she had once referred to as Paddy and Max from ‘Road to Nowhere’. Billy still shudders when he hears the theme tune, having been bombarded with his friends singing it to annoy him during a road trip, slumped in the front seat as the only one who could drive at the time).

“What the fuck is council tax?” he remembered Harry shouting that in the back seat, squished between Abi and Libby with Paddy sat in their footwell, the car roaring with continuous laughter at how clueless Harry had been back then. 

She’d been sitting in the passenger seat, trying her hardest not to laugh. She’d always taken pity on Harry for how undeniably stupid he was. But it appeared even she had a limit.

On yet another hot summer’s day, it was no surprise to see Harry’s arms were stacked high with crates of beer, with Paddy carrying around a more humble Tesco with two bottles of Stella. It stirred a familiar ache in Billy's chest. This casual greeting belied the tension simmering beneath the surface, a silent acknowledgment of the fractured bonds that once bound them together.

“You alright?”

It was a horrible feeling to see Paddy’s face fall once he clapped eyes on Billy, but he nodded all the same, his disappointment palpable, “Y’alright.”

“Where you two off to?”

Harry's attempt at small talk only served to deepen the awkwardness, his strained smile betraying the unease that hung in the air. "Heading to Abi and Libby's for a barbecue.”

Billy's heart sank at the omission, the absence of an invitation a painful reminder of his own estrangement. "Oh, right," he mumbled, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Tell ‘im I said hello."

Paddy's scoff cut through the tension like a knife, his disappointment searing through Billy's defences. "He doesn't want to know, Billy."

The words were delivered like a punch to the guy and Billy felt as if he recoiled as such, a sinking feeling dragging his heart through his chest. He daren’t question what Paddy was talking about, it was easy to guess why Abi hadn’t invited him, and by extension, Libs.

"Don't you dare ask 'why' either," Paddy's voice was laced with a mixture of sorrow and reproach, his disappointment a mirror reflecting Billy's own self-loathing.

In that pivotal moment, the full gravity of his deeds descended upon Billy with crushing force. He felt unable to grasp the magnitude of it, unable to recognise with painful clarity that he had chased acceptance in the wrong corners of existence. Like scattered ashes carried away by the wind, his shattered relationships slipped beyond his grasp, leaving him to confront the harrowing truth of the toll exacted by his relentless pursuit of belonging.

And in the cold, soulless atmosphere of his flat, unable to shake the idea that his friends were having a good time without him, he stared at the texts his mum sent him trying to organise a family dinner and swiped them away, instead reaching for the contact he had spoken to last.

“Nick Roberts”.

“He didn’t know, Libs”.

Libs, reclining in her garden chair with a cold desperados in hand and a sunhat perched jauntily on her brow, shot her friend a bemused glance. “What do you mean ‘he didn’t know’, was he living under a fucking rock?”

“Oi, fucking language!” cried the Irish-tinged, playful reprimand of Paddy from the narrow kitchen, mingled with the clinking of bottles as he and Abi prepared for a barbecue. She struggled to keep her laugh between her lips when Libby tilted her head back, and gave Paddy a friendly two fingers.

“And what did he say?” Libby asks, pushing her sunhat back up her forehead as Abi brushes past her to fire up the barbeque, the clattering sound of coals and the musty spell ringing a sort of nostalgia.

Of summers spent at Cranstead Fields.

“The usual. He was all 'I'm going to fucking kill him’ and 'why didn't you say something sooner'-”

“Well why would you say anything if you just assumed he knew?”

“Precisely,” she replies, pointing her tall glass of Pimms in Libby’s direction, “but it’s never that simple with Billy is it?”

Libby sighs as she adjusts in her seat, swinging her legs lazily from the sun lounger, the sunlight catching the golden hairs on her legs in a playful dance. “When is Billy ever simple,” she groans.

The lazy afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the garden, painting everything in warm, honeyed tones. Birds chirped happily in the background, their melodies intermingling with the tinny sounds of early 2000s music playing from a nearby radio. Despite the idyllic setting, there was an underlying tension in the air, palpable yet unspoken.

As Abi stepped away from the group, finding a moment of solitude amidst the lively chatter, she couldn't help but feel a heavy weight on her heart. The laughter and banter of her friends seemed distant as she grappled with conflicting emotions.

"Wish it could be different," she murmured to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. "Wish we could've invited him. Feels shitty being here without him."

The 'him' she referred to hung in the air, a lingering presence that cast a shadow over the otherwise sunny afternoon. Billy, once a close friend to all of them alike, now seemed like a distant memory tainted by betrayal and hurt.

Her voice was filled with empathy, a soothing balm to her troubled soul. Libby understood the depth of her pain, the conflicting emotions tearing at her heart.

"I wish things were different too," Libby continued, her gaze softening with compassion. "But we can't change what happened. Billy is the only one who can help himself.”

The words didn’t mean to sound so final. But they still hurt, somewhere deep inside.

Billy is the only one who can help himself.

Why was there this heavy, pit opening up in her chest, a mouth opening and closing, saying, 'that's not true'.

“Babe!” Libby called, snatching Abi’s attention from the football, “the skewers aren’t spicy, are they?”

Abi scratched his chin in mock thought, “by spicy do you mean ‘white people spice’?”

“Paprika is spicy!”

“Fucking hell,” Abi groaned, a palm swiping over his face in exasperation, “Libby. Baby. Darling. I’ve done plain skewers just for you.”

Libs beamed, “thank youuu, you’re the best.”

Though she smiled at their interaction, and was grateful to Abi that he wasn’t offended when she’d kept in touch with Billy (though she did stipulate she gave him an earful) even after what he’d done, something squeezed tightly in her chest, watching them both, and their warm gazes at one another on this clear, light summer’s day.

A sort of tightness, that indicated all she wanted, was some closeness like that for herself.

Ping!

Only half-listening to Paddy trying to convince Harry that Jagermeister tastes like coke, she pulled out her phone and checked the latest message, a number she never deleted.

‘Lana’s on shift, but doing Sunday Dinner with your favourite roast spuds and honey-rasted parsnips. Just us 4 this time, see you then at 6 chick. Lol Val x’

A smile pulled at her lips at the message, and the generation indicative ‘lol’ on the end. Before realising.

Just us 4.

At that moment she felt very much like Harry, gagging and spluttering, having downed more than two shots of jager in one go. But it didn’t take the drink to make her feel sick.

The thought of crossing the threshold into the Washington household, and seeing Billy sat at the dining table, did just that.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires-deactivated20 @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

[goatgoesmbe]

I love the alex and muslim gaz headcanons they remind me so much of friendships I have where I live. It is a major muslim area for my country and there are always so many jokes about how the catholics and other non-muslims care more about Islam than actual muslims

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSrwTKYTW/

Imagine this tiktok but with alex and gaz now or gaz about to eat pork and alex slaps it out his hand or gaz is sick and alex goes “salamatik” (or “inshallah” if hes feeling particularly evil)

Also fyi idk if any of this makes sense this is purely me copying jokes my muslim and non-muslim friends and I have made with each other

OMG YASS ACTUALLY IM ALSO PROJECTING ME AND MY FRIENDS :D

Ig im too comfortable living in a region where everything is always halal, label or nah coz the most population is muslim anyway- so even non muslim adapted for business stonk 📈📈📈

Im used to not checking ingredients and such

So when i go to other places 🧍 u see- my first instinct with any food is to nom

One time at a gathering, i asked if I could eat now :3c (noone's eating yet. Its Indonesian courtesy to be polite and let someone eat first. But im shameless i wanna eat)

My friend who's protestant said yeah- but ig he was busy setting up plates that he didn't think twice. Then my other friend who's hindu yelled "BABI" (pig/pork/..but it's also a curse word which is why this is funny)

But she's at the other side of the room, and the previous guy can't touch me so he did this usual awkward thing of not knowing what to do- so girlie threw her flipflop as she yelled that and smacked the satay out of my hand 😞😞😞

and for context, if i did eat that pork, it wouldn't be a sin lmao. Coz if u dunno its fine.. wallahualam

I have a lot of stories like these lol

[tamamita]

Would a Muslim household need to buy their cat a cat food that is considered halal? I was worried this would be too dumb of a question, but I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever seen a halal label on any pet food I’ve purchased. Since cats are carnivores, do any of the rules change?

Any of the rules in Islam do not apply to animals; you do not need to buy halal-certified cat food.

[luffysprincess]

i'll assume your subway order is teriyaki chicken

Deny, it’s actually tuna!! I usually can’t eat any meat out (besides fish) unless it’s labeled as halal

[mangionebabymama]

the funniest thing is he was literally vegetarian before he got arrested and im sure going to prison is enough to make the most hardcore vegan eat meat. Like it can be hard enough to find good plant based food as it is and there’s no way prision is putting that much effort into making the vegan options any good at all lmao

On the MDC Brooklyn commissary list, they do offer and label food items that are dietary restricted (e.g., kosher, halal), but the options are limited. There isn’t a wide variety of foods, snacks, or items available, because at the end of the day, it is commissary. And if you’re given the choice between not being able to eat decent plant-based food simply because it’s not available, versus eating enough to at least somewhat fulfill your daily nutritional needs across the five food groups (including meat) I’m pretty sure any reasonable person would choose to eat what’s available

[beardedmrbean]

I've had the pleasure of hearing "Hamas isn't antisemitic, look, this source says they also murdered Arab Israelis !" completely seriously.

hamass looks at them the same way that terfs look at FtM transgender people

They're traitors who deserve to die because they've aligned themselves with the Jewish people.

Let's have some fun with the original charter, ACLU has a translated copy, nobody on the political left is going to go against them.

Link to the ACLU pdf of the charter

The souls of its Jihad fighters will encounter those of all Jihad fighters who have sacrificed their lives in the land of Palestine since it was conquered a3) by the Companion(9) of the Prophet, be Allah's prayer and peace upon him, and until this very day.

Conquered, I thought they were indigenous??????

(Hamas) which will reveal its face, unveil its identity, state its position, clarify its purpose, discuss its hopes, call for support to its cause and reinforcement, and for joining its ranks. For our struggle against the Jews is extremely wide-ranging and grave, so much so that it will need all the loyal efforts we can wield, to be followed by further steps and reinforced by successive battalions from the multifarious Arab: and Islamic world, until the enemies are defeated and Allah's victory prevails. Thus we shall perceive them approaching in the horizon, and this will be known before long

The time(16) will not come until Muslims will fight the Jews (and kill them); until the Jews hide behind rocks and trees, which will cry: 0 Muslim! there is a Jew hiding behind me, come on and kill him! This will not apply to the Gharqad(17), which is a Jewish tree (cited by Bukhari and Muslim)(18)

Love this one

When Moses came and threw his baton, sorcery and sorcerers became futile.

They cry about Jewish people but still have adopted and appropriated most of their prophets and leaders, should have stopped with Abraham if they wanted to claim kinship from Ishmael.

[Peace] initiatives, the so-called peaceful solutions, and the international conferences to resolve the Palestinian problem, are all contrary to the beliefs of the Islamic Resistance Movement.

I can't read anymore of it, it's turning my brain to jelly and affirming everything I've read and heard about why none of the other islamic countries are taking in palestenian refugees.

I still remember the person that got really really mad at me for pointing out if they couldn't find food listed as halal they could check for kosher labeling and be just fine, as long as it didn't have alcohol at least, since halal is pretty close to kosher lite.

Cheeseburgers are ok but still no bacon.

But ya whoever tried to convince you of that was insane.

[sepublic]

Good lord I'm imagining job applications and resumes in the Metroid universe... Because again, with my whole thing about different species being selected un/consciously for certain jobs and roles, that'll definitely be relevant. Like of course you have to bring up what species you are, even if it's not mandated in an application, everyone knows that if you choose not to disclose it, it's because you're not the species a certain job is looking for anyway. Being a certain species IS part of your resume, and those fill-in features they use for particular skills applies here; So if you select one species, all of the traits associated with you are automatically listed.

For another example; Species with good peripheral vision, who can stay awake for longer periods of time... Anyone with an acute awareness of their environment; These would be hired as guards, be it in prisons or as generic security. Night vision is often a must. These species don't really need to be adaptable the way Earthians are because they're usually operating in an artificial, standardized environment, i.e. their workplace.

Plus, the architecture; Accommodating a wide variety of species' body types and needs can be difficult. With how species can vary in size wildly, you usually play it safe by having big, open spaces, with big, open doors and hallways and the like; Decreases the chance of some poor species being unable to fit through, getting caught in the doorframe, etc. Revolving doors are probably out of the question. Not to mention lots of canals to accommodate water-breathing species who visit.

This is especially the case for Daiban, which is the capital of the Federation; It needs to represent the Federation, which is supposed to represent all of the species involved. It reflects badly if Daiban's architecture isn't accommodating, especially for worlds that are 50/50 about joining the Federation, and whose ambassadors are visiting its capital for the first time to discuss things. Visitors to Daiban might feel eclipsed by the architecture, because it's so spacious and the buildings themselves larger to contain all that additional interior space; But for some species, Daiban is just the right size, and Federation representatives sigh in relief over that.

And what becomes the norm for the Federation, eventually starts bleeding in to other worlds, some of which are far from the capital because immigration will always be a thing, it's why the Federation even exists to begin with. But of course, to have more space, you need bigger walls and the like, which means more building materials; That can get more expensive, so the desire to accommodate different sizes might strain against companies and governments who want to be cost-effective, it's a balance of priorities. So some might try to get around this by emphasizing outdoor meetings, or prioritizing which buildings need to be 'accommodating', with immigration offices being the most obvious example.

Are there architects who specialized specifically in 'standardized' architecture designed for these purposes? Do different foods have different labels and signs of approval by certain organizations, such as a stamp asserting X product is vegan, kosher, halal, etc.? Specifically; X product is safe for a certain species. And again a lot of it can be expensive so it's cheaper sometimes to just stick with your own world where everything, specifically the infrastructure and logistics, is already tailored to you.

But the species with the most recurring traits, the 'bell curve' as we call it? They're the most populous, they're the ones who get the special treatment because they're seen as more viable, more profitable. The bell curve species are the ones best suited to thriving in different worlds. Jack of all trades, master of none, but better than master of one; It depends on what an employer might be looking for. So we have Earthians and other species amongst the 'bell curve', and its existence could have a scientific explanation, or just be sheer coincidence.

[organicblogs]

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